Thursday, February 25, 2016

Doctor's Notes, Permission Slips, and Vera

In the latest of my medical drama over this evil bastard twin, better known as my 3rd dermoid cyst, this one is a doozy.

I went to the specialist on Tuesday to discuss getting my surgery set up and so on.  She seemed really nice.  Kinda went overboard on the description of what's happening in my body considering I. Already. Know. This. But, nonetheless, sweet as an orange.

But also tart as an orange.

Things were finally getting into place when she decides that I need just one more thing for my surgery to make it complete:

Specialist: "I need you to get a note from your therapist on getting this surgery."

Me: "A note? What for?"

Specialist: "Well, just so we have it on file that it is okay to perform the surgery."

Hold up hold up hold up hold up. Did the specialist say, in other words, that you need a permission slip from your psychologist in order to get your last ovary and tube removed?

Yes, Dear Reader, you read that correctly.

What are you, five-years old?

In dog years, yes.  In the eyes of every single got damn doctor I have had to deal with this up to this point, yes.

Hey, these OB/GYN "professionals" are the ones that are making my PTSD worse when it comes to delaying the surgery and not resolving the problem.  If these doctors like their tax money to keep coming into my bank account every month, then who am I to complain, right?

Aw come on, Vera. That's not fair....

It's not?  You know what else is not fair?  That an autistic individual with PTSD and other mental health problems is seen, by doctors, as an incompetent, delusional, and down right unintelligent patient.  This is a huge pet peeve of mine; to have my IQ of 116 insulted by these physicians.

Oh, and this is really funny: when I told the specialist that I run a blog as part of my therapy, she was like: "Don't mention me!"  This is a no-name blog post; everybody is suspect, heh.

Meanwhile, I'm extremely lucky that the pain is very minimal.  This affords me a bit of time to take care of some things before the surgery, which is tentatively scheduled for March 31.

So, are you, um, going to get this doctor's note?

Heh, I really don't want to.  Here's the twist: my psychologist really doesn't want to write one.  She thinks this is just as absurd as I do.  I don't see either my psychologist or my psychiatrist until mid-March.  So now I wait, once again.  The waiting game continues.

But until then, I have some awesome stuff coming up.

If I can get rid of this head cold I came down with this morning, I am going away for a mini-vaykay!  I leave in a few days, so I want to make sure I'm healthy as fuck so I can enjoy getting out of Cleveland for a minute.

Also, Purim is down the road, and I'm getting ready to get to it as a game show on my temple's first APP (Adult Purim Party).

Your temple's APP? Who in the hell came up with that name?

Ummm, MEEEEE.  Well, at least the "APP" part I came up with, heh.

Well, hang in there.  Get entirely well so you can do your thing, whatever that thing is.

Thank you, Dear Reader.

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