Many Years of Poems

I'm not exactly sick, I don't think.

I'm just tired and I feel crappy.

I've had a little bit of tummy trouble and a little nasal congestion and a slightly runny nose, but nothing too terrible.

I just have no energy and I feel unwell.

In brighter news, supper went over very well. I made apple-cherry glazed pork chops, mashed potatoes, and green beans, and Nick and Aysha both said that the pork chops especially were really nommy. :)

In somewhat sad news, Little Guy has gone to live with his permanent owner, Eric. Tessa seems to miss him. I think Sweetie Pie is relieved, though, and CC doesn't seem to care one way or the other. I miss the Little Shit, though. He was a rambunctious kitten but funny and sweet. I hope he's happy with Eric and Fat Cat.

And back on the topic of food, I need to get a few things going for tomorrow night's supper. Mercifully, for right now, I just need to wash one of my big cooking pots and start some beans soaking, which will not take long. Then once the beans are cooked, I have to start a pot of chili for tomorrow's chili tamale pie and what chili I don't use for the chili tamale pie, I will use for the smothered baked potatoes later in the week.

Anyway, I'm thinking that maybe the higher dose of the Zoloft is making me feel tired and weird and that maybe once my body gets used to it, I'll feel a little better.

Upon cross-referencing the Medicaid provider book (because Florida apparently hasn't made it into the 21st Century yet, which is to say they do not list Medicaid providers online) and the Medicare provider search function on their website, apparently there is no psychiatric medical care provider in this area who accepts both Medicare and Medicaid. There are only four psychiatrists in Duval County who treat adults (over age 18) and accept Medicaid, and none in Clay County. If you're on Medicaid and need psychiatric care in Clay County, you have to go to the Clay County public mental health facility, which I can't use because I'm not a resident of Clay County.

Somebody suggested that I ask my primary care doctor for a hold-over prescription, at least for my Zoloft, because I am still trying to find a psychiatrist or nurse-practitioner to replace the last nurse-prac who thought I was bipolar. I wish to hell my old psychiatrist took at least Medicare; I liked her.

I tried to get on with River Region Human Services, which is a public health facility, but THEY DON'T TAKE MEDICARE, only Medicaid. What the hell kind of public health facility doesn't take Medicare? Jeez.

In any case, I'm running low on my Zoloft, and I've been taking it every other day instead of every day to try to make my supply last a little longer, but I totally did not think about asking my primary care guy to write me a hold-over script, which he probably would do because he's cool like that.

Today I see my new psychiatric nurse-practitioner. I hope she's nice. I also hope she doesn't flip her shit when I tell her I weaned myself off my Invega.

I see my new primary care physician next Thursday. I hope he's nice too.

In other news, I've been playing with Nicholas' hair. At my suggestion, he has been growing it out with the intent of dreadlocks. It is now long enough to turn into baby dreads, so we bought little bitty hair ties and dread wax and I've been learning on the job how to twist hair into baby dreads. We sat around in the living room yesterday and watched the first few episodes of season 1 of "The Tudors" while I started my on-the-job learning. About a quarter of his hair is now in little baby dreads-to-be, but some of them I have to redo. We stopped because I had to cook supper.

Supper was quite a success last night, I think. Dixie and Aysha liked it, anyway. Cliff and Nicholas slept rather than eating. Nancy was, as usual of late, out with her friends. I made enchiladas suizas and real Spanish rice, as opposed to the quick-and-dirty RoTel Spanish rice thing I usually make. I was going to make chiles rellenos as well but I got tired of cooking after I'd put the rice and enchiladas together, so I'll do them today or tomorrow. The Anaheim chiles are peeled and seeded and ready to be stuffed, battered, and fried, so really, the hard part is done.

My back has been KILLING me for the last two days. I don't know why. It just hurts. A lot.

I've been seeing the same psychiatrist for a couple of years now, but I found out the last time I saw her that she doesn't take Medicare, and with the economy being what it is, I'd really rather use a doctor who takes my insurance rather than self-paying, as great as Dr. Owusu is.

Well, I found out that the psychiatrist I usually see in the hospital takes Medicare. Okay, fine, I'll start seeing him.

Um. No.

Before my disability kicked in, I was on a charity care program at the hospital, so my hospital bills were taken care of. The doctor's bills were not. I owe the hospital doctor $1800 from hospital stays before my disability came through. Needless to say, I don't have it.

So I have to find another psychiatrist. Shit.

Well, I still feel a little shaky but it's easier to type now.

