Tag Archives: medicine

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Priorities. I don’t know that I’ll ever get use to something that was a earth-shatteringly critical issue yesterday being completely irrelevant today. Look, I completely understand that focus changes and priorities shift, but maybe it would be ok to give a guy some advanced notice before he spends eight hours working on something that will never actually see the light of day. Hard to believe anyone ever accuses us of being inefficient.

2. The Boy Who Cried Wolf. Since December we’ve been listening to Dear Leader: Part III lead a veritable chorus of batshit crazy tirades about attacking both the US and South Korea. Sure, everyone on the planet, including the Dear Leader’s biggest boosters in China think he’s taking his unique brand of nuts way out past the edge of reasonable saber rattling, but no one seems to know quite how to deal with him at this point. I’m a simple man, really. When someone is standing on my front porch with a lit match and a gallon of gasoline talking a lot of smack about burning down my house, I don’t just stand there waiting for him to add one plus one. It’s one of those occasional times in life that calls for swift and decisive action, rather than another six months of handwringing and hoping we can just “hug it out.” It’s all a lot of talk right up to the point where it isn’t. For once I’d like my country not to be on the receiving end of a sucker punch to spur us out of complacency.

3. Evolution. As an apex predator, humans have evolved over millions of years right along to the various flora and fauna that inhabit the earth. Over that vast amount of time, you’d think our species would have evolved some kind of general ability to deal with pollen and other allergens in the air – beyond getting a clogged nose, watery eyes, and scratchy throat. I think it’s high time we expect more out of evolution… and for that matter we should expect a hell of a lot more from science in general – because the allergy medications it’s come up with pretty much suck.

Vetted…

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Just once I’d like to walk away from the vet with them telling me that everything is great and it’s $128.00 for the exam and yearly battery of shots. Such an idea is silly, though, as pet care is big business… an environment not aided by the fact that any perceived threat to one of my pups will be met with massive and overwhelming force and a willingness to bring every modern veterinary miracle to bear on even the smallest issue. Even so, I guess I got away easy this morning. Maggie got a relatively clean bill of health, but I still ended up walking away with a bag full of flea, tick, and heart worm preventative for the kids as well as a refill of Winston’s regular joint supplements and “special” food. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being surprised (horrified?) at the expense we’ll got to to keep animals more or less healthy.

Dogs have been part of the human story since the first caveman tossed a scrap of meat to the great furry beast sitting at the edge of the village. It seems they’ve gotten along pretty well. Man’s life and dog’s have been infinitely improved by our happy coexistence. I can’t imagine a time when my home won’t include at least one of the little fuzzballs. Still, part of me wonders if we all weren’t better off when dogs were just dogs and not fur covered adopted children. Now that they are, I don’t think there’s any going back… but sweet baby Jesus, it would be nice to spend less on their healthcare than I spend on my own.

Quack…

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Medical science isn’t likely to find a bigger cheerleader than me… most of the time. When the chips are down, I can almost always count on them to come up with some chemical concoction the in some way improves my quality of life. Except this week, of course. I’m not in any way disputing the official medical diagnosis of “it looks like you have some fluid behind your eardrum,” but I am, however, disputing the “keep doing what you’re doing and give it another week” advice. It’s not like I’m in there asking for uppers, downers, or even leeches. All I’m asking for is something better than the standard little red pill that I’ve been taking every time I get sick since I was a kid. After two weeks, I don’t think asking for something with a little more horsepower is an unreasonable kind of thing.

Medical science? Meh. Quackery. You failed me. Next time, I’ll just got to Walgreens, buy them out of NyQuil, and sleep til I’m better.

