Luckily I don’t have a lot of time. Because if I did, I would probably spend a good 4-5 days a week at the doctor’s office because God knows that I am a very sick person who just doesn’t have proof of it yet. My company gave us a week off between Christmas and New Year’s so I seized the opportunity to make an appointment with my doctor.
I told them I wanted to come in so that the doctor would give me something for my skin so that I wouldn’t have zits all the time. I think it’s a cruel, cruel world when a 35 year old woman has to endure big ass zits on her chin and jaw line all the time even while on the Pill that is supposed to help acne. I’ve already written about all my major issues around this before, but it bears repeating that my hormones are fucked up and because of it my face is a hot mess. And I’m SO done with it. So I’m willing to try whatever it is he can give me to make this all stop. And stop now. And soon.
But between the time that I made that appointment and the time it actually took place, I have had multiple reasons to believe that I have a brain tumor in its earliest form. Here is the evidence, and you tell me if this doesn’t SCREAM brain tumor:
1) I love Pitbull.
2) I was on a plane and all of a sudden my vision got all blurry and sparkly and I couldn’t read my Kindle because my eyes couldn’t focus right. After about 20 minutes it went away, but isn’t that totally, “WTF?” material?
3) When I exercise (I know! I have begun exercising for the first time since 2002 because I paid mas dinero for a Disney cruise in February and I will be forced to spend significant time in a bathing suit) my left ear feels all stuffed up and it feels like there is water in there. I hear buzzing and beeping in there too.
4) Sometimes I wake up with a headache. It usually goes away after a few minutes, but I’m not a headache type of person
even if I did polish off 3 or 4 glasses of wine the night before, so it seems unusual.
5) I have started to spell things wrong. I’m just typing emails and I’ll spell words completely wrong that I would never do otherwise. So I mean, Whoa! That sucker must be getting large if it is enough to impair my generally impeccable spelling. (Although I will admit I never spell knowlege right – I forget the damn ‘d’ in there all the time.)
So as you can see, when taken all together, those symptoms show irrefutable evidence of a stage IV brain tumor.
I decided that if I actually came out and told the doctor I wanted a brain MRI, he would probably resist me, so I thought I would give him the incontrovertible evidence of the brain tumor that I have carefully cataloged above and it would be so obvious that the next step was to do a brain MRI just for the physical evidence of the tumor. You know, people like ideas better when they think it is their idea, so I figured I could easily get him to this conclusion on his own. I mean, it’s quite obvious to me and I don’t even have medical training.
So the day arrives and I have carefully rehearsed my whole list of symptoms so that the doctor will see the gravity of my current health situation. This is how it went:
Doctor: So you’re here about your acne?
Love: Yes. Well, originally, I was and we need to discuss that, but I have other concerns now that I think I should talk to you about.
Love: Well, I have begun to work out and when I do jumping jacks, my left ear feels like its all plugged up…
Doctore: Well, let’s have a look-see… *comes at me quickly with that light-up teepee instrument and puts it my ear* Everything looks clear. Are you having trouble hearing?
Love: Well, sometimes my kids say stuff when we’re in the car and I can’t really hear them over the music I’m singing along to. I just nod and pretend I do. But I have no idea what they’re saying. I just hope I’m not agreeing to be a room parent or something scary like that.
Doctor: Hmm. Well, I can give you a referral to an audiologist if you would like. He can give you a hearing test.
Love: Well, there is some other stuff.
Love: Well, I was on a plane the other day and my vision got blurry and when I closed my eyes it was all sparkly instead of black.
Doctor: Hmm. How long did that last?
Love: Like, 15 or 20 minutes. But it made me very uneasy and I couldn’t really read my Kindle during that time, so it was very weird.
Doctor: And have you had anything like that since?
Love: Well, no….but that was two weeks ago. It could happen again any time.
Doctor: Hmm. Well, maybe go see your ophthalmologist about that.
Love: Well, and I’m not spelling as great as I used to.
Love: Well, I tried spelling ‘disintegrate’ the other day and I just totally fucked it up.
*doctor’s eyebrow goes up*. FINALLY! He is starting to grasp the gravity of the situation.
Doctor: You feel you aren’t spelling well?
Love: Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.
Doctor: Hmm. So about this acne? Your face looks a little dry. But I can see some of the cysts.
Love: I’m sure I’m hormonally imbalanced. I don’t want to be on the Pill but if I get off of it my face will erupt in the angriest *air quotes* cysts *end air quotes* you’ve ever seen. It is crappy.
Doctor: Well, sometimes that happens. Nothing topical can really help the hormone induced acne, but I could give you some topical antibiotics and a referral to a dermatologist.
(Does this fuck know anything? He has mentioned every kind of specialist except the one I need, which is the McDreamy neurosurgeon. I’m starting to lose patience).
Love: Okay, but maybe we should do blood tests or — I don’t know — maybe some sort of procedure just to be safe about what might be happening.
Doctor: Hmm. *he types furiously on his computer* So I’m going to write you a script for the antibiotics and some Flonase for the ear thing. I’ll also give you the number for an audiologist, dermatologist, gynecologist for the hormones and I’m sure you have an ophthalmologist?
Love: Well, don’t all of these things I’m telling you…you know, when taken together…suggest something? I mean, I’m no doctor but they all seem like maybe something in my brain could be wrong?
*Doctor chuckles condescendingly*
Doctor: I don’t think what you’ve told me suggests that at all. Your ear is plugged, you have acne, once your vision was blurry and sometimes you spell a word wrong.
Love: *desperation is setting in* WAIT! I forgot to tell you I have headaches some mornings. And I never have headaches.
Doctor: Some mornings? How often? How long do they last?
Love: I don’t know. Maybe three times a week? They last about 10 minutes.
Doctor: What is your pain level and where is the pain?
Love: Well, its kind of hurty. And its in my head, like I said.
Doctor: Do you take Advil for it?
Love: No, because it usually goes away before I have time to take one.
Doctor: Hmm. My nurse will be in to give you your scripts. See those specialists and we’ll work through these issues. Have a great New Year!
Love: Wait! But wait! I mean, you don’t seem concerned that I may have a…..a…..BRAIN TUMOR. (It was time to spell it out for this ass clown.)
*doctor LOLs and backs away toward the door*
Doctor: You’re funny. Have a nice day. See you in six months? Hope the antibiotics work on the acne…
Love: (mutters under my breath) Dude, I may not be alive in six months. Thanks for nothing.
Maybe I should’ve told him about Pitbull too. Maybe that is where this all went wrong but I just couldn’t trust that he would understand the significance of that data.
So here I am. MRI-less. With a brain tumor (probably) and all I can do is write this blog and then when my brain collapses in a couple of months I’ll have this entry to show everyone “I told you so!”. But then I’ll die and I won’t really have time to tell my doctor about how terrible he is for missing such obvious signs. I bet if Oprah was his patient he wouldn’t have taken this so lightly.
But I do have a Plan B. I’m going back to my psychic in February and although it is her policy not to tell you that you have cancer if you do, I think I can get it out of her if the dead people are corroborating my suspicions. Dead ancestors don’t lie.
And by the way, my zits are still here and my ear is still plugged. So much for modern medicine.