medicine

Four Days and Counting.

I have to be fair. I blew my funds this month. Well, not really blew it, but when you have 20¢ left, you realize you probably could have spent it better. As a former accounting executive for a rather large firm, I feel how money flows. I normally spend what I have very carefully. Butter cookies weren’t as necessary as your body thought they were. Sheesh. I get my next retirement check on the third.

My husband would call this beating myself up over nothing, but this sort of thought process kept me functioning and debt-free up until now. I haven’t cheated my way through my life yet. I didn’t/don’t owe taxes or student loans, nor do I have credit card debt or unpaid bills. Nobody is going to come looking for me. Two things account for this. I live within my means, and, in the case of unavoidable medical issues in particular, I know how to ask for help. The government considers me poor. I’m actually, in my head, rich in so many ways. Money is not a thing with me. Living happily is.

As for my health, I’m amazed I have lived this long. I have always been sickly. Since birth, medical professionals have written me off too many times to count. Instead I learned what it takes to survive in spite of medicine or anything else. Certain side effects are unacceptable to me, so I limit any prescription medication I have to take. I growl mercilessly at medical procedures that are supposed to be helpful, and I’m very suspicious of the reasoning behind any of it. Hence, with my medical background that culminated in my becoming a paramedic and my natural ability to research and read comprehensively, it is unlikely anyone will get anything by me. That said, I can and will call out anyone who tries.

I do have things wrong with me. Who doesn’t? Lung issues since birth have been an aggravation. I had this handled until someone in their infinite wisdom thought I needed an ICD because they insisted I had cardiac Sarcoidosis. I don’t. They tore up my left chest to install it only to find that the previous deterioration from radiation cancer treatment for a mastectomy in the 1980s caused my body to reject the appliance and subsequently cause more physical damage, causing enhanced issues with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis, not the cardiac version.

I explained this to them right off the bat. Sometimes specialists don’t think. Their tunnel vision is often a problem as is their inability to listen to the person who inhabits the body in question.

When was the last time I talked about my autistic tendencies? Coming up next – and my good old former heart murmur.