After two days of my girlfriend having to sleep on the floor in the dining room, we decided it was probably best if I went elsewhere for the duration of my cold. Or at least until I got past the part where i was up coughing shit up all night. (This has truly been one of the most disgusting colds I have ever had.)

So I find myself in my mother’s living room at 4 AM, supposedly sleeping on the sofa, while my mother is out cold in her recliner, sleeping to the faint sounds of early morning weirdness from PBS. Somehow the scene reminds me of one from a Beavis and Butthead episode.

So much for the theory of me going somewhere where my coughing won’t disturb anybody.

Still, she’s a trooper and seems to be able to sleep through all but the worst of my hacking. (Ironically, my cold has shifted gears into the dehydration phase, so the hacking is somewhat limited.) I keep expecting her to wake up and go to bed, but nope, she’s good where she is apparently.

I, on the other hand, am awake at 4 AM. I’d blame the TV, but the reality is that i rarely sleep my first night in a strange place. And at 4 in the morning, it feels stranger than most.

One of the things that spirals out away from me, when I’m out of control, is my ability to handle my bills and other assorted finance related responsibilities.  Lately this has included my dealings with the EDD (Employment Development Department of the state of California).  My most recent round of fuck up may have cost me $800.  The jury, apparently, is still out.  I’m not holding my breath.  This particular bureaucracy seems to be terribly inflexible, which really sucks for a basket case like me.

Anyway, the out $800 thing is not exactly my shining moment in the sun, and I’m a bit less than thrilled about that.  But mostly I’m perplexed as to what to tell the EDD people when they call.  “You didn’t notice the check didn’t come?”  Well, yes, I did notice eventually, but my grasp of time is a bit fucked up, and it has a nasty way of slipping away from me.  But what do you say?  Last time I said nothing, just ended up crying into the phone.  How the fuck do I explain?  I’m thinking that if it happens again (and I *really* hope it doesn’t), that I’m going to tell them that my fucked perception of time is a side effect of one of my psych meds.  It’s not something I’ve seen listed on any of the side effect sheets, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true, and god knows I’m on enough of the damn things that one of them has to have the option.

Anyway, I’ve finally quit beating myself up over this incident (it happened last week), and mostly I just find myself confused and concerned about my ability to cope with large, overworked, inflexible bureaucracies.

But mostly I wonder, what is it like to be a functional adult, and when do I start feeling like one?

I had to call my prescription coverage company Caremark today.

There’s 20 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

Their reps are HORRIBLE, they have no idea or record of what others say or do, and they don’t accept “as directed” as valid prescription directions, even on things like blood thinners which change as your blood levels change.  They’ll cancel prescriptions in a heart beat.  Based off my experience, they actually seem to go out of their way to make this process more difficult.

And it works: after 20 minutes of trying to get them to renew my god damned blood thinner prescription, I gave up and called my doctor’s office.  I actually had to tell them how to phrase the prescription so that Caremark would actually fill the fucking thing.  I should not have to work this hard to get my fucking medication.

I know me ranting about them seems to be a repeating pattern but god dammit, they’re a fucking nightmare to deal with.  I blog about it because it keeps me from putting my fist through walls.

Caremark can go fuck its self, then die.

There are no words to describe how angry I am.

No part of their website works (including the newly advertised mobile site), no one at their customer service can give a straight answer to a single fucking question, and they’ll use any excuse possible to cancel or deny your prescriptions.

The one working part of their god damn ass reaming, shit sucking web site is the one telling me how much more I pay for my meds than they pay for my meds. Welcome to Furious Rage, population: me. My favorite is the one they refuse to fill because “it’s a vitamin”. (A prescription only vitamin, fuck you very much…) Yeah, that one costs them about $15.  When I try to order it, it costs me $68, and that’s the cheapest price I can find.

The only savings grace is the psych meds. Those are costing them a fucking fortune, and that’s not even including the brand name only meds. I can’t wait to see what those fuckers cost them.

