…and I’m done.
Two IV’s in the last two days.
Midodrine is done. Powerade Zero is done.
I’m finished. I’ve cleared my plate. I’ve left the table. I am not playing anymore.
I’m over medications not working. I want someone to put on some white scrubs, grab a scalpel and start redesigning my heart valves. Go ahead. Anyone. Homeless man, here’s some iodine.
Let’s do this. Let’s fuck shit up. Give me a port.
Give me an IV all day every day. Let a radioactive spider bite my hand. Call in the witch doctor. Let’s do a torso transplant. I’m ready. I’m ready to make desperate, expensive choices.
I’m ready to kick the next cardiologist who shrugs at me in the teeth. I’m ready to run until my heart explodes just so we can do something drastic. Just so we can make an urgent plan of action. I can’t be in limbo forever, you can’t just let me feel like this forever.
I don’t even have the energy to go into all the fabulous details of the last two days but suffice it to say that my current plan of action is crispy burnt toast and I’ve gotten to the point where I feel like if I don’t get some relief soon I’m going to do something crazy like drink coffee or give up on climbing stairs and start sleeping in the quiet hutch under my staircase with my lopressor in one hand and a confused and disturbed poodle in the other.
We kind of worked out a plan for the next few steps of treatment…bring in some more specialists…try to change my hydration methods…reach out to some experts out of state…
I know that if I read back through this blog and look at every time I had a flare-up and just how bad I thought it was then–maybe this all would’t feel so extreme, maybe in comparison the last few days would even same mild….
Sometimes I feel like just when I’ve come to grips with how enormous an impact this disease has on my life…it swallows up a whole other limb an drags me down further than I thought I could go…and the funny part? I still have to walk my dog, do my work, and buy groceries like this is just Tuesday with dysautonomia and I’m still going to have dysautonomia next week–same time, same place.
WE’RE BITCHES RIGHT NOW. OKAY?
Ask me again next Tuesday.