Defiance

I don't have a lot to say right now because, let's face it, at the moment the whole ballet part of my brain is still excited about my acceptance to MIT (the Moose Institute of Toe-dancing. It's a Rocky and Bullwinkle joke, and I am terribly sorry if you are too young and/or not cool enough to get it. Netflix streaming, guys.) and my slow and steady progression in class. Two classes in I could already feel the difference in strength during technique class and three classes in I am starting to find my balance, though it is still pretty shaky business. I am also pretty sure I will NEVER get tired of hearing my teacher say "RPrin! You look so god en pointe! I just can't get over it!". I wanna hear it, babe! Don't get over it on my account! Flattery and compliments are a very strong motivating influence in my life, so keep it coming.

I shall now change the subject, because I know you are tired of hearing about pointe class, pointe shoes, and pointe EVERYTHING. Geeze, girl, get over your silly satin shoes and talk about something else for a while! Okay, okay! You don't have to be so grumpy about it, sheesh.

It occurs to me that it has been a bit over a year, now, since my last disastrous appointment with my rheumatologist. It took months to work up the nerve to file the complaint about it. It has taken me this long to even contemplate calling Kaiser for another appointment. I sometimes wonder if that is their goal: to make you so angry, depressed, and otherwise emotionally exhausted that you just give up and leave them alone.
Anyway, I am trying to psych myself in to it, but I think it's going to take me a little while.

My new goal is to combine these two topics by having someone photograph me standing en pointe and holding my cane. Ballet is my defiance.

NSAIDs: A Cautionary Tale

So. How have you guys been? I spent my weekend feeling like death on toast. The NSAID (anti-inflammatory medication I take twice a day for my rheumatism) that I've been using for the past 9 months or so landed me in the hospital on Saturday night.
Friday morning I was fine. I even ate a sensible salad for lunch and took a short bike ride with my dad. But at about 2pm I was suddenly hit with an overwhelming feeling like I'd just been speared through the chest, right at the base of my thorax. I tried to wait it out but I couldn't sleep at all that night and after a short stint at work on Saturday morning it was quickly becoming evident that it was here to stay. I immediately figured it was probably an ulcer but couldn't get any over the counter remedies to help. I called the Kaiser advice hotline to ask if I could get in to see my doctor any time soon. I got transferred around for a while and they told me they'd call me back later in the day.
So I talked to a very twitchy little doctor on the phone at about 5pm. She was the kind of confused and baffled doctor that instills a real sense of security and faith in a patient. Regardless of the fact that the Kaiser website states that "ulcers can cause nausea, dizziness, and intense pain radiating in to the back" she urged me quite vehemently to hurry down to the ER, which I did. Well, sort of... because FOR REALIOS WOMAN it is an ulcer not a heart attack. Yes, I am dizzy. Probably because I HAVE AN ULCER. I should not have to guide you to these things. I actually had to reassure her at one point that stomach bleeding goes along with the whole ulcer thing, so even if I was dizzy I probably didn't actually have a terrible ruptured whatever-the-hell.
Sigh.
I did eventually get to the ER (about 5 hours later), mostly because I know that the regular clinic would take several days to run labs and the ER would run them in less than two hours. And the sooner I got this you-know-what over and done with the better (theater season just started. Ain't nobody got time for that.) They hooked me up to an EKG machine and put so many stickers all over my body that I am still not sure if I got them all off. There must have been six just on my left boob. I felt awkward, not for myself but for the poor nurse who had to cover me in boob stickers. Obviously it's her job and all, but it still must be contrary to your sense of social propriety. My own sense of social propriety ends at the point when I have to hold a little plastic barf bag and wear a gown with the butt all open, sorry. The doctor came in and we had a brief conversation about how it's basically almost certainly an ulcer (or gastritis, the precursor to an ulcer) and you can point your finger straight to my shitty rheumatologist for refusing to TREAT my ACTUAL condition and instead leaving me hanging on high doses of particularly nasty NSAIDs for several years running. He scrunched up his face when he laughed and he was terribly young. I felt old and silly and wished that my husband was there (they forgot to tell him it was okay to see me after the EKG, so I was basically hangin' out there in my boob stickers by myself for an hour) because otherwise my ER quiet room wit (which consisted mainly of pretending my large penis-shaped barf bag was, in fact, a large blue penis while trying to interpret the oddly coded ER intercom announcements) was utterly wasted (hey man, it was late and I felt like hell, okay?). I eye-balled the spare rolls of exam table paper in the cabinet. Because you know what exam table paper is great for? Pattern making.
Eventually they made me drink three small shots of tutti-frutti flavored lidocaine (they tasted like Satan, basically) and sent me home. Two IVs for nothing, man (one in my right arm that didn't work out properly that has left me with an aching blue bruise the size of a golf ball, and one in my left by a slightly more competent nurse). I tell ya what, guys. IVs suck.
I still feel non-stop nauseous, hopefully the heavier-duty acid control pills I now have to take (every morning. That makes 8 pills PER DAY, now) will do me some good. I'm not allowed to have caffeine or chocolate (I think I might cry, guys) or tomatoes or ... well. Anything good. I can eat oatmeal (without milk, naturally) and brown rice. I guess I can add some thrilling tofu in there for protein.
I already had a chocolate chip cookie. One a day can't kill me.
My husband brought home Mexican for dinner. It was a very sweet gesture. But for reals.