Of course, knowing them, they’ll deny them.  Again. And that’s when I’ll really go postal.  And when I finally lose my mind completely, you’ll find me in Woonsocket, RI trying to launch their corporate offices into deep space. Y’all are welcome to come.  BYOIoD. (Bring Your Own Implements of Destruction)

No really, I have a diagnosis and everything. (Several, actually) My most recent diagnosis is Mood Disorder NOS (Not Otherwise Specified). (I was once told that NOS is a polite euphamism for GOK, which stands for God Only Knows.)

In my case, Mood Disorder NOS is also an euphamism for it’d-be-bipolar-if-you-didn’t-cycle-through-the-emotions-so-damn-fast, thus proving I can’t even manage to have a normal mood disorder.

I mention all this because I suspect I’m on the verge of my next diagnosis: an anxiety disorder. It’s gotten so bad I have to take Klonopin (kind of like a concentrated form of Valium) before I go to bed so I can sleep.  When I don’t take the Klonopin, I sleep lightly, wake very easily, and my sleep is punctuated with weird stress dreams.

And here’s the really fucked up part: lately my stress dreams have been about trying to get an iPad. Seriously. I know I want one and all, but that’s just pathetic.

My nurse is a dumbass Apparently he missed the part of my chart that says “Coumadin”, & dropped a huge, open IV needle straight into my best blood draw vein. Blood started pouring down my arm, leaked down onto my gown, and off my knee onto the floor. The nurse turned turned pale. Watching his reaction made it funny.

Originally uploaded by Valued Sony Customer

Two days ago, Rita and I ducked out for coffee, I ran into the Bitch Scientist while getting said coffee, and we all came back to work to discover that the hospital had laid off 84 people. (For those not in the know, I work in the research institute, and am not part of the general hospital staff.)

Rita noticed that when I saw the Bitch Scientist, I tensed up. Drastically.

What can I say, I was caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see her there.

Anyway, Tuesday was a wee bit stressful.

At about 6 PM, Admin finally let us know that there was an all staff meeting at 8:30 Thursday morning. This would be considered an “ungodly hour” here at the research institute, where people are pretty much allowed to keep whatever hours they want as long as they get their work done.

We’ll get back to the meeting.

Flash forward to yesterday: life around here has been a wee bit stressful, financially things are a little strained at home, and the Bitch scientist and interns have made work a bit more high demand than usual. I’m paranoid about my health, the problems with my meds, and maintaining my weight loss. (I’m currently in the maintenance portion of the program, and apparently I’m not great at it.) So when I walked into fat camp, paranoid that I was going to have gained weight again, I was more than just a little stressed. I was late, and didn’t get weighed in at the beginning, but instead got shuffled off to group therapy. I sat down, and instantly experienced something I could only describe as a blood pressure spike.

I promptly excused myself, and asked to see the nurse to get my blood pressure taken. I’ve had this happen before, but I’ve never been in a place where I could actually check what my blood pressure was.

And apparently I still wasn’t in a place where I could check it. I was promptly asked to have a seat and wait. For about 15 minutes. By the time the nurse saw me, I’d quit having the symptoms, and was just stressed and concerned. She checked my blood pressure which WAS 20 points higher than normal for me, but my blood pressure is so low from the blood thinners that every says the number is just fine. I asked her if I should go to emergency. She told me that I didn’t need to.

For those of you who’ve heard the rant about last October, yes, this is the same nurse who said I didn’t need to go to emergency last time as well. (For those of you who haven’t heard the rant, last time I ignored her advice & went to emergency, I was checked in for a 4 night hospital stay when they found the half dozen blood clots hanging out around my lungs.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, ignoring the nurse. When I got out of fat camp (turns out I lost weight this week) I went down to my car, but I could still feel the tension/pressure in my neck & head, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Several semi-hysterical phone calls later, everyone sort of agreed that it would be better for me to go for no reason than be wrong.

Except for my dumbass nurse, the trip was uneventful. I had my first CT scan. I have a picture of my brain and brain stem at home. (If I get a chance, I’ll scan them.) The doctor couldn’t find a damn thing wrong with me.

