Okay, so I made an appointment with my family doctor today to see if I can find out why I’m so tired these days. I’ve been having this strange pressure in my chest that sort of feels like I’ve got the wind knocked out of me, and think that might be why I’m so tired. Annnywaaay. I see the family doctor for three fleeting seconds before she’s on the phone with Emergency (the clinic is in the hospital), and calling up my kidney specialist to tell him that I’m in her office feeling lowly.
Sooo, she sends me downstairs to the ER. And it’s exactly what you’d expect: bedlam. It’s the very last place on Earth I want to be. In fact, I can think of no place I’d actually call hell, except an emergency room at a crowded downtown Toronto hospital. I didn’t think I needed to go the ER, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t have an infection in my heart, which I’ve had before, because that’s what it kind of feels like.
I got to the ER at 11 AM. I left at 6 PM. I had blood drawn, an EKG, and myriad other tests to confirm that maybe it’s not pericarditis, but maybe it still is—because I have to go back TOMORROW for another test.
The whole point of me going to see the family doctor was the following: A) not to bother my specialist with the minor ups and downs of my health that may or may not be related to the disease; B) to determine if maybe I’m so tired because of the disease; and C) to AVOID AT ALL COSTS the ER because it’s unnecessary and, well, not a bloody emergency.
The resident was super-nice. But he has no answers. He doesn’t know if it’s the disease. He in his cutie-patootie faux-hawk and super cool brown cords can’t tell me if I’m sick because I’ve got a disease or if I’ve caught some strange viral infection. His advice? Go see my specialist ASAP. That’s actually written on my ER orders: Go see [insert name of ragdoll’s super-duper specialist here] ASAP.
There’s nothing more frustrating than feeling like you’re wasting time and precious resources. I had work to do. I have a life to lead. I have a disease to battle. None of these things can be done from a bed in the ER ward listening to the truly ill people wailing like they need a wall and dying in beds beside me.