Biotic

On my first doctor's appt yesterday...

Despite feeling like I still have a very angry alien about to snap through my ribs at any moment, and the fact that my breathing sounds like Darth Vader...or rather like I stuck on the fishbowl helmet of one of those old diving suits? And oh yeah, someone--or several someones--is standing on my air line. Yes, despite this, my lungs were declared fine.

O.o

Seriously?

Yes, quite.

And my sinuses were declared fucked.

:|

And I got put on my THIRD course of antibios for this damn death flu.

Although, maybe it was all worth it, just for when the SU opened my new bottle of meds and recoiled in horror, declaring, "What are THESE? Horse suppositories??!!"

Note To Pharm Companies: please study a HUMAN esophagus before deciding how much filler to wrap into your pill. These bitches are like twice the size of a Centrum! And no one--expecting, perhaps, a heavily abused porn star--can swallow a Centrum.

While his printer was sending out my prescription, my doctor asked me if I had ever taken my pulse. My face involuntarily twisted up, knowing where this was going. I replied that my resting heart rate now is well over a hundred, and that I'm told it's part of my disease. His face continued to do this...well, I was going to just emoticon here, but there isn't one that truly captures the disdaining frown. I added that my resting rate in high school was always well under sixty. The frown did not change.

Instead I got ordered to take ANOTHER thyroid test, with the helpful toss that I could to it the same day as the liver one.

As for my second doctor's appt...

Fuck no, I am not getting into that...mess...of terror.

If anyone needs me, I'm still in my bed, flinching with constant panic, and frequently convulsing.

Yay.

I did manage, by sheer bitchitude, to get my self downstairs to get Boo...Second Breakfast? First Supper? My boy hoovered so enthusiastically, he ate the half can I put down for him in the time it took for me to get a little spoonful across the room to Hissy.

Hissy not only refused to eat, she cowered away, bolted up the stairs so frantically she had to have hurt herself, and hid from me.

Thanks, dear daughter. I really needed that.

So I did the only good thing I could do. I managed to scrap down the other half can for Pheen. And then I crawled upstairs. Literally.

For the record: fuck. That's it. Just...FUCK.