Shaken Up

Yesterday was a very bad day. This is not edited, I am not up for it right now.
Comment if you need clarification.

Trigger Warning: self harm, suicide, shitty doctors, and fatphobia (let me know if other need to be added)

I’d been told by my doctor and a neurologist to see a rheumatologist, just to rule anything out. Having migraines every day for five years, I get sent to all sorts of doctors and tried on all kinds of medications, so this wasn’t a surprise.

We saw this doctor twice. The first time was bad, the second time was a million times worse.

The first visit she went over all of my tests, said that I just have migraines all the time, and that’s it. She asked some questions about how various pressure points feel, but said she wasn’t going to test them since she was sure I didn’t have anything.

She then went on to tell me I have severe psychiatric issues and that’s probably why I have migraines. After that she described in detail her sisters illness, along with how she thinks her sister is too weak to deal with having an illness, and some people are like that. I was told I am one of those people, that I am just not a strong enough person to manage being chronically ill, so I shouldn’t expect anything of myself. I should deal with this is how my life is, and according to her I’ve always been sick, so what more did I expect? Also, I should also do an exercise program. Even if it makes my migraines worse and makes me sick, I need to get over it, because exercising is more important than being sick.

She ended by saying my gynecologist didn’t do his job right and reordered a bunch of tests done. She said when I came back she would give me a referral to a neurological center that I’ve tried to get a referral to.

A week later, after submitting to the testing, I went back.

This time, she commented on how short I cut my nails. When I told her it was from an anxiety issue I have, she proceeded to tell me I need to find other ways to deal with my anxiety, and that my migraines are from severe psychological issues. That I need to see a psychologist all the time, and not see a psychiatrist, because I should not be on any medication for these issues (which I am taking medication for).

Next came that my blood work was good, that all of my organs are in great shape, including my liver and kidneys. It seems my only real issue is my migraines, which might come from fibromyalgia, but she doesn’t think so. Again, she didn’t do any testing other than looking at my hands, and that was the extent of any physical exam.

After that was the information on how I spend my day. I was told pointedly that I need to spend more time alone, doing things for myself. One of those things needs to be intense exercise. Even if I get physically ill, I need to start something immediately. Overweight people need to work out, no matter what illnesses they have, it’s not an excuse. I need to spend even more time alone, in particular, without my pets. Having them around is just too much for me, and by being ill and having pets, I don’t think I’m abusing them but I really am. I can’t give them what they need because I’m sick, it’s not fair to them or me. Even if they’re happy and healthy, it’s not true because I am not caring for them properly. She then told me to get rid of all of my animals, I absolutely had to. We argued about this, she ignored Dianne and any mentions I made of how Dianne helps care for our pets as well. Next it was that I’m a smart girl, and I’m wasting my time trying to not feel sick from my migraines all day. I need to do things, like get a job I like, like she does, that will make me feel better. I need to stop lying around all day doing nothing. Last, even though my tests all look good, being overweight means I will need a liver transplant when I’m 40 (which is in about 6 years by the way). Every fat person in the country will need a liver transplant, and we all could avoid that if we just would do some exercise.

This was all said in a matter of fact, but very concerned and sincere way. If I tried to explain my side or that what she was saying wasn’t true, she argued and eventually changed the subject. She said she would give me the neurological referral only if I got worse.

It wasn’t until we left and were driving home that it all hit me.

On the freeway on the way home all of it kept repeating in my head. Despite everything I’ve done to accept who I am, to deal with the fact that I am sick, that I have limitations, it didn’t matter. I had never really hated myself for being fat, never felt ugly or disgusting because of it, but now I did. Now I’m going to die from being fat anyways. I’m this weak person who won’t be strong enough to have a life, and I’m making others suffer for it.

By the time we got home I had pretty much resolved to kill myself. I didn’t want to be this fat sick burden on anyone. I can’t get over how awful my head and body feel all the time. I thought we took good care of our animals, one of the few things that make me feel better, but now I’m just an abusive hoarder. I wanted to not be here anymore, or to cut myself until I didn’t hurt anymore. I couldn’t figure out a way to kill myself that I was sure would work. I was feeling worse just sitting here not doing anything about it. I can’t get better, I can’t kill myself, what is the point of me being here, giant useless burden that I am. I cried for over an hour. I didn’t want Dianne anywhere near me, or even looking at me, I felt like a disgusting fat thing. I didn’t want the dogs or cats near me, since I’m just hurting them anyways. I didn’t cut myself, I used every dumb little excuse I could think of to talk myself out of it, no matter how much better it makes me feel. I spent the night crying on an off, ate dinner even though I was too depressed to eat, and forcing myself to do anything that made me feel better, even if I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I told one friend what was going on. Now I hope that I’m telling more.