Health Stuff Blah

I'm feeling less dire about things today, but I decided to publish this post from a few days ago, anyway. For the sake of ... honesty? Completeness? Who else thinks the word "completeness" is stupid? It's one of those that should really have another tense. Like "completion" would sound better, but sadly it means something else. Sigh...

So, the horrible foot tendon thing that I was experiencing last week has (mostly) gone away. I babied it so much that I actually started getting foot cramps from lack of use! Silly. Silly and yet...

My shins splints are edging very slowly toward feeling better. I can jump! Sort of! (I mean, I am capable of jumping. Not that I am good at it.) It's been a very long and slow process to get to this point. And they still twinge at me when I try to do something like a ballotté, cabrioles, or hopping turns. Well... hmph. Hopping turns are dumb looking, anyway.

It's funny (not like "funny ha ha") the way I have become so utterly terrified of every new and unusual ache, pain, or click. I feel like at any moment I will "lose" another part of my body, but I never know which part, or when. Will it be my lower back, which has been aching for the past few days? Or will it be that pole of tightness down my achilles on cold mornings? My hips, that clonk and grab at me when lowering out of développé? Which part of me will fail completely enough to be in constant pain? And will it be a part I need in order to make it through my day? My work? My hobbies? I had to stop shooting my bow several years ago, will I have to stop dancing, next? Driving? Living in an upstairs apartment? When does it reach the breaking point, the point at which my doctors will believe me when I say I need help? When I finally test positive on their bloodwork will I be confined to a wheelchair?
Truth to tell, it's all kind of nerve-wracking.
I try not to think about it too much, or I'd never get anything accomplished.

 All my mad Google skillz couldn't locate the original source or credit for this image.

As always, if you are or know the creator please let me know so I can properly attribute it. 

The kiss-off

I finally got my kiss-off letter from Kaiser. They basically just restated my entire complaint (replacing "I" with "you") and told me that I should consider going to hell. Which is exactly what I figured they would do. They did say they talked to the rheumatologist in question about it. If nothing else that means she knows that I think she's a useless waste of space. They also said I can get a second opinion if I want. As if I wasn't going to, anyway!
My next step is to get an appointment with another doctor, and to tell them in no uncertain terms what they need to do. Unfortunately, I am no longer willing to make these visits without someone else accompanying me as witness, and until my husband's job calms down enough that he can take an afternoon off without being yelled at for the next solid week I am out of luck.
For now I am just going to go jitter quietly in the corner for a few hours to work off this desperate adrenaline surge.
Ta.