Can’t stay away…

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After what seems like an excessive amount of scanning, poking, prodding, and stressing, my faith in the marvel that is modern medical science, is somewhat less than complete. The good news is that there are no obvious signs of things that could cause me to suddenly drop dead. The bad news is that whatever it is that’s causing my head to occasionally explode remains as a diagnosis of “uhhh… we’re not really sure, but here’s some heavy duty pain meds to take in case it comes back.” Now I’m as big a believer in better living through chemistry as anyone around, I think It’d still rather know what it is than what it isn’t. Since that outcome is apparently a bridge too far, I’ll follow my other tried and true solution and try ignoring the problem until it goes away on its own.

… And now back to your regularly scheduled blogging hiatus.

Ripped…

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My throat is ripped, and sadly not in the good way that things get when you spend too much time doing P90X. Perhaps I should say my throat is shredded. Swallowing is tough. Talking mainly makes me wait to cry, so yeah, if you’re trying to reach me on the phone, don’t bother, because there’s no way in hell I’m willingly putting myself through the torture of trying to have a conversation. We’re on day two of this little treat and unless something changes in short order, working tomorrow could be out of the question… which is kind of unfortunate because almost everyone else is out of the office attending a boondoggle…er… I mean “conference”, in Tampa. Maybe I’ll go in anyway. It should at least be quiet and it’s only a 10 minute drive to the doctor’s office from there. My treatment plan of honey tea, ibuprofen, and salt water gargle doesn’t seem to be doing the trick, so day three seems like a reasonable time to seek professional guidance. We’ll see how it goes. I’m not sure I can deal with too many more nights of waking up two or three times needing to gargle and pop another handfull of pills. The up side is I think I’ve now actually seen four or five episodes of Brooke Knows Best. That’s always fun.

Other than the whole throat being torn apart thing and not getting quite enough sleep the last two nights, I don’t actually feel bad. Thank the gods for small mercies, I suppose. It’s safe to say that I’ll be pulling up an e-book and a comfortable spot on the couch and spending most of the day watching trash television. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday.

Rave…

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I make a habit of calling people out here in print when they have offended me in some way. It’s only fair that the opposite should be true as well. You get just that one chance to make a first impression and Johns Hopkins Community Physicians at Water’s Edge hit one out of the park for me this morning. I spent less than 5 minutes in the waiting room after checking in. The nurse was in the room to take my vitals before I even set my file down. She was still taking my history when the doctor came in. The doc had me walk him through my meds and history – good move making sure I understood the issues and the treatment plan, by the way – and gave me a once over and checked under the hood. He easily spent 20 minutes in the room before walking me over to the lab for blood work. Less than five minutes with the vampires, and I was on my way. In a 45 minute appointment, total waiting time was less than 5 minutes.

These guys deserve big kudos for efficiency and professionalism. If this is the way they do business, I don’t think I’ll have any issues working with them in the future. They’ve set the bar pretty high for themselves, so I hope this wasn’t a fluke experience. We’ll find out in November.

Define irony…

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There’s no secret that I’m being sustained by a chemical cocktail that is a marvel of modern medical science. I’ve got pills to keep my heart from exploding and some to keep my blood from having some kind of glucose enduced fit. There’s the one that keeps my esophagus from being eaten by my stomach and a fourth one that does something that I’m sure is equally important. The real irony, though, is that while these keep me from meeting an untimely demise, one of them is secretly a traitor who is trying to shred my lower GI tract and makes himself known at the most unfortunate of times. It’s a great addition to my weight loss regimen, but I could really do without the regular feeling of having my innards tied in knots. Ah, better living through chemistry.

Checked over…

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The sawbones seems to be pleased with my continued lack of being deceased. I’m a fan as well, of course. My BP is in striking distance of normal, blood glucose levels are ranging well into normal territory, and I’ve dropped somewhere in the neighborhood of 35 pounds since October. The meds probably have more to do with those first two things than I do, but I’m taking credit for the weight loss. Me and that cursed exercise bike.

Next scheduled follow-up is in April. I’m glad to dispense with our monthly meetings, though I’ll miss the excuse for taking an extra Friday off every month. Maybe by April, I’ll be looking for a doctor somewhere a little closer to the Mason-Dixon Line. That would do wonders for my health and wellbeing. A boy can dream, right?

