It’s been a hell of a week.
We started out with two medication management appointments. One for my son, then one for me. Our provider doubled his sleep medication so that he can sleep through the night. Medication changes can be rough, and I imagine they are even harder for a kid his age. I was prescribed a stimulant to help with my chronic episodes of fatigue.
We held our breath until the inauguration Wednesday. I can’t tell you how helpful it is to have a leader who not only acknowledges that transgender people exist, but has the wherewithal to appoint them to important positions. My child and I are over the moon because of this.
But on Wednesday, we also received some tragic news. My grandmother’s dog, Short Stuff (aka Shorty), an adorable little dachshund, passed away. The weekend prior, the poor little fella had a liter of fluid drained from his abdomen. The ultrasound results revealed that he had an inoperable growth in his heart. My grandmother, of course, is devastated. We all are. We will truly miss the little guy.
Then came Thursday. I’m almost 43 years old. I got really excited because I was going to pick up soup from Cafe Zupas before heading to my regular doctor’s appointment. Yes, I am so old that the prospect of having a few quiet moments to myself to eat soup in a parking lot brings me immense joy.
I get out of work and into my car, only to be greeted by a slew of text messages and voicemails. The most important of these said that my grandmother had some kind of an episode and that my mom had taken her to the ER. Apparently she said she didn’t feel well as they were out driving, reclined her seat, turned white as a sheet and was not breathing or responsive for a few minutes. This of course scared the hell out of my mom, who immediately took her to the emergency room.
My first instinct was to drop everything and go to the hospital. But I couldn’t, because of COVID. Instead, I made arrangements for my boyfriend to pick up keys and let the other dogs at my mom’s house out. I had been putting my doctor’s appointment off for months. I’ve been experiencing episodes of intense fatigue since my shingles episode in the summer, and I needed to know why.
I slurped down some soup and then dealt with the first of the voicemails. It was from my son’s doctor’s office. They had some paperwork asking whether E was about to be admitted as an inpatient at a hospital. This came from the insurance company. No one has any idea why. I indicated that I had just texted him to make sure he was doing ok at home, and that we haven’t gone near a hospital in months.
I had my doctor’s appointment. My provider, a nurse practitioner, is awesome. She seems determined to get to the bottom of this. She offers elbow bumps in lieu of handshakes.
They do some basic bloodwork, since basic is all I can afford until better insurance kicks in.
I get back to my car and deal with the other two voicemails. One is to schedule an appointment with Liberty for a re-evaluation for YES Medicaid for my son. I play phone tag with the polite woman, again. Then I have to call St. Luke’s Mental Health, because they are threatening to cancel a referral for my child. I sent the paperwork in Saturday, since no teachers were available to fill out the teacher questionnaire during winter break. The lady on the phone says she always tells people that it’s not the teacher portion that holds the referral up, but the parent portion. But I didn’t speak with this woman before, and therefore had no idea. Insert shooting star with rainbow. The More You Know.
Don’t get me started on how they are so quick to cancel a referral when the waiting list to get an appointment is 6 TO 8 MONTHS LONG in the first place.
I get home and tell E about grandma. He has a lot of anxiety in general lately but in particular, he is worried about grandma or great grandma getting COVID. So I wanted someone to be home with him when he found out great grandma was in the ER.
Fast forward to Friday. Grandma is on the mend and her tests were normal, which is excellent. They think she may have had a seizure, which is not so excellent. I receive a denial letter for life insurance, which, frankly, is discriminatory. And sucks. Apparently the information released from my mental health provider was the nail in the coffin, so to speak. I understand there is an appeal process, but I don’t have the time or energy for more paperwork. I also really couldn’t afford the coverage in the first place, since I am currently only working part time.
The kicker? This week was stressful but not particularly out of the ordinary.
Oh, and to top it off, my blood tests already came back. They are BEAUTIFUL. Everything is in the green. My doc is still offering to refer me out to a clinic rheumatologist, or perhaps the endocrinologist. But my medication manager indicated that sometimes people who have shingles have long-lasting ill effects. So maybe it’s just that.
And all the medical professionals keep telling me to avoid stress.
To quote this James Corden skit, what a month this week has been.