Complaining in Black and White

Well. I submitted my formal complaint against my rheumatologist tonight. I had been putting it off for months, now, because I just couldn't even put it in to words, but I am running out of time. I tried submitting it a couple of weeks ago but their website is so crummy that I had trouble with it and ended up having the entire thing erased without a trace before I could hit the send button. The new one has been saved to my hard drive, which is what I should have done in the first place but OH WELL.
The complaint is written with my usual brevity and clarity of purpose. Which is to say that the main complaint text pulls in at almost 800 words, almost all of which is back story. I did not use any words my granny would have been scandalized by. I tried to keep my snark down to a reasonable level, but you can still tell that I'm writing hot, and sadly unless I am given a few more YEARS to get over the problem then my anger is just going to keep coming in to the equation. I really did try.
Anyway, writing the complaint was really freakin' taxing, emotionally, and now I just dread getting a call from Kaiser's customer service reps telling me that it's all my fault and I should shut up. Honestly, I am considering responding to any phone calls by telling them I will only correspond in writing. Aside from making it easier for me to deal with because I won't be put on the spot it will leave a more absolute paper trail.

Now, I'm going to go nurse this stress headache and finish reading Pride and Prejudice. It's my first Jane Austen and I have got to say, this Mr. Darcy might be the thinking woman's lust object of the century (or, you know, last couple of centuries) but a douchebag by any other name is still a douchebag.

acupuncture... again

When I am at the acupuncturist's office she sticks me with all the appropriate needles and then leaves me to "rest" for half an hour, which basically just means I have to lay as motionlessly as possible, flat on my back (today I also got to wear a fetching hospital gown. Very chic.). The gal I saw today usually leaves a stereo on playing "soothing" music (also known as depressing acoustic guitar solo versions of classical music that was never meant to be played on guitar. Today I got The Dying Swan and it was probably the most bleak rendition of it I have ever heard. Hey, you know what ballet classic sounds awesome when played by solo acoustic guitar? Neither do I.) and asks if I would like the lights turned off. I always say yes because otherwise I will just lay there looking around at stuff and be tempted to try fishing my e-reader out of my purse, because BORING. When she comes back in to un-stick me she asks if I fell asleep. Really? How, precisely, are you supposed to fall asleep when you have pins stuck in your ears? At least it wasn't as awfully painful this time. Last time I felt terribly sick and spent the entire "resting" time feeling restless and achy.
Magic trick, though? My right wrist, which felt terrible this morning, is actually feeling pretty good right now. I know, right? I am not sure I believe it, either.
She poked my toes and tut-tutted at me and said that I have calluses on my big toes because I clench my feet when I walk so I am going to get toe arthritis and die or something. Also, she said my arches were obviously falling. First off: GACK I do not want to hear about my feet disintegrating beneath me! I dance! Ballet, guys! You can't be messing around with toe arthritis if you dance. They pop and creak and stuff, sure they do. But still, don't scare me okay? I dunno. I mostly have calluses on my big toes because I forgot to scrub them really well in the bath last night and I am genetically pre-disposed to having seriously unattractive callusy feet. I don't look like either of my parents (or anyone else in my family for at least a couple of generations back) and am often mistaken for my father's wife when we go out together (even by the post-op nurse at the hospital after he had surgery. Why you think I would marry a dude who is pretty obviously 31 years my senior is another story I guess) but the one thing I inherited from him is my kind of flipper-like feet with long thin toes, each of which calluses over like it's going out of style. But, I suppose I might just pay some more attention to my toe situation for the next couple of weeks, and see if I can catch myself clenching them at all. As for my arches? Considering that I don't have a long and complex history of foot-examination with this lady I am not sure what she is even looking at. It's a foot, honey, I don't know what you are seeing, here. Personally I think my feet have toned up a lot since I have been dancing. I've dropped half a shoe size! I honestly have no idea what that means but I think it's pretty insane.

PS: She poked around at my knees and exclaimed at the amount of inflammation present. SO WHY DON'T YOU TELL MY RHEUMATOLOGIST THAT, KAISER!