Not indestructible…

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I’ve been going to the doctor alot lately. Probably more often in the last two months than in the last five or ten years combined. It seems that, and alot of years of hard living and not are coming home to roost. What started off as a simple complaint of not sleeping and extreme thirst have become a diagnosis of Type 2 Diabetes. Not what I wanted to hear on Friday afternoon, but not hard to predict with my love of all things sweet and carb-y. My A1C wasn’t quite off the charts, but high enough to get a “wow” from Dr. Good News. My blood sugar came in north of 180 and I know it’s gone higher than that in the last month… I didn’t get a “wow” for that one.

So yeah, Dr. Killjoy sat me down for the come-to-Jesus talk about getting right with my diet and less than casual acquaintance with exercise (apparently walking from the truck to the office doesn’t count). I’m pretty sure he was trying to scare me straight with talk about insulin, but my pain avoidance instinct is strong enough to want to avoid the needle if at all possible. I guess we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. For the time being, I have a stack of new meds and will be hoping for better living through chemistry.

Last night was the great cleaning of the pantry – out with carb-y noms like cereal, pasta, juices, pop tarts, my beloved gummy bears, and maybe worst of all, the Blue Moon that was chilling in the fridge. I’ve got a fridge now full of dairy, protein, and vegetables – most of which I have no idea how to actually cook. It’s really like looking into someone else’s kitchen. Of course that’s nothing compared to the looks I’ve been giving the exercise bike that now lives in the spare bedroom – because, let’s face it, even on pain of death, I’m not bloody likely to go walk around the neighborhood in the cold. Exercise that can be done while watching TV seemed like something I would at least be able to tolerate.

I’m uneasy with change as a matter of principle and the change being called for here is no small order. It’s basically undoing just about every habit I’ve developed over the last 15 years. Apparently I’m not indestructible after all. That’s a tough one to come to terms with. There’s a fair chance that everything about this process will annoy, anger, or otherwise make me want to beat myself unconscious with a celery stalk… and when it does, you’ll hear it here first.

Conversations with the doctor…

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Given that I was all but out of the medicines that keep my stomach from tearing itself apart and my blood pressure from rocketing through the top of my skull, I basically had no choice but to comply with the summons of my newly appointed doctor to make myself available to him before he’d call in my refill. My last doctor had been incredibly accommodating when it came to dispensing the medications and I got the distinct feeling that this one wasn’t going to be so pliable. In fairness, he seems like a nice enough guy and legitimately concerned about his patients. Perhaps a few snippets of dialog can illustrate…

Doc: What brings you in today?
Me: You wouldn’t refill my prescription until I came in.
Doc: Oh yeah. So no complaints?
Me: Besides the obvious? No.
Doc: Good. No problems then.

Doc: We need to make sure your kidneys are working.
Me: I peed this morning…
Doc: That’s a good sign.
Me: I thought so.
Doc: So we’ll just take you back to the lab to draw blood.
Me: Super.

Doc: Do you want your flu shot while you’re here?
Me: No.
Doc: Why not?
Me: I get sick the day after every flu shot I’ve ever gotten.
Doc: Ever had the flu?
Me: Once years ago
Doc: Me too. Was down for two weeks. It’s no fun.
Me: Better make sure you get your shot.
Doc: Yeah.

Look, I know we’ve all got a job to do, but really, all I need you to do is keep me supplied with the drugs that keep me alive. I’m a wimp when it comes to being sick and you can count on the fact that the minute something goes wrong, you’re going to be the second to know because I’m going to want some shot or pill that will get me fixed up. I know this is a new relationship for us, but I’m pretty sure the “see you in three months” thing is a little excessive. I’ll concede to twice a year if absolutely necessary, but once a quarter is out of the question. We’re going to have to come to some sort of understanding.