OMG WTF VA? Make Up My Mind

I mentioned halfassedly yesterday that I would be visiting the VA clinic to have a fasting blood panel done to gage my A1C level (diabetes) to see where that all stands. I could get into my trypanophobia and how it really blows being a diabetic, but I have come to accept the overabundant amount of needles in my life so blood work and insulin injections are easier for me to accommodate these days. This part of my visit remained very clinical and well executed. Other than having to be stabbed twice, that appointment went alright.

Scheduled directly afterwards was an appointment with the orthopedic clinic to follow up with my issues I am having with my almost 7 year old knee replacement. As a recap, my initial visit was a disaster because in the doctor’s opinion it shouldn’t have been replaced due my age and higher activity level. I was lectured with an “I told you speech” eventhough it was done in the civilian sector. Anyway, I felt 4 years old while he handed my lollipop, swatted me on my ass, and sent me on my way for being a bad, bad boy. I was so pissed and frustrated that I filed 2 complaints, one to the VA, and one to my congressman. How was the appointment? Short and sweet. There was a no touch examination which resulted into a referral to finally see an orthopedic surgeon, after new xrays and MRIs of course. I have been officially handed off to the next provider, bit I feel discarded at the same time. The drama continues next week.

Let me tell y’all what keeps my head above water. Other than being very patient, I have people to talk with who have personal experience with the VA “system”. Last night I was reminded (thanks Rexi) that the goal of the VA is to wear you down so you give up. It just reenforced my own reasons for not EVER giving up. Plus, I have way to much time and energy invested into getting my knee operational once again. Let’s not forget I started this little adventure back in the spring of 1990 when I initially broke my knee. Maybe I need to write about that one day.

Anyway, for those playing at home, the score is now  tied, VA – 1, Me – 1. Don’t worry, as I continue this bizarre journey, I will continue to update y’all. Until then, remember to eat it everyday because everything else just bites!

Note To Self: Just Breathe

The absolute worst time to have an anxiety panic attack is while you are sitting in a chair with a needle mere millimeters from the vein it is about to puncture. How do I know this? I know this from first hand experience this morning. But, before I get into that and what happened next, y’all might need to catch up a bit by reading “An Attack Of Aichmophobia” which was written by me on 19 December 2013 and can explain a little more why I was having blood drawn in the first place. The blood was to serve a two fold purpose, one to do my Hemoglobin A1C panel for diabetic medication prescription renewals and also to see if I had anything weird going on which might explain me really freaking out around needles. I know, made no sense to me either. Why stick someone with a needle that has been freaking out about being stuck with needles here lately. Needless to say, the blood could not be drawn as requested because I threatened to stick the needle where the sun don’t shine to the technician. I ended up back in my doctor’s office where I was introduced to Klonopin or at least the doctor thought he was introducing us for the first time. I’m real aware of this drug as it is one of the drugs my son takes to try to “control” episodes he has because of being bipolar. I have tried to use some humor in the last post because it has been my way of dealing with the fact that I’m pretty fucking scared at this point in my life. I mean, ask yourself, how can a diabetic get away from sharp objects?

Meanwhile, while sitting in the doctor’s chair, figiting and sweating like a whore in a Catholic confessional, the doctor went over my “symptoms” and any known allergies. By this point I’m agitated, I want to go home, I want to get the hell away from all of this to sort it out. The doctor offered me a small pill and a small sip of water in a very small paper cup. He said to take it so we could continue our conversation. So, I complied, I took the pill. Within a few minutes my mind was clearing up, my focus was coming back, and it seemed like I just might be coming back to my senses. A quick check of my pulse, my blood pressure, and a tiny flashlight in my eye revealed to the doctor that my anxiety attack has come to it’s conclusion. Wow, now that was impressive, it worked almost as well as the calming effects my wife’s cold hands have when she places them on my neck when comforting me. He went on to explain that what I had just taken was 2mg of Klonopin. Within a few minutes I was back in the lab chair with a needle in my arm drawing blood and I could really care less. The only thing I could think of is where is my pain, where is my fear, am I dead. I’m a very firm believer that fear and pain are two very basic elements that ensure our safety and remind us that we are indeed still alive. I felt neither but I did feel scared. I imagine how my son must feel, what must be going on inside his brain as he watches what happens around him. Does it have the same effect on him.

That is that. A short walk down the hallway to meet my wife in her office. After seeing she was in there alone I walked thru the door, closing it behind me, where I sat down in one of the chairs at the front of her desk, all I wanted to do is just breathe. She made no comments about what had happened. If I know her the way I think I know her then nothing will ever be said. She did mention that she would pick up my new prescription on her way home with all the instructions. I leaned in to give her a kiss, not saying a word, and I left. I got into my car and found myself going to work. I have spoken to her since because she called to check up on me. She tried to explain that from now on I will need to take this medication prior to testing and prior injecting until I feel it is all under control like it once was. Will it ever get back under control? Will it ever be the same again? Have I lost what I thought I had control of just days before? I have come to the point that I really have grown to dislike this whole diabetes thing. Seems everyone has a way to kick it’s ass. I wish I could find my way to kick diabetes square in the ass and right out the door. Is this the part when someone tells me that we reap what we sew? Unfortunately I can’t go back in time, nor do I want to either, tomorrow is another day, to be dealt with like any other day I suppose. I just need to remember to breathe.