Acupuncture: Step Three

SO. I had my first acupuncture treatment today.
I had to drive to this place that was half an hour away and totally unfamiliar, but I survived. I feel like each time I successfully navigate the freeways around here is cause for celebration. Did I tell you that I only started driving on the freeway in October? Because I did. In two months I have blossomed in to a veritable freeway-driving adult. And stuff. I wasn't terribly worried about the being poked with needles thing, I was more worried about the not killing myself on the road thing.
I found the building and went in for my inpokination. Do you like that word? I just made it up. If you couldn't tell. The ambiance of the room left something to be desired:

Hmm. A slightly dinged-up exam room with elderly paint on the walls. This should not be surprising. There is probably a protocol of some sort. You probably have to make every single Kaiser exam room look like every other so that no one feels left out of the fun. I don't know what I was expecting, though. probably dim lights, soothing music... maybe the tinkling of a (digital) waterfall. A smouldering incense burner in the corner. I don't know about you, but I am relaxing just thinking about it.
My acupuncturist was quick and easy to deal with. She bumped (most of them don't feel so much like being pricked as they do like being tapped on) fifteen needles in to my knees and wrists and then left me to sit in the dark under a heat lamp while I recovered from my sudden rush of dizziness (I always get dizzy in doctor's offices. Even if all they do is take my temperature and listen to my heart. Sometimes it's great because it makes them think you are in bad shape and really need some help. Other times it's not so great. Like when you have a bossy OB nurse practitioner who wants to lecture you about how you aren't living right)
It gave me time to feel sort of like taking a nap (that heat lamp is da bomb) and to study the acupuncture chart on the wall. There is one acupuncture point, for guys, that is ... well, I don't know what condition it treats, but you have gotta be in MISERY before you ask for that treatment, is all I'm saying. I don't have a picture for you because I am being mindful of your delicate sensibilities (and because, you know, my camera phone only got half the picture in the frame. Dang.) In 20 minutes she pulled out the needles, while accompanied by two auditors who were apparently there just to count how many needles you were stuck with? Uhm... useful, how? I'm sure it's some silly internal cost-effectiveness thing. Like Kaiser doesn't want them to use more than three packs of needles per patient or something.
I have a few tiny red spots now, but I don't think I even bled. Which is nice, because I was a bit concerned. I take a daily anti-inflammatory and it sort of thins your blood. So, when I poke myself while sewing (oh, two or three times a day at least) I bleed all over the place and it's awkward if I forget to have a pack of band-aids on hand.
Three hours later I can tell you that I don't see a bit of difference so far in my knees. They still hurt, as they did all night. Maybe my wrists are a liiiiittle bit better? Time will tell. Tonight I sew, tomorrow I dance, and the proof will be in the pudding (but not that birthday cake flavored pudding cup I just attempted to eat, which tasted like pure evil coated in artificially colored sprinkles). 

Acupuncture: Step Two

So today I had my orientation and introduction to acupuncture class at Kaiser. Waaaaay the hell away in another city, because that is the only place they do it, apparently. I drove there in the absolutely POURING rain and gusty wind, on unfamiliar roads. I took the freeway there, and it was raining so hard I couldn't see, so on the way back I took surface streets. Which was just as bad because everyone insisted on driving exaaaaaactly 30mph. Which is basically the sweet spot for hydroplaning. I cranked up my stereo and powered through, though.
Was it worth it? Oh, hell no. But that isn't too surprising, right? The orientation class basically consisted of forty people trying to cram in to a conference room that was designed for about twenty people. Then we all watched a YouTube video together. And then I sat there and thought about how I am pretty sure that this building is the one that my pediatrician's office was in, back when I was a kid. And, what ever happened to good old Dr. Koch, anyway? He was pretty nice. And this building! What a perfect example of ... uh ... I guess I will call it "Industrial Prairie" architecture. Which is to say it is obviously inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright except without being actually inspired. 1960s architecture at it's most squat and grey... and half-listened to an obviously flustered and unprepared clinician answer bitchy and/or snarky questions from aging baby boomers with entitlement issues about how long it takes to get an appointment.
What did I learn? Well, I learned that Kaiser's acupuncture department is something of a cruel joke. They have an acupuncture department but they don't actually want you to use it. After three appointments they decide if it's helping or not. If not, no harm no foul, you go on to find something else to try. If it does help you can come back with limited appointments for about a year. Then you are on your own. I guess I am glad I even have the opportunity to try it out for cheap. If it helps maybe I can try finding someone local that isn't too woo-woo for me. Though goodness knows how I would ever be able to afford it.
I still think they could have saved us all a lot of trouble by emailing us a link to the stupid video and maybe mailing a small packet of the paperwork they handed out (they send out appointment reminders anyway, right?). On the way there and back the weather probably killed a few of us off, though, so maybe that was their plan all along...