The assumption is it’s probably stress. Which I have now confirmed.

That brings us back to this morning’s meeting. They talked about what happened at the hospital. They talked about why the current California state budget crisis is at the heart of the issue. (Short version: there’s a shortage of about $10 million a month because Medi-Cal is all jacked up. In that context I can’t believe they ONLY laid 84 people off.) They also how the hospital’s indecision about it where it wants to go in the long term has hindered relationships both for the hospital and the research institute… it was a stressful meeting. Things are not okay. Being grant funded, the first round of cuts for us is tiny, which is good. The problem is that they’re looking at a tremendous cut in grants next year because the available amount of NIH funding has gone down.

In other words, it was the kind of meeting you want to drown the memory of in a bottle of alcohol ASAP.

I spent the whole meeting with a re-surge of pressure in my neck, my head, and, now that I’m looking for it, slightly blurred vision. All the same symptoms I had last night. I had an anxiety attack.

Last night I spent $50 and 4 hours in the emergency room for an anxiety attack.

Dumbass.

So I had my ADD appointment today.

I scored 20 out of 20 on the two different little tests he ran me through.

Go Team!

And I do have a diagnosis as well: Combined type.

That would be the one where you have both the inattentive type of ADD as well as the hyperactive type of ADD. I’d always thought they were mutually exclusive, but apparently not. (He asked me the main reasons I’m seeking treatment: 1. Poor impulse control (that’s a hyperactive type symptom), and 2. Procrastination (that’s an inattentive type symptom.))

Once they’re vetted past my primary care physician I get drugs. Ritalin in fact. Woot!

I also scored well on the Bipolar test he put me on, but a lot of those symptoms overlap with ADD and he said that he doesn’t think I have it. He asked me to keep a log of symptoms though, just in case.

So day 1: lots of mania and “up”, but I think that’s mostly because I’m excited to have a diagnosis and the part where he told me that some drugs will help with some of my symptoms. According to him I’ll still have to work hard to maintain, they can’t fix that, but some of it will get easier. Like procrastination, and maybe a little bit of impulse control about food. Woot!

In other, unrelated news, after eating 2 earthworms and 2 pinkies yesterday, Dr. Sampson hasn’t shown his face at all. I dug him out to make sure he was still alive, and he dug himself deeper into his hole. As long as he moved, it’s all good. Maybe I’ll start feeding him pinkies on Fridays so he’s not so hungry over the weekend.

I have a toad that eats mice.

I RULE.

Given the popular misconception that ADHD is over-diagnosed, you would never imagine how fucking difficult it would be to get in the system, get a diagnosis, possibly get drugs and get on with your life.

I have had one, count it, ONE asshole psychiatrist call me back. The others never respond. I’ve called about 14 now. I’m getting tired of this, it’s insanely frustrating.

Plus, I’ve fucking got ADD, I’m not good at this kind of shit.

Ironically, it was the whole set of bullshit at this time last year when I was trying to get a primary care physician that prepared me for this. The bullshit with the pulmonary embolism and getting all the insurance crap straightened out was another defining/reminding moment as well.

What I have learned in the last year: when it comes to medical professionals, you are the only one who gives a shit if you get the care and treatment you need. This is not to say my excellent primary care physician, Ob/Gyn, and therapists don’t care, but they’ve got things to do, and all follow up and follow through rests solely on me. Those with ADD tendencies will understand on a very personal level just how fucking ironic this is. (For those of you who read this and *do* have your life together, and it’s *not* a huge revelation to you that you have to work this fucking hard to get what you need: fuck you. It’s not personal, but right now, after weeks of unreturned calls and general bitterness, and days of sitting doing nothing but staring at a list of Psychiatrists still to call that I KNOW won’t return my calls, I’m bitter, angry, and ready to hire someone else to manage my life. Or at least make an ass of themselves on the phone instead of me. Like to that Russian ass-monkey cock-sucker who answers the phone aggressively, says “Yes…” when you ask him if this is the office of Dr. Blah-di-blah, listens to you prattle on for a minute or two, then tells you it’s a wrong number and hangs up. The first time was bad enough, but it’s happened TWICE now because it turns out Pacificare (those fucking horse shit crotch rot scum bags) have the wrong fucking phone number listed. And yes. I should have caught it sooner the second time. But FUCK YOU, it’d been a week since my last call, and I forgot about it until it happened again.)

