A Spoonie Meltdown
We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this Spoonie Meltdown. Last week started like any other week. Well, that might be overstating it. I had been on vacation. I came back Monday to an already overfull work week and hundreds of emails to respond to from the days out. I also had 3 doctor appointments scheduled. Did I do that on purpose? No. The allergy shots are timed and the timing has nothing to do with me. The endocrinologist appointment is every 3 months, and it had been scheduled months earlier. And the rheumatologist appointment was new. I made it the day my shoulder joint completely gave out, and being a new patient, it took months to get this new doctor to see me. So to say that I began the week already stressed is a fair statement.
So Monday morning, I was already getting work demands about requests that were made from my vacation. I hadn’t been back 2 hours before people were demanding results. I still hadn’t even read their original emails yet. I was also asked to do 2 conference calls— during 2 of my scheduled doctor appointments that week. If people had checked my calendar before scheduling these, they could have easily avoided a problem.
So by Wednesday at the endocrinologist, I was already harried. The appointment itself did not go well. Nothing but bad news. So when the doctor led me to the blood draw room and the nurse lifted her arm, pointed, and yelled, “No! Go!”, apparently she was already “closed for the day”. That’s the exact moment that it happened: I lost it. The doctor took me to the receptionist and then he high tailed it behind closed doors. I knew what this meant; they had done this to me before. I was going to have to come back—now a 4th appointment for the week. A 4th time off from work. I was going to have to pay again to park, make the hike from the parking deck, and come back to this office. You have got to be kidding me. Cue the meltdown.
The meltdown looked similar to the one Steve Martin had in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”, the one he had at the rental car counter, only a few less F bombs. And this staff, who is normally surly and mean, who I normally have to kiss their butts to get what I need (lab results, rx refills, you know, their jobs), they were scared. “Please calm down, Mrs. Clardy. We’re so sorry, Mrs. Clardy. There’s nothing we can do, Mrs. Clardy.”
Puh-lease. This is an endocrinologist office. Every single patient in there gets a blood draw. And they close the lab while there are still patients in the rooms? And I wasn’t the only one being made to come back? Yep. Would they even consider pulling blood before we see the doctor? Wouldn’t that make sense? Nope. I was told, “It’s against procedure.”
I then cried the entire hour it took to get home in rush hour. I arrived home hyperventilating, mascara all over my blouse, eyes swollen. My poor husband. He endured one full hour of me yelling and crying. I yelled so much, I lost my voice (luckily for my husband).
Now, I think we all know full and well (and I even knew it at the time it was happening) and can go ahead and say, that one missed blood draw and one extra appointment is NOT the end of the world and is NOT worth all of these histrionics and all of this melodrama. But you know what IS? The Life of a Spoonie. I’m sorry, but this one instance was just the last straw on this Spoonie’s back.
I’m sorry, but the things we deal with every day of our Spoonie existence are just too much. Period. We work when we feel like crap. We have to explain to our jobs why we need yet another hour off work for yet another doctor appointment. We have doctor appointment after doctor appointment where they make us wait for hours on end to hear rarely any good news. We get diagnosis piled on top of diagnosis. We constantly battle insurance companies and incorrect EOBs. We are juggling prescriptions, often having to fight for refills. We take piles of pills all day long that in some cases have such side effects we wonder why we are taking them. I’m sorry, but no one should have to deal with all of the things we deal with. As we well know, being chronically ill, in a word, sucks.
When I went back for my blood draw 2 days later, I wasn’t much better, but I was quiet. The nurse in the lab was surprisingly apologetic and was trying to blame it all on the doctor. I finally just looked at her and said, “Can you take off work 4 times in one week for doctor appointments?” And she replied, “Never.”. “Then why do you think I can?” Of course, she had no response to that.
Bottom line, I go along every day doing the things that I need to do as a chronically ill person to keep going: I go to work when I feel awful, I go to my zillion doctor appointments, I take my handfuls of meds, I spend hours on the phone with insurance companies, I say, “I’m fine” when people ask me. I keep going because I have to. Because I have no choice. And typically, I do it with a fake smile plastered on my face. But every so often, I come to a point where I just can’t take it any more. So every once in a while, I am entitled to my occasional meltdown. So until the next one happens, I now return you to your regularly scheduling programming.
Article written by staff writer, Kelly Clardy
Kelly lives in Atlanta with her husband and kitty. She developed PIDD in 1995, went undiagnosed until 2007, and has been receiving IVIG ever since. She also has: capillary hemangioma of the colon, chronic anemia, Hashimotos, insulin resistance, palindromic arthritis, and a host of other dxs. By day, she’s a Senior Project Coordinator and a Zebra. She can be found lurking on twitter, @collie1013 and Facebook, Kelly Jaeckle Clardy.
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