It's hard to dance with a devil on your back

While checking in with my PC doctor this morning (he made me get a different type of splint for my sprained wrist, one that immobilizes your thumb. I don't think I have ever worn anything so sexy in my life) I mentioned the rheumatologist's "diagnoses", even he thinks it's BS. He said, sure, in chronic pain depression is always a possibility, but not the first... or second, third, fourth... or FIFTH diagnoses he would pursue. And he told me to call the rheumatology department and ask to see a different doctor. I may well do that, but for now I am going to sit here and not deal with them. Because nothing is healthier than a solid dose of anxiety and avoidance, am I right?

In much more pleasant news: piqué turns! So much fun! I've actually figured them out on my own time by watching the other girls in my level three class. As I am the only new student in the class my teacher modifies things for me so that I can work on the basics a bit while the other ladies are whipping stuff out like it ain't no thang (I pretty much look like a total spaz attack in comparison, and she feels bad for me, I guess?). So on Tuesday I just learned to do preparation for piqué turns, but it wasn't too complicated so I just came home and BAM piqué turns in my kitchen, yo!
I can do a new thing!
That makes everything better.

Rheumatologist FAIL

This post is going to take me a long time to write (it's taken a full 24 hours to even work up to it) and not only because I have to type the whole thing with one hand (turns out? I am pretty quick at it, which probably means I mostly type one-handed anyway. Sorry, Mavis Beacon.). I will have to write it and then let it settle for a while and THEN go back over it to remove most of the swear words (I am drawing the limit at six uses of the word "fuck", but it going to be an editing nightmare.) So, without further ado...

