Lorazepam!

Today was my follow-up appointment to my doctors. In preparation I popped an Ativan before heading out. I had been taking them for a couple days and felt no effects. I had no anxiety, but I normally don't when I'm home. So, no side effects or any noticeable effects whatsoever was good enough for me. I thought maybe they're placebo's. That'd be a great practical joke.

                "Hey, grandma I replaced all your pills with Smarties. Pretty good one huh? Oh relax, I'm sure your blood pressure is fine!"

Once I got into the car with my mother I realized taking a pill to reduce my anxiety was the smartest thing I've done in a while. After being stuck in traffic with her, hearing her pick apart every living person that walked by, yell at a bunch of kids for crossing the street wrong and generally just being my mom I was glad I had a little chemical help. 

"LISTEN KID I WILL COME OVER THERE AND GODDAMN STRANGLE YOU WITH YOUR LOWER INTESTINE IF YOU DARE CROSS THE PATH OF MY CHILD CRUSHER MOBILE!"

She didn't say those exact words, but if she had my respect-o meter would've certainly shot up. 

 

We finally get to the doctors office. I'm quasi-traumatized from the ride there. I was sure if they were gonna make us wait, she'd go Bruce Campbell a la Army of Darkness on everyone's ass. I prayed to the Pfizer gods everything would work out, not for my sake, but for everyone's lives. I'm thoughtful. 

"We don't have you scheduled for today...", the receptionist informed me.

'Dear god, lady. You don't even know what Pandora's box you just opened. Ever see Hellraiser?', I thought to myself. 

"Well, I have my appointment card right here...", I pulled it from my wallet. My mom grabbed it out of my hands. "See...the 28th!"

My mom paused. Someone was going to get hell. 'Please don't take it out on these poor innocent folks', I begged, hoping my thoughts could transfer.

 

She makes it look easy. It's not. 

 

 

 "Erin, this is for NEXT MONTH!", my mom said, rolling her eyes. "Ya fahkin retahded, ya know that?" 

I was happy it wasn't someone else's fault. I can handle the rage. I've grown a thick skin to it. 

"Mum...I love you. This was a ploy to spend time with you." It seemed like a proper response. I gave her my best please-don't-tear-me-a-new-one-look.

Pretty much this face here. Minus the ass head.

So, we went to the express clinic downstairs. It didn't appear very busy. (I needed something for my jaw pain. Never having had my wisdom teeth removed, I got to experience the facial equivalence of child birth pain.) So, "EXPRESS" clinic. Let's find out exactly what that word means first and then we'll move on.

 

"ex·press [ik-spres]

 

11.direct or fast, especially making few or no intermediate stops: an express train; an express elevator."

 

I don't know if that term is subjective or not, but 3 hours in an express clinic is not very "express" to me. If 3 hours is express, what the goddamn hell is lengthy? 

Bottom line of that story, the nurse practitioner, who bared the best resemblance I've seen to Cruella DeVille, gave me some pain relievers to get through the weekend before I make a dentist appointment. 

"And I expect you to take these twice a day, or I'll turn your beloved family pet into mittens!"

After that fiasco, we went to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription. It was called in at the wrong pharmacy. Another hour of my life gone, wandering down the isles looking at cheap Halloween decorations and tampons. 

What I've learned today:

Double check appointment cards

Cruella DeVille loves making patients wait 

Lorazepam is extremely helpful

My heart rate wasn't the usual 130bpms with the medication

It was 82bpms. Win.

My mom's wrath is ungodly. (This is a continual learning process)

Well, until my next appointment...

(P.S. Still waiting on a call from the endocrinologist for an appointment, and no results yet from the heart monitor. I'm getting use to waiting. My anxiety isn't gone, but my patience is getting to the monk level. DING!)

Beep...beep...beep..beepbeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEP!

Finally went back for the follow-up to my blood tests today. Everything went great! Except for, you know, that part that didn't. That part went not great. One of my thyroid tests came back showing an under active thyroid, which technically should make me lethargic and my heart rate slower. My body said "FUCK THAT" and decided that despite what the results are saying my heart rate will remain fast and anxiety full force.
My thyroid is like America- lazy, under active and, strangely enough, really enjoys McDonalds.

Ultrasound of my thyroid.

 So, I never started the Ativan, because I'm a stubborn bitch and figured it's a temporary solution to a long-term problem and I don't like temporary solutions. I mistakenly thought, "Once my thyroids score straight A's she will see it's my brain causing all the mischief." I was wrong. Irrelevant to my anxiety or not, the thyroid issue is an issue of it self. She gave me a referral to a endocrinologist (fancy term for doctor that studies weird neck stuff) and for my heart, since I hadn't been taking the meds, she has me wearing a heart monitor for 24 hours. Is it anxiety or is my heart rate normally this fast? That's basically what she's trying to get out of that. She'll call me when she gets the results to decide whether or not she will prescribe long-term medication. After the heart monitoring, I will have to start taking my medication. 

The fun thing about the heart monitor is I feel like a cyborg. I have wires everywhere and a little handheld thing to record all my heart beats. The downside, besides the fact that the handheld device does not have Pacman (trust me, I asked), is that I have to record everything I do. So, basically what people have been doing with Facebook since it's existence.

"3:34pm - Took shit - No Symptoms"
"3:36pm - Admired shit - Symptoms: Pride"
"3:45pm - Napped - Symptoms: Dreamt of prideful poop"

"4:00pm - Sobbed hysterically into pillow about poop being highlight of day - Symptoms: Shame"

And so on and so forth...

Still better than a Wii.