Fight!

Well, my day began, oh, around 4am maybe? When I slipped back into consciousness to the certainty that my teeth were being broken out of my face with a hammer.

The migraine that never ends has scored a major win. I've been taken off all migraine and pain treatments. This also means the tennis ball has free play, and, of course, one of the things the tennis ball does? Makes migraines worse.

Why would they do this?

Well...

My primary migraine treatment was Imitrex injections. Imitrex and the new med the specialist wants to put me on will not be civil together, as in the pharm's computer went all Red Alert! Red Alert! and flagged 'Fatality'. Technically, it flagged 'violent seizures and brain death', but, hey, I'm going with if my brain is dead, I'm dead. This also happened with the painkiller that was to be thrown regularly at the tennis ball, to try to keep its snarling down at a bearable level. You know, where I could, say, get out of bed, and have the option to, maybe, not scream. Continuously.

I was not happy. But, honestly, I expected to be given alternative treatments. Knowing the specialist's treatment was already the best option there, I was, quite reasonably, thinking my doctor would propose alt treatments for my migraines and the tennis ball. Most likely, it seemed to me, a different painkiller that would try to kick down both.

But I really REALLY underestimated how deeply my doctor hates my specialist, and just how utterly fucking pointlessly dickish he could really be.

Because, first, he tried to tell me not to follow the specialist's treatments, and when I replied that I had done the research and it really did seem the best option at this point--

Snap, I ended up with no treatments.

And quite a fucking bit of pissiness.

So, now I don't have that nebulous irrational 'I am being punished' feeling that comes with unending brutal pain.

I really AM being punished.

Since life is cruel, I have to see my specialist again tomorrow. I fully intend to tell him all of this loveliness. It's not that I think he can help. Or would even if he could. But I have to. He's supposed to judge the effectiveness of his treatments, in part, based on my mental state. Being in a fuckton of pain, and deliberately cut off from all treatments, I'm guessing that fucks up my mental state. Just a tad. If I didn't tell him, I'd be sabotaging my own well-being. Fuck.

And I, am not as stupid or childish as my doctors.

But, at this point, I'm already bracing, expecting the specialist to take a nasty swipe at me, just because he can't punch my doctor.

So, basically, any way this plays, I am so going to lose.

But, in no way related, but def needed is this:



(Thanks to R.)

R. has also been informed that he BETTER show up for the Rally To Restore Sanity.

Because he can get there, and I so can't. He MUST represent for both of us, and bring me back an epic crapton of media. EPIC. Or yes, I will beat him down. Mercilessly. And I don't hit like a girl.

And, lo, I just happen to have a lot of stress, rage, et al to work out...