I visited the rheumatologist again, yesterday.
The first time I went, three years ago, they put me through a battery of blood tests and then brought me in to the office to poke at me and basically tell me to stop whining and suck it up. I avoided them for as long as I could, but the past three years has brought such a rapid increase in symptoms (and changes in my medical history, for example I now have evidence of a family history of rheumatic conditions) and such a flare-up of the attendant inflammation that my primary care doctor has been left feeling helpless and annoyed and my physical therapist has given up on me entirely until my inflammatory processes can be controlled with some efficiency. So. I went back. They put me through the exact same blood tests again which, aside from turning up a possible urinary tract infection (yay?), showed no changes from last time. But this is Kaisers standard operating procedure. After all, repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of sanity, right?... So, there was hardly any point in going to this appointment, anyway.
You see, with Kaiser, if there isn't a test result to point to then you are not getting a diagnoses or treatment unless your doctor is strong enough to demand it and, here's the kicker, gives a damn. It's what Kaiser is famous for. It's why they are so poorly thought of in the general medical community. But, anyway. My sister, you see, did not test positive for anything, either. They had to do an MRI to find her inflammation and bone fusion. Before that, they just didn't know what to make of her. Now, I am not saying I have the same thing she does, but I AM saying that some actual effort needs to be extended by your doctor, or your illness can slip right through the cracks. Luckily, she does not have Kaiser.
So I went to my appointment. My husband came with me this time, I don't think he believed me when I said that this rheumatologist was horrible and would just fob me off no matter what I said. Well. He knows now. I got there and filled out the forms : how many of these symptoms do you have (lots)? Could you walk three miles if you had to (no)? That sort of thing. Then the doctor came in. Now, let me make this as clear as possible, she had absolutely no intention of helping me, regardless of what I said. She refused to listen to my personal history, family history, or symptoms. She pointed straight to my blood test and said "look, it says that you don't have anything." That was lie number one. There are seronegative auto-immune disorders. And some that CAN be seropositive can ALSO manifest as seronegative. There are probably close to a hundred conditions recognized as rheumatoid-related. Six blood tests is not going to detect them all.
She then made me take off my wrist brace and proceeded to pull and manipulate my SPRAINED WRIST in to several unnatural positions "See? You are mobile. You don't have any inflammation. Anywhere. It's just pain. Nothing physical."
Lie number two. I think we all know that I was sent to her in the first place because I have CRAZY inflammation that my PC doctor can't figure out how to control. Regardless of the pain my body is constantly stiff, my joints popped audibly as she maneuvered my legs. My knees screamed as she bent them beyond their limit.
Then she looked briefly at the questionnaires I had just filled out and said, and I am not exaggerating, "There is nothing I can do for you. You probably just have depression"
It was at this point that I decided she wasn't even trying and didn't give half a damn about anything I said or did. You know what? Maybe sometimes I am depressed. Because I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE FOR THE PAST EIGHT YEARS. That is pretty mother fucking depressing.
My husband asked "what about doing an MRI to see if there is something we're missing"
And here, my friends, is where she pulled out her most egregious lie, yet. "MRIs only show you ligaments. They don't show anything else. They don't show inflammation. Blood tests are the only way to tell if you have inflammation."
Now. I suggest, if you don't know anything about MRIs already, that you go check it out online. Go ahead. Wikipedia it or something. I will wait.
Done?
Okay. She finished up saying "well, sure, you have Reynaud's syndrome, but that doesn't mean anything. You are totally fine, otherwise." LIE. Reynaud's is a rheumatic condition that is usually secondary to other, more serious conditions. For example: Lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. But, oh no! Let's not even contemplate the possibility of seronegative RA. Let's just tell the person who is in chronic pain to the point of no longer being able to work full time THAT SHE IS CRAZY and it's ALL IN HER HEAD. What an amazing treatment plan! Way to go, fucking idiot of a jerk of a complete twat of a doctor! Yay! Kudos for you! Another difficult case successfully deflected and another patient so disgusted and intimidated that she'll probably never get adequate treatment! WAY TO FUCKING GO YOU FUCKING FUCK.

I would file a complaint against this woman if I thought it would do any good. I might STILL file a complaint against her. It won't impact her much and it won't change the quality of my care through this HMO. But, I might do it anyway. Just so that she knows. Feels the ice cube of my distaste dripping down her proverbial underpants.

BITCH.

I live in central CA, you grow tomatoes here or they kick you out

So my (also rheumy) sister has had some luck on an anti-inflammatory diet, especially going gluten-free. And I can't really turn away anything that might even possibly provide some help with this shit (especially after my doctor informed me that my absolutely crappy HMO does not cover topical anti-inflammatory agents even when there is no other viable option. But that is another post. In fact there could just be a long post called "KAISER CAN KISS MY ASS" and the body of the post would read "FUCKYOUKAISERYOUCANSOKISSMYASSYOUMOTHERFUCKINGRATBASTARDS" over and over again). So, I have been looking in to it.

