Vexation atop frustration layered over nihilism perhaps?
I used to care a lot. Certain things I still do.
But I’ve got a bad case of the “fuck its.”
Where’s the beginning of my descent into medical mishaps?
The easier answer might be, which one?
This one involves a metric shit ton of referrals. Also, pardon my goddamned French. Or don’t. Whatever.
Current stuff is easier to remember, thanks neurontin.
The pain management doc wanted me to see a chiropractor and a rheumatologist. The rheumatologist ordered labs but is sure I’m fine except for what presents as a possible malar rash so now I need to see a dermatologist for rosacea?! The physical therapist is concerned by me seeing the chiropractor. She thinks it’s too high impact. This is what I’ve been saying for 16 fucking months. The pain management doc refuses to do trigger point injections, acupuncture or dry needling because sometimes these flare my fibromyalgia. Every damned thing from humidity to strong scents flare me up. My primary care doc won’t see me for things any other provider is seeing me for and since she’s referred everything out, having her on my medical team is tedious and redundant.
It’s a big circle jerk and I’m the only one getting fucked.
I could be having a crisis of faith. Lamenting why me? I could make myself a nuisance until my primary care doc looks at the whole affair and makes a qualified decision. I could demand referrals back to civilian docs and then take all the drugs they convince you to take instead of healing what’s wrong. I could probably do a lot of things.
So far I’m just doing what they tell me. I’m not outraged anymore. I’m not hopeful anymore. I’m just sort of here. Here is sufficient. Here isn’t going anywhere. Here isn’t making any waves. It is what it is. If I ever thought I knew what ‘it’ was, I was a bloody liar. There is no rhyme or reason. There’s just a lot of tedium, even with the ups and downs. This is just life. I’m not sure why. There doesn’t need to be a why, a where or a what. That lesson in high school lit only ever sounded good to the youthful and hope filled, those who think they’ll burn hot and bright and fast.
I work at being mindful, eating healthy, being less wasteful, but I don’t hope to save the world that way. I don’t even hope to save myself. Who wants saving? Who needs saving? Being broken is the new trend but implies all the broken things can be fixed, upgraded or replaced. There’s no referral or prescription to fill for entropy. Things break. There it is.
Move to the next play thing, be the next big thing or just float until the end. I think I’m floating but it doesn’t matter. There’s a sort of cold calmness when nothing matters. Things hurt less. The happy feels are less felt too. Somewhere that makes me mourn for something I can’t remember losing but I’m sure I must have lost.
It is what it is. I don’t know what it is, as that’s not my specialty.