I started the Paxil this morning, so we'll see how that does.

My back is better and I only get the pain in my legs if I turn wrong, so that's good too.

So I'm still sore. The pain is mostly in my back now, not my legs, but occasionally I get pain shooting down one leg or the other.

I'm going to have to figure out a way to see a doctor about this and find out exactly what's causing the sciatica, but I'd bet money that I've got a bone spur on my spine. I've got them in my hands and feet, so why not my spine?

The only truly comfortable position for me right now is lying down with my knees curled. My mom told me to sleep on my back with pillows under my knees but that makes the pain worse, so I don't think that's a very good idea. (My mom has a herniated disc in her back so she's no stranger to back pain and back-related leg pain. She had to stop driving the car that's now mine because shifting and working the clutch hurt her leg too much.)

Icing my back still feels wonderful. It numbs the pain. I wish I could do it more often than every four hours, but I was told every four hours, so that's what I'll do.

What amazes me is that the narcotic pain drugs I'm taking are not making me high; usually they make me feel a little loopy even if I'm in pain. (I don't take narcotics if I'm not in a lot of pain.)

CC is keeping me company. I think he knows I'm in pain. Tessa comes and checks on me between naps and feeding her face at the food bowl. Sweetie Pie is also keeping me company, napping in an empty box here in the computer room.

I'm having Dixie take me to the ER. I hurt too much. I can barely stand or walk or bear weight on the left leg at all. (Which means no way in hell can I drive myself because the car is a stick shift.)

It's not just the knee any more. Everything from the hip to about two inches below the knee hurts.

And the fact that Lortab didn't even take the edge off it sort of worries me. The pain just keeps getting worse with every passing hour.

Well, I had a panic attack last night but Cliff calmed me out of it. I actually feel better for just having the damn thing and getting it over with.

I guess sometimes you just need an emotional release.

I really felt like cutting myself but had nothing to do it with.

Cliff says I'm not trying to get better because I'm not exercising or taking walks or anything, but his doctor just got on his case today about his cholesterol, which is on the low side of high, and his "good" cholesterol is lower than they'd like it to be. (All his other labs came back fine.) So we're going to start taking a walk together in the evening after it cools off; put the puppy dog on his leash and take a little walk around the neighborhood together. His doctor wants him to walk, so we'll walk.

We like his new doctor; he's very thorough and listens to what you have to say. He wants Cliff to see a cardiologist because he doesn't like the EKG they did in the office last week, so I have to call the cardiologist and make an appointment to see him/her. He's afraid Cliff has had a mild heart attack and didn't know it. He also wants Cliff to start taking low-dose aspirin and is putting him on a statin to fix the cholesterol problem. He was sufficiently cool to give us this neat little package that includes a coupon for the first prescription free, and $50 off the next two prescriptions, so assuming the coupons and the health insurance can be used together, we won't have to pay for his first three months of the cholesterol med. The doctor is very pro-active; he looks for everything that might possibly be wrong and wants to fix it before it's a big problem. We like this a lot. I also like that he really listens to the patient and pays attention to what they have to say. I think that makes for an effective doctor.

Cliff has to have a sleep study because we suspect he has sleep apnea. We saw the sleep doctor yesterday, and he thinks Cliff may have sleep apnea, so it's not just my imagination that he stops breathing in his sleep.

So things are starting to look up. All I need is the disability to come through and I'll be a much more relaxed person, I think. Much less of a stress ball.

Well, I called a lawyer about the disability denial, and I'm to see the lawyer on Wednesday.

In other news, the colposcopy went okay; it hurt some, and I'm still bleeding a bit from it, but it wasn't as painful as the last one. I'll hear the results in a week or so.

I bought a book today called New Hope for People with Borderline Personality Disorder; so far it seems like a good overview of the options available for treatment and it seems hopeful. Here goes, I guess.

I'm tired, so I think I'm going to read for a little bit and then go to bed.

So I've been in the process of applying for disability and yesterday I had to see a psychologist at the disability office's request.

He was very nice, and polite and not condescending at all.

He diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder.

I find that kind of scary. I never thought I had a personality disorder, but the diagnostic criteria fit me, and it wigs me out. I'm apparently not in the "better prognosis" category either, since I also have been diagnosed with PTSD and recurrent major depression. A family history of alcoholism doesn't help much either, although I personally do not drink to excess very often at all because of my dad's alcoholism.

Am I going to spend my entire life in and out of hospitals, in and out of jobs, in and out of life?