Basically, so far as I can tell, an anti-inflammatory diet means you stop eating everything that you enjoy and start eating nothing but plain salmon with plain steamed broccoli for every meal (and then you die of mercury poisoning BUT WHATEVER).
So I look up information about this stuff and and one source says you aren't supposed to eat:
Red meat. Which is fine because I don't eat read meat anyway and haven't since I was about 15.
Sausages or lunch meat or salami, etc. Basically all the processed meats that taste delicious in a sammich.
Sugar. All of it that isn't in a fruit, pretty much.
Gluten. This includes almost everything processed or packaged as well as every single baked good you ever loved.
Tomatoes. Oh my god, guys. Shit just got REAL.
Potatoes. WHAT?
Soy products. All this excitement and I can't even eat tofu? Seriously? Are you going to take rice away from me, too?
RICE. But only white rice, which leaves me wild and brown rice, which I like but my husband won't touch with a stick. But hey, at least I can have rice cakes with peanut butter, right?
PEANUTS and SUNFLOWER SEEDS.
And then I look at some other source and they are saying the exact opposite of everything that the first source said and then... Okay, you know what? Go to hell, anti-inflammatory diet.

But, I am trying to cut back on some of the gluten in my life. I can do that. Right now I am saying that I am "watching" my gluten intake. For example, yesterday I "watched" myself eat half a box of shortbread cookies and a significant amount of pizza.
*Sigh*
So, my goal is not to worry too much about every single forbidden thing, and not to eliminate gluten from my life entirely but to at least take it down a notch and see what happens. I know I am doing it wrong. But, look. I can substitute a rice cake for toast. No problem. But I CAN'T substitute a rice cake for a doughnut, you know? That can pretty much go to hell.

Already Crazy

So I am just starting to come down from a terrible flare-up that took me out pretty seriously for a few weeks. Pain in every joint, exhaustion, waking up feeling like I had recently been hit by a truck... you know. All that good stuff.
Some idiot booked me a 9:30 AM appointment with my physical therapist on my precious sleep-in day of the week. Oh, yeah. I did. That was me.
The PT didn't get on my case about my clams, which is great. I was dreading that. He gave me another resistance band and told me to up the ante on them, though. He grumbled at my doctor's lack of a definitive diagnosis for my rheumatism (dude, really? You are preaching to the choir, here) and then spent some time stretching the business around my kneecaps (which I am now supposed to attempt at home every day, he suggested I make my husband help) which was strange and a little painful. It was pretty okay, though, and at least he had strong warm hands. My own hands are always freezing. In the Winter time I reflexively try to cram my hands in to the warmest thing I can find. Usually my husband's shirt. I am pretty sure it's grounds for divorce! Right there after "irreconcilable differences" and "incurable insanity of spouse".

Big Week

Last week felt like a big week for me.
Thursday I had my long-awaited and much-anticipated appointment with my doctor. I explained what the situation was with my knees and while the whole thing is basically tied in to the rheumatism (everything is tied in to the rheumatism, including the stupid little skin rash I have developed) he thinks it looks like something called Patello-Femoral Syndrome (PFS). It basically means that I have to keep taking anti-inflammatory drugs (which I couldn't get through a day without, anyway) and start going back to a physical therapist to try to get my leg muscles even stronger to stabilize the connective tissues in my knees. I always forget why I like my doctor, so a visit every year is important just so I don't go on a rampage and kill everyone at Kaiser. My doctor has a very good bedside manner (and if you know Kaiser then you know how rare that can be) and is always willing to take longer than the allotted ten minutes to talk to me. He might not always hit the nail on the head, but at this point I think he's the best I am going to do while using this HMO. We looked at my x-rays (from way back in November) together so I could actually see what was going on in there structurally. The bones look good, still smooth and round in the places they need to be smooth and round. Connective tissues do not show up on x-rays so the rest of it is kind of conjecture. Looking at the symptoms, though, the diagnoses is at least closer to the mark than anything else we've tried in the past ten months.
Anyway, the good news is that (as of November) there didn't seem to be a leap toward degeneration in the joint. Only time will tell, but there it is. I can deal with pain. What I can't deal with is fusing in to a solid lump that cannot move at all anymore. They will undoubtedly tell me not to do a lot of jumps in ballet class. But I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

Friday's class was terribly small. There were only four of us for barre, and then just three for center work! It felt very strange. The Friday class is usually packed beyond capacity so I am not sure what was going on there. Summer vacations? Because we were so low on students the class was extremely intense and exhausting. We did grands jetés, which was fun and new, and I think I may be getting very slightly better at chaînés turns, though they are still sort of hit and miss. I asked about class schedules and my teacher thinks I should try out the level 3-5 class (because I can't make it to the regular level 3 class until September) and see what I think. I may give it a shot, but probably not until late in July. Until then I am totally happy where I am and still feel challenged enough not to be bored.