Its been 24 hours since that appointment. I still feel sick to my stomach. I still hear what was said, and I can’t make it stop. I’m trying to get back to where I was before that, where I loved my body, where I knew my animals the way people know their children, where I concentrate on getting better, not doing stupid things to make myself worse. I keep reminding myself she is a shitty doctor, I am not a shitty person. I’m not going back there (obviously), and I’m not leaving.

Bringing the Pain, and TMI

It’s probably a bad thing when ER staff start recognizing you. Not just by seeing you either, just your name is enough. I have reached this point. Today’s trip to the ER involved the doctor walking in saying “Back again? Well at least you’re one of the easy ones!” then proceeded to recommend her usual migraine cocktail for me.

Haha no. Those are my "I already tried to get rid of it" meds.

Haha no. Those are my “I already tried to get rid of it” meds.

Up to this point we were fine. I like this doctor, she doesn’t mess around and won’t give me narcotics, which some doctors oddly think are awesome for migraines. I never want morphine ever again, I explain every time. They just stare at me, like I’m crazy. I’m wrong too, if I lose a limb I will gladly accept morphine. Then again the nurses stare at me like I’m crazy because I suggest my brain could be fixed with a good brick smashed into it. My sense of humor is inappropriate at best.

Once they find out my pain scale (you should always say 10 by the way, otherwise you’re not super important. They also don’t accept numbers over ten, such as eleven billion, I’ve tried. I’ve considered bringing them a copy of the “a better pain scale” comic for these instances). Next you get a partitioned area/room/cubicle. Now, this is yet another reason I go to this hospital. Your area comes with a TV (you have to share with the other person on the other side of the curtain), you get a recliner instead of those panic attack inducing, completely uncomfortable, and once or twice doused with vomit or blood that was not properly cleaned up gurney beds. Lastly? They usually only allow ONE visitor per patient, so less kids running around, and very few babies crying. Its best if you go to the ER on nights that The Walking Dead is airing. Everyone loves it, so people are nicer to you (Except this one really religious lady one time who kept loudly saying possible bible things at the TV, which once she saw Dianne and I progressed to things about us. I think I threw up when she was there. Vomit karma.)

Once you’re in the chair, that’s when the meds come, which is usually pretty quick. Today was an IV, which I get so often you would think they could just follow the marks from the last few. This is where things can get rocky and uncomfortable. I either get awesome nurses or really terrible ones. Awesome ones listen to when I say that I prefer my IV in a certain place, and that I need certain meds first unless they want to clean up multiple bodily fluids (getting old sucks, did you know you start to pee yourself when you vomit? Yeah, now you know its coming, you’ve been warned). If I get one of those nurses who refuses to listen (which is always the big issue with bad ones), I assume the bodily fluid cleanup is really their karma. Or maybe an important lesson for them to learn… not sure.

Today’s nurses were bad. The first one was irritated that I wanted my IV somewhere else and wouldn’t do it, plus he called a me a liar about my migraines last time I was there, so I have a bit of a grudge. On top, he got mad that I even suggested that an IV that any nurse there placed would end up bruising my arm. Next we had the ex stripper nurse (Not so big secret: when I was stripping, 90% of the strippers I knew were in school to become nurses or medical assistants. Once you know that, it’s not too hard to pick out the ex strippers in any medical facility.) She ignored me about the order my meds need to be in, so she got to be on vomit watch. Grumpy, surly, irritated in general. Did I offend her in some way? Personally, I wanted to be warned if vomit is coming. Maybe she likes vomit. I’m not hip with the cool fetishes I guess.

