All I Want For Christmas Is For You To STFU

I'm in constant fucking pain all the time. ALL the time, k? I have a pretty solid diagnosis of Lupus although we aren't sure what type - and when I say "we" I  mean "my asshole primary physician who feels the need to refer me out to a lab for the simplest blood work despite having nurses and medical assistants in his fucking office." All of my joints hurt, all of the time. My kidneys are fucked up and getting more fucked up. I have no energy. I'm tired ALL THE TIME because I can't sleep because I'm in pain ALL THE TIME. The well-meaning attempt to tell me that this herb or that elixir will help while the majority tell me I'm not really in pain. To which I would just like to say: STFU.

The drug-seeking douchebags, coupled with shitty Medicaid HMO's that are full of doctors who don't give a rat's ass about anything but numbers on the plus side, have made the last 18 months a living hell for me. I know when something is wrong. I've had 2 gynecological surgeries in the past 8 months, the second one removing a necrotic fallopian tube and ovary. But when I went to the ER doubled over in pain? They did CT scans with and without contrast, ultrasounds, and excruciating pelvic exams and told me nothing was wrong. Okay yeah, right. I go to the ER at 6 on a Saturday night because I enjoy wasting my Saturday night and I can't figure out any other way to get 6 percocets and an insulting remark or two. Please. I'm well aware of how many hospital visits I've got on the books and how many facilities. The reason? I go and nothing gets done and I get treated like some street whore junkie and then, two weeks later, I get a letter telling me that you guys read my radilogy report and FYI YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR FUCKING KIDNEY PLEASE FOLLOW UP WITH YOUR DOCTOR. Hookay. And then I go to my doctor and he tells me to go to five other specialists and write me a prescription for muscle relaxers. Which do nothing. Because my muscles are not the problem. Then I get a letter from HIS office telling me that I need to call. So I do. And they tell me, "Dr. Doucheface really wants you to come in, this is a very serious condition." To which my reply is, "Dr. Doucheface doesn't want to see me until I see the specialists and I already told you assholes that the appointment are three months out at BEST." Which gets me treated to silence. Then "Well then let's make it for after the rheumatologist." I get the feeling that they're told they have to have the appointment book full at all times. Fuck you. I've already put one of your kids through Yale.

I've always been upfront about my history as an addict. I've never hidden the fact that I am in recovery from my physicians, including my psychiatrist, who is also a giant douche (you don't write meds with a side effect of anxiety and panic for a patient who has both already). And even the strongest narcotic pain meds that get written for me do nothing more than take the edge off. If there were a non-narcotic alternative (aside from a particular herb, which is costing me a small fortune because of course herbs are not covered by insurance) that actually WORKED, believe me I would take it. Ultram gives me seizures. I'm not willing to suffer a seizure to gain barely noticeable pain relief. I have been repeatedly told to lay off the ibuprofen because it's making my kidneys worse. So, the consensus in the medical community is that I can go fuck myself because no one wants to take responsibility.

My boyfriend, Awesomeman, has sat in the ER with me, and doctors offices, and watched me struggle to get through days without cutting myself or murdering someone. But even he is tired of this shit, and I don't blame him. I just really resent the attitude, shared, apparently, by the bulk of the medical community and many, many people in my life, that I am doing nothing but looking for a fix. If I wanted to get high, I'd go get high. There are certainly easier ways to do it. But they see a Medicaid HMO and a history of undiagnosed pain and I get labeled.

So. I would like all of them to STFU for the holidays. And by "them" I mean all the dicks and assholes who think I'm up to no good because I can't tolerate the pain. I've had 2 kids, both natural births, and believe me, I have a really high pain threshold. If I'm asking for help, it's because I NEED HELP, not because I want to have a good time. I don't find it fun to sit in an emergency room for 9 hours or more. It's not a "good time" to me to be called names by 15 year old residents who don't know me other than from some chart printed out at the admitting desk. I hate complaining. I hate being in pain. I hate not being able to do all the shit I used to be able to do. I hate being too tired to put on mascara. I hate being a drag on Awesomeman. Most of all, though, I hate being judged by people who don't have to live in my body.

When I first came into the rooms of AA and NA, I worried constantly about how I would handle a situation like this. Perhaps I worried it into existence. I don't know. What I DO know is that until you have lived in someone else's position, until you have felt what they feel, you have no right to judge me. I don't want sympathy and I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I just want people to either acknowledge that I feel like shit and leave me alone, or just leave me alone without comment. It's hard enough feeling like shit when you look like there is nothing wrong. The added fun of the Judgment Circle is neither desired nor required.

Have a pain-free holiday.