Doctor's Appointment: Preparation

Well, I have an appointment with my primary care doctor this week. There are a couple of things I want to discuss with him, and the biggest is (probably quite obviously) my knees. I have learned from a lifetime of Kaiser's brand of medical care, and so I am spending a little time tonight brushing up on my anatomy and such. Seriously guys, patients should not have to do this. I am capable of it, you are probably capable of it, but some people aren't. And those people will just slip through the cracks in the system. It's rather frustrating.
Anyhow, I have discovered (this was a huge surprise to me, though it really shouldn't have been) that tendonitis can be caused by rheumatism. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. Rheumatism equals inflammation, and tendonitis is definitely based on that same mechanism.
Anyway, the good news is that I have some ammunition to take to my appointment, as well as a ten month record of trying and failing the regular first-line treatment. So, maybe I will get some suggestions?
I have very little faith in the medical establishment right now.

Ow. TMI alert, but I am hurting a lot right now, in my feminine regions. The timing is all wonky and totally wrong which means I am probably just having a bout of mittelschmerz, which I have experienced off and on since I was a teenager. It's been more off than on since my mid twenties but it used to be clockwork-regular. It occurs to me, at this late hour, that mittelschmerz is an inflammatory condition of unknown origin. Just like every other damn thing that is wrong with me. Why don't doctors look at the big picture and tally up all these things once in a while?

Sigh...

Anyway. No feeling sorry for myself! I have a new ballet classmate with artificial hips! Talk about moxie!

HMO: Huge Mutha-effin' Ordeal

I think there is something going on with my knees. No, okay, I mean there is something going on with my knees that is not rheumatism related. I don't know. It's just that my father, bless his heart, was just diagnosed with a ligament injury after being treated FOR TEN YEARS for arthritis in the joint. Though Kaiser had done CT scans in the past that showed the problem, their right hand has never been any good at figuring out what their left hand is doing. So it sat there, mis-diagnosed, for ten years. And now, after additional injury and a damn-near malpractice case he is going to be needing surgery.
What I am saying is that my TOTALLY CRAPPY HMO couldn't figure out that you had a paper cut if you stood in the office sawing at yourself with a business card. They would probably give you vicodin and an antidepressant and tell you it's all in your head.
So, I am not feeling terribly confidant in the sort-of-diagnoses they sort of didn't quite almost give me but not really. They just want to shut you up, so you go home and leave them alone.
ANYWAY. I have made an appointment (it's over a month away, because this is Kaiser we are talking about. Anyone who thinks socialized medicine would result in waiting lists and rationed care has obviously never been to Kaiser in their life). I am drawing schematics (sorry, no, diagrams) and preparing index cards with a speech. I seriously considered bringing my laptop and setting up a PowerPoint presentation: These are my symptoms! Here is a list of common injuries that can cause these symptoms! Here is the standard first-line treatment for these conditions! Here is a long-term prognoses! Take notes! There will be a quiz afterwards!"

I'm also kind of a hypochondriac. But I have been thinking that this might be ligament or tendon related for a few months, now. Ever since I discovered that there is a lump in my knee just to the upper inside edge of my knee cap. It goes THUNK when you touch it.

How Do I Loathe Thee?

Oh Kaiser, no, that's okay. That extra 80 bucks a month was totally just lying around the house. Sure, you can totally take it. That would be great. Hey, while you're at it? Could you make my coverage suck a little more and my prescriptions a bit more expensive? Super. Thanks, guys.

You know what the kicker is? I was going to start taking more ballet classes this week. But now? Totally can't afford it. Awesome.