The small purple imp of good GP fortune

Well the appointment yesterday was actually much more successful than the last few with Dr KHS put together. I’m seriously considering switching for good. I didn’t mention it yesterday, but I’ve been wary of dealing with this particular doctor, who for the sake of clarity I’ll call Dr G, ever since I was 17, horribly depressed, cutting myself, and she said “well we all get a bit upset sometimes”. Hopefully she’s learnt to control herself whenever such utterly unhelpful thoughts bounce around her head since then.

Anyway, I got a taxi to the doc. The taxi driver, a new lady who’s never driven me before, was very chirpy but not in the way that it irritating when one feels so shitty. “What have you done to yourself?” she asked, motioning to my stick. “I have a neurological condition called fibromyalgia.” “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, a little embarrassed, “I didn’t mean to be rude.” “No worries, I don’t mind. Always good to educate people.” I gave her a very brief rundown on the condition and the topic reverted to the safe ground of the weather.

At the doctors’, when it was my turn, I waddled (sorry, that’s the most accurate adjective I can think of to describe the way I was walking) into the consultation and explained my predicament. We discussed a number of drugs, each stronger than the one before, and each time she entered them into the computer to check interactions, a little red flag came up indicating that it wasn’t really a good idea to take these in conjunction with the antidepressant I’m on. After the list was exhausted, I reasoned with her that I was already practically taking one of them as it was, only with the added element of the pesky paracaetamol which was busily eating away at my liver as we spoke. After that she agreed, wrote the script and I was home free, so to speak. She also wrote a referral for an x-ray of my spine and a CT scan of my legs, which will happen on Friday afternoon.

I’ve never had the misfortune of having a CT scan, and it’s not something I’m really keen on doing either. Being horribly claustrophobic, the thought of being strapped to a bed and fed into a large cylinder like a hapless tampon doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I’m hoping, however, that since the scan is of my legs only I can be inserted feet-first, leaving my head out in the open and away from the giant cavernous vagina that is the CT machine. We’ll see.

So now all I have to worry about is my history exam on Saturday. Looking back, I don’t know how I managed to finish (or start for that matter) the exam on Monday, considering I was aching the entire time. I called disability services and explained the situation and was advised that if I am in doubt just to not go. She said it’s always better that a student doesn’t sit the exam and then requests a supplementary exam, than to try to soldier through and do poorly before requesting the supplementary exam because they’re much less likely to do it if you’ve already tried. Funny that, I would have thought it would be the other way around. So we’ll see. As it stands, I haven’t done any study because I’ve either been asleep or so high that rational thought is but a distant memory, so I’m not too optimistic at my studying prospects between now and Saturday.

All in all, the small purple imp of good GP fortune has indeed smiled on me. Let’s hope that she goes that one step further and actually gets some results from the scans so I can put this to rest!

Oh, and Calla, pain is no barrier to the appreciation of hot men. And I see what you mean about the first bloke...