Well.

Yes.

Where was I?

Oh, right, crotch rot scum bags.

So, the medical profession is over worked, whacked out, and I no longer have a problem with calling and demanding medical offices accommodate me. I try not to be unreasonable, but I do not let myself get swept under the carpet either.

And now that I’m ramped up, and pissed off, it’s time to go make some more fucking phone calls.

I finally found a combination of cold drugs that actually work. It involves alternating between Alka Seltzer Cold & Sinus and TheraFlu Severe Cold, and “assisting” each dosage of each with a half dosage of Sudafed Non-drying Sinus. It’s sort of the Tim Allen theory of cold management: it just needs more medication. I guess I shouldn’t be encouraging that sort of thing, but fuck it, it works. Specifically, I think it’ll work well enough that I can actually attend work tomorrow.

In other news, I’ve discovered I’ve gotten kind of wiggy about processed food. This may be a good thing, assuming it lasts for any length of time. I love shows like Unwrapped because I usually find manufacturing processes facinating. It’s not just limited to food items either. I just like knowing how things are made. But lately I’ve found manufactured foods sort of disturbing. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I live on manufactured shakes. Nothing I eat these days resembles anything found in nature.

I miss food that doesn’t taste like artficial flavors. And when I watch shows about processed foods, I feel this self-righteous voice in my head chastizing people for eating this chemical-based crap instead of fresh vegetation. Which is funny, as I recall I used to be quite the processed food offender. Hell, if you look at the crap I drink, I still am. I don’t drink caffiene nor sugar, which means that everything I drink other than water is loaded with chemicals.

This fact now disturbs me.

I also find myself upset and self-righteous about a storage place ad I keep seeing. The ad suggests that people can store the useless junk occupying their over-full garages in storage places so they have room to put their new junk which the next Best Buy ad will try to convince them they need to be happy. All I could think was “perhaps if you just bought less stuff?” This is also terribly absurd as I am a huge abuser of retail therapy.

I feel overly consumeristic. I feel like there’s too much to atone for. I feel like I should be able to hold on to these feelings more of the time, letting them guide me in my actions. And I feel as though these thoughts border on the edge of spirituality.

I guess it’s a good thing I’m Wiccan

Lisa suggested I should put a blog entry with each item I listed in my last post as a title and a couple of snarky comments for each. This seems like a good idea, except for the part where I came down diseased. Now I remember why I quit spending as much time in the hot tub at the Cat Ranch. Every time I go into their hot tub, I get sick the next day. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with their hot tub. I’m pretty sure it’s because I stay in it far too long. (Think 2+ hours.)

Anyway, I’ve spent my day having 15 minute moments where the cold medication briefly fixes everything and I feel fine. In those moments I have delusions of getting my ass back to the LAN party which is where I’m supposed to be. And then the ability to breathe fades, and I spend the next 3 hours & 45 minutes laying around moaning, moping, and mentally cursing the manufacturers of the assorted cold remedies I’ve been taking. Each time I end up switching to a different drug in the hopes that one of them might work, but the reality is they all work about equally well.

There was a point to all this…

Oh. Right. Blog entries.

So anyway, cold medication doesn’t really do as much as you might think to increase general snarkiness. At least not in any creative, amusing way. So hopefully I’ll get back to those later.

And I should go to bed. But I don’t want to. Every nap today involved dreams about my car brakes locking up and the car skidding, or them just not working well enough. Either way I keep hitting the car or cars in front of me. They’re never bad accidents, but the dreams are just stressful. Stupid sick dreams.