No wonder I can’t get anything done.
Evidently this is (from what info I can get on the Net and BOY! is it scary) a tangled little nest of capillaries that swell up when I get a bad headache. It’s the blood pressure spike that makes the difference, I guess. So I finally found a doctor (in the ER) who ran this blood test and came back saying WOW! I think I know what’s wrong with you.
So then of course, the fight with the insurance company was on, since if I was an insurance company, I wouldn’t be in the business of spending money. I would be in the business of getting your money, making it impossible for you to get treatment and praying to a voodoo doll that you would drop dead before I had to shell out one nickel.
That’s how I would run an insurance company. And I would be driving one fancy car, let me tell you!
That’s how my insurance company likes to run things, too. Except I am married to a really scary man and have a really scary doctor. So after a lot of growling (the men) and sobbing (me), I’m going to Stanford to get my head fixed. I read on the net the choices they have…and none of them sound pretty.
One of them sounds like they shoot crazy glue up into the little rat’s nest of capillaries and that’s that. (Sounds icky, doesn’t it?) Or they can snake a wire thru a vessel in my groin and stick a wire in there. (Now THERE’S a picture for ya!) Or they can drill a hole in my head and dig around (visualize looking in your handbag for a nickel). There are some other fixes, depending.
Depending on what you ask?
Well, I am of the opinion that doctors barely know what they are doing most of the time. This is one of them. We are all in agreement that the spiking blood pressure is going to kill me. We are all in agreement that something needs to be fixed. We are all in agreement that I am in one big pickle. For me, depending usually means depending if I can find shoes that match or some change for a soda.
Depending does not usually mean I have to decide what to do about my head…shoot crazy glue in it? Stick an IUD in it? Or drill a hole in it? And when you talk about drilling holes, how bad is it going to hurt? Look? ANd when this doctor who looks young enough to be my son tells me he will make sure I get enough medication to make me comfortable…exactly how much is that? Because there I am, strapped to a table and he has a Craftsman drill in his hand. I’d have to be PRETTY medicated to fell comfortable in that situation.
And most of all, is it going to get rid of the headache or am I going to have some crazy glue in my head and it still hurts?
I did get to meet some really good doctors and one ass (he had just gotten out of school and for some reason did not think that drugs would be of any help. Why? Because he read in a medical magazine that it doesn’t. Really? I read magazines, too. NOT ONCE have I read that withholding pain meds from a woman writing in pain, crying, with a BP of 290/250 is a good idea.) So they sent in this little doctor who shot me up with a bunch of different stuff, (which made me puke) and then decided maybe my first suggestion of the pain meds that always work for me might be a good choice. He was the doctor who told me that being a doctor is like being an artist or a scientific illustrator. No answers, just luck. And sometimes assholes have no luck at all.
So I have a diagnosis and an emergency appointment in Stanford at their migraine clinic. Wish me well because for some reason, the theme song from “One Flew Out of A Cuckoos Nest” keeps running through my head.