Was awake a little over two days straight last week, followed by a day-long sleep from which I didn’t wake even to feed my cats, the poor things. Finally roused myself at 7 am and managed to feed them, refresh their water bowl, and clean the litter boxes — and went back to bed.
Health, what the crap.
I’m on my way home from the doctor’s office as I write this. The disability forms are filled and will be sent today by the clinic, along with the copies of my psych reports. Now I wait, hope and fret.
Please let it be enough. Please. I’m so tired.
Second unexpected side effect of new med: constant insomnia-hypersomnia cycles. Bloody grand. It’s not worth my cats starving.
Got bone density test requisition. I’ll arrange the appointment tomorrow. No immediate need for hormone replacement therapy.
Filled out the long-term funding application and copied all the necessary documents it asked for. The gyno appointment put me in roughly the same vicinity as the funding office, so I figured I’d drop it off on my way home, but the gyno fell behind in her appointments when one patient took several minutes longer than anticipated, and mine finished after the funding office closed. Thankfully, the drugstore at the other end of the building has a postal outlet, so I did the semi-lazy thing and mailed the application instead. Fingers crossed for a good result.
I’m glad I brought the walker with me. I wasn’t sure if I’d need it, since I felt relatively good when I left for the appointment, but the left-hand site got stabby on my way home. Gyno had to pull the rest of the stitches out because they didn’t fall out on their own. Stupid slow healing, and stupid lupus for giving me the stupid slow healing.
Now to wait some more. At least I have new books to read.
The surgery went well. I spent the first day pissing a lot of watery blood, which seems to have been a side effect of the procedure. Recovery’s been slow and laden with pain dull and sharp despite regular doses of naproxen — some of it actually feels worse than from the previous surgery — and I can’t be on my feet very long before I need to be off them again. It was still worth it. My immediate concern is now bone density.
I admit to wondering briefly whether I’d wake up from the anaesthetic. Part of me didn’t want to. The other part is just trudging mechanically along.
My cat Immi barely left my side during the first couple of days, which I spent mostly abed. She took very good care of me.
I also received the application forms for the long-term funding and have been filling them out. The sooner I can get it to the right office, the sooner I can bring the necessary paperwork to my psychiatrist to sign. Just need to hang on a little longer.
How odd that I should be sweeping up the pieces of my life while death occurs all around me. I almost feel like the centre of a storm.
Going to need the gabapentin to sleep tonight. The pain is a bit too much to ignore this time.
I began tearing up in her office when she agreed. I don’t dare relax until the funding has been secured and its figures are staring me in the face. The necessary paperwork is already on its way to me.
The talk we had was more productive. She looked horrified to hear of the new med’s effects and apologised for what I endured. I have a mood stabiliser to try, which I’ll do after I’ve recovered a bit from surgery tomorrow.
Tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it.
I slept another ten hours after my last post, effectively blitzing out Sunday. I’m still tired.
Made it to the doctor. He chuckled a little, winced some, and shook his head at the descriptions of my dementia episodes et al last week, and agreed that it had to be a side effect of that medication. He didn’t think there was a need for Alzheimer’s testing, however, but went to the effort of looking up the med’s information to see if anything about it could cause such effects. Nothing of note came up, so it’s possible I’m just one of the lucky sods who reacts poorly to it.
At my mention of partial deafness, he did a quick check and found some fluid behind my eardrums, likely left over from the wicked cold I got at year’s end rather than the med, so he gave me something for that. I hope it works.
I admit his reactions had me unsure whether he was taking me seriously — I know how ridiculous those dementia episodes sounded — until I told him I was scared. The levity faded at that point, but I think he’ll worry only if I start showing some kind of permanent damage as a result of the one dose I took.
Tomorrow, I get to see an anaesthesiologist for pre-surgical screening. I go under the knife in three weeks to extract bits that have been making me sick for decades, and it’ll be a relief to finally have them gone. I know I’ll be in good hands for the procedure, so I’m trying to tell the anxiety to shove off until it’s actually time to be anxious, but it never listens.
At least it won’t cost me anything. Hurray for this aspect of Canadian healthcare.