I wrote a post last week, lost to the Blogger ghosts, outlining what happened at my last appointment with my rheumatologist. It was filled with actual paragraphs; tonight it is only an outline:

  • There was the neurological exam, akin to a sobriety test. Lots of walking straight lines on my toes, touching my finger to my nose (with my eyes closed) and my favorite, mimicking the good doctor while he makes funny faces. There was also the traditional pin poking, to torture me. (No, not really to torture me - they say it is to check where the lack of sensation begins.)
  • Dr. Bong (his real name) is sending me to see my neurologist for another series of Nerve Conduction tests.
  • I will increase the gabapentin over the next few weeks, and hopefully, manage to stay awake.
  • We (meaning me) will try a therapeutic/diagnostic course of my old pal Prednisone, and if it helps,
  • I will try a DMARD. The only medication I recognized was methotrexate - which frankly scared me at first, but I am coping better now.

I ended the post with some harsh words for the scary lady/man that took my blood. It was 4:55 pm and clearly she wanted to go home. She audibly groaned when she saw me. So, she really warmed up when I told her that it can be hard to draw my blood. She took it as a personal challenge. She jabbed me and when it didn't work (told you), she didn't try again - she wiggled and jammed the tip, mid-stick, until it did.


Not all medical staff have found their calling.


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