Finished Off By Hiccups at 4:30am
I paid $150 badly needed dollars today to go to the doctor and get tested for the illness I was possibly exposed to by Mr. Emotionally Unavailable's authentic Paraguayan exeperience. The doctor confirmed that the chances were very low that I actually contracted the illness and that Mr. EU's test results did most likely show an immunity, as he had previously asserted. I find out Monday, but I had absolutely none of the symptoms listed other than fatigue, which is also a by-product of the thyroid disease (Grave's disease) that I have but often forget about (read pretend like it doesn't exist).
We actually spent quite a bit of time discussing Grave's Disease, which I adamantly refuse to seek treatment for as the options are constantly adjusted and not necessarily effective medication for the rest of my life, burning away bits of my thyroid with radioactive iodine and then being on medication for the rest of my life (the option the doctors reccomend), or surgical removal of the thyroid and being on medication for the rest of my life. While these forms of treatment all sound like such great fun, since being formally diagnosed two years ago I have chosen the ostrich method of treatment; that is to bury my head in the sand. The symptoms include huge energy swings (I'm usually tired, but then again I lead a pretty full life), barely noticable occasional shaking, sleeplessness, anxiety, and irritability (and here I thought I was just a pissy bitch!); the main risks in not getting treatment include heart attack, stroke, double vision, frog eyes, and osteoperosis (which my mom has pretty severely). Evidently as you get older, it swings from hyper to hypo on some sick energy pendulum, according to today's doctor...which kind of reaffirms my decision not to pump my body full of prescription drugs that I'm certain will fuck with body, as they'd be rather innefectual anyway if I'm to be swinging back and forth between thyroid disorders.
Cigarettes, alcohol and the occasional recreational drugs, however, are good for your thyroid and don't fuck with your body at all.
I never claimed I wasn't a complete hypocrite.
Anyway, I had kind of forgotten about the whole disease I already have thing, and forgotten how upset doctors get when you choose a route other than the conventional pharmaceutical industry driven one they prescribe for your well being. The notion that someone wouldn't want to pump their body full of expensive prescription drugs and radioactiove iodine and the like is so alien to most doctors that they get quite angry and aggressive, at least in my limited experience. This doctor, we'll call him Doc-out-of -the-Box, was actually fairly cool about it, especially once I explained that I didn't have health insurance and that my case of Grave's Disease was still fairly mild as far as I knew. He was also incredibly cool about the possible Paraguayan illness exposure, and commended Mr. EU for being forthcoming and alerting me as soon as he was informed himself; I am not yet so forgiving (though it does depend upon what moment you catch me in). He was also a fabulous gay man, so I of course adored him from the get go.
And that was my visit to the doctor.
This post was begun hours ago, before the surprise block party on my stoop, discovered as I went to take the trash out. Before over four hours of discussion and comraderie with all of my neighbors, both in my own building as well as adjacent ones. Before the plans for a block barbecue 2 weekends away, and before remembering how much more to life there is than my own little solopsistic vantage point.
This post was also begun long before the infernal beer inspired hiccups currently plagueing my almost 4:30am existance.
Tomorrow will be more than a challenge, but I definitely needed tonight.
Mr. EU used to mock my neighborhood, himself being a very long time East Village resident, but at this very moment in time I wouldn't trade Hell's Kitchen for any other locale.
Except one without hiccups.
What a day. What a week. What an unexpected night.
We actually spent quite a bit of time discussing Grave's Disease, which I adamantly refuse to seek treatment for as the options are constantly adjusted and not necessarily effective medication for the rest of my life, burning away bits of my thyroid with radioactive iodine and then being on medication for the rest of my life (the option the doctors reccomend), or surgical removal of the thyroid and being on medication for the rest of my life. While these forms of treatment all sound like such great fun, since being formally diagnosed two years ago I have chosen the ostrich method of treatment; that is to bury my head in the sand. The symptoms include huge energy swings (I'm usually tired, but then again I lead a pretty full life), barely noticable occasional shaking, sleeplessness, anxiety, and irritability (and here I thought I was just a pissy bitch!); the main risks in not getting treatment include heart attack, stroke, double vision, frog eyes, and osteoperosis (which my mom has pretty severely). Evidently as you get older, it swings from hyper to hypo on some sick energy pendulum, according to today's doctor...which kind of reaffirms my decision not to pump my body full of prescription drugs that I'm certain will fuck with body, as they'd be rather innefectual anyway if I'm to be swinging back and forth between thyroid disorders.
Cigarettes, alcohol and the occasional recreational drugs, however, are good for your thyroid and don't fuck with your body at all.
I never claimed I wasn't a complete hypocrite.
Anyway, I had kind of forgotten about the whole disease I already have thing, and forgotten how upset doctors get when you choose a route other than the conventional pharmaceutical industry driven one they prescribe for your well being. The notion that someone wouldn't want to pump their body full of expensive prescription drugs and radioactiove iodine and the like is so alien to most doctors that they get quite angry and aggressive, at least in my limited experience. This doctor, we'll call him Doc-out-of -the-Box, was actually fairly cool about it, especially once I explained that I didn't have health insurance and that my case of Grave's Disease was still fairly mild as far as I knew. He was also incredibly cool about the possible Paraguayan illness exposure, and commended Mr. EU for being forthcoming and alerting me as soon as he was informed himself; I am not yet so forgiving (though it does depend upon what moment you catch me in). He was also a fabulous gay man, so I of course adored him from the get go.
And that was my visit to the doctor.
This post was begun hours ago, before the surprise block party on my stoop, discovered as I went to take the trash out. Before over four hours of discussion and comraderie with all of my neighbors, both in my own building as well as adjacent ones. Before the plans for a block barbecue 2 weekends away, and before remembering how much more to life there is than my own little solopsistic vantage point.
This post was also begun long before the infernal beer inspired hiccups currently plagueing my almost 4:30am existance.
Tomorrow will be more than a challenge, but I definitely needed tonight.
Mr. EU used to mock my neighborhood, himself being a very long time East Village resident, but at this very moment in time I wouldn't trade Hell's Kitchen for any other locale.
Except one without hiccups.
What a day. What a week. What an unexpected night.
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 4:20 AM
1 Comments:
skoehler,
i can't pee quietly, i'm ovulating (said in whisper voice while repeatedly accidentally kicking friend's leg over fries at joe's inn).
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