From here, I’m not sure if an injection in the stomach normally bruises this badly, or if there was something she was taking out on me. It was my first stomach injection, and I was terrified. “Ok this one goes in your tummy” she said, filling the needle. I was ready to leave, I wanted to say “Nevermind, I feel better, let’s get this IV out and I’ll head home”. I’m not afraid of needles, I’ve had probably hundreds of injections at this point. I generally get comments about how surprising it is when I don’t care about injections, or IV’s where they need to dig around for a bit to find that pesky little hand vein, basically, I can handle this stuff like a champ. Not today, nope, we are never doing that again. (Please picture a bleach blonde tanned nurse with sparkly American flag fake nails coming at your bared stomach with a needle, I don’t think I can find a picture that specific.)

I am sure you’re waiting for something interesting to happen by now, but really in my migraine ER stories, things always get fuzzy at this point. Everything hits fast, and if it goes well, then I’m loopy (or loopier). If it goes badly, well, we talked about that already (once a nurse actually asked what I ate that day as she threw away the bag, which grossed me out more than the fact that I vomited). I do happen to like at this point is when they always get me to sign the paperwork consenting to treatment, billing, etc. They should just give me a crayon, it would explain the quality of my signature at that point so much more. At least a typical visit is less than 2 hours start to finish.

When we finally left, my arm is bruised from the IV. My stomach is bruised from that stupid injection. And… my migraine is back two hours later. It was nice to have those couple of hours off of the brain through a blender feelings.

Last, two thoughts:

1. They always ask if I’ve been exposed to Malaria, Mrsa, Hepatitis, or any communicable diseases. I say no, but then I remember I’m in the ER, I could have been exposed to them in the waiting room for all I know.

2. Its not considered “acceptable” to diagnose yourself if its a strange disease. Migraines, sprained ankles, that stuff is ok to suggest. You get listed as crazy if you ask to be tested for Hantavirus.

I lied, three things. Odd personal side note: I’ve dated a few alcoholics, and that’s not easy. You have to learn to keep up or basically stay home and break up really soon. Due to keeping up I used to vomit like a champ. Stealth vomits that no one ever knew about, kept partying, felt fine the next day. Now it feels like actual death. On top of that, all of the muscles in my torso hurt the next day. I just tell everyone I’m building up my vomit muscles.

All of this hurts. Yes some of it is organs, I was trying to not scare you. Those hurt too. Everything hurts, like that REM song, but about your body.

All of this hurts. Yes some of it is organs, I was trying to not scare you. Those hurt too. Everything hurts, like that REM song, but about your body.

And that’s it for our TMI portion for the day.

Deaths not an option

but it should be. Ok, I’m only saying this because I am in very extreme migraine pain. When this happens I take medications. Then a few hours later I have to take more medications. If that doesn’t help, then I have to go to the ER and have them inject me with even more medications. The migraines are daily, so the ER trips are at least once a month.

I’m very very tired of being in pain. I still cannot mentally grasp the idea that I can be in this much pain and not die. This much pain should equal death. The stupid chart at the ER even lies about this. It goes all the way to 10 for pain, at that point, shouldn’t death be likely? In so much pain that you die, that is the amount for 10. Yet, I am often in the ER, trying to explain my pain is eleven billion, when they refuse that and say I can’t go over 10, so I say ten, then I still don’t die.

This is not a “oh I’m so miserable I’ll commit suicide” thing. I don’t believe in suicide. This is a non sensicle pain thing. I’ve tried to explain to my girlfriend the advantages and disadvantages to my being dead. Here they are:


  1. No longer having to pay for health insurance
  2. No longer having to pay doctor and ER bills
  3. Cheaper groceries
  4. Satisfying ghost sex
  5. More closet space
  6. Less awkward family gatherings
  7. More space in bed
  8. Keeping the thermostat above 70
  9. No more dancing movies


  1. No more chocolate chip cookies that I make
  2. No one here to let the dogs out to pee during the day
  3. No more pajama movie night
  4. No more satisfying corporeal sex
  5. I can’t cut her hair anymore
  6. No more fish face- silly face I make that made her fall in love with me

    This Fish Face

  7. I won’t be here to attempt to put the cats in boxes they can’t fit in for amusement
  8. My super sniffer can’t detect cat poop the moment it happens- possibly an advantage.
  9. The laundry wouldn’t get done properly anymore

For the moment, I will just take another dose of medicine and watch some more Buffy the Vampire Slayer until I’m either feeling better or too tired to care, or just give up and go to the ER.