Reply #7: Welcome to Wits' End: Population 1

[Systematic Chaos]

I'm not even sure what to say, honestly. I forced myself to come back into this forum, which I have avoided like the plague for months, and try to talk about what is happening because I have never needed support more than now. In a nutshell, my so-called "recuperation" damn near killed me for lack of activity (which is mostly my fault because I DO have a great piece of exercise equipment but that stuff can't help you when it's being used as a rack to store boxes of shit on) and things are barely in what could be called a holding pattern.

I'm so full of anger and disappointment at myself that it's hard to retain any semblance of control. I'm not violent against people in the physical sense, so I'm not talking about beating up on people, but when I'm in an off mood I can get more demanding and verbally out of control than chef Gordon Ramsay of Hell's Kitchen fame, sometimes without any reason. Today, while Jeanette was at work and I stayed home -- something I do a lot and soon I might lose my job on top of everything else -- I stood there while our roommate Joe was back sleeping on our bed. I looked at that recumbent bike and kept stewing over how I haven't used it in so long. Then I was thinking to myself how in the fuck will I ever lose weight if I don't use it? I finally went over, took all the stuff that was on top of it and between it and the wall and threw it carelessly into any other spot I could find, and in the process almost passed out and also managed to strain one of my knees. I still got on the thing for a few minutes, taking it slowly, until my diuretic kicked in for the 47th time today and I had to run to the bathroom. The recumbent is back out where I can use it, and I would rather throw away all of the crap that it was buried under (stuff that we never touch and could live without) than allow it to go into disuse again. It is the only thing that will save me. There isn't going to be any surgery, even though I would gladly go in for a procedure that would force me to eat less. My insurance company has me so fucking mad that I almost had a pre-tantrum tantrum over just trying to find a new primary doctor today who would be closer to home. I went to their online provider list and ended up getting doctors who were in facilities who only offered urgent care and would take no long-term patients (not noted in the directory, of course). I called more than a few numbers and got billing offices for clinics which had closed locations in my area (not updated in the directory, of course). I finally found a real doctor on the 7th or 8th call, and thank goodness he's right off a bus route and less than 3 miles away. I consider this a chance to start over after losing my former doctor, who was excellent even though he was very far away.

I was let out of St. Rose De Lima Hospital (and I've read a lot of negative comments about Catholic hospitals here on DU so maybe there's something to that?) not knowing exactly what my weight was, only that it was over 450 which is what their best scales maxed out at. I was not given IV antibiotics even though those were initially promised me. I was never given more than ultrasound tests on my legs above the knee, because the equipment for the cat-scan or MRI or whatever the fuck it was couldn't hold more than 300 lbs. I was not moved to another facility when it was determined that I couldn't get the full range of diagnostics and treatment I should have had. It took these idiots nearly three days to get one pair of Unnas Boots for me and find someone to do a thoroughly inept job of applying them to my legs (almost stopped my circulation in the left leg and I had to remove it myself a couple days later). Once I was out, I was assigned a home nurse who was to treat me with Unna Boots to help my wounds to heal. I found out at the last minute that I had to purchase those myself. The people at the home care had a supplier who wanted to charge me well over $10 each, or over $300, for the number of Unnas I would need. I immediately started searching for them online and found them for under $6 each on ebay. Same exact product, but without the calamine lotion added. So, for over 3 months I stayed in the apartment. No shit, I never got outside ONCE because I had no shoes to wear due to all the stuff on my feet. I healed up except for wounds on the big and second toes of my left foot by the time I had to go back to work. All we could do at that point was buy me a pair of New Balance walking shoes made for people with foot problems (a larger toe area) in size 13 6E. That, and keep my legs in compression stockings and diabetic socks.

I was advised that I should get physical therapy, but only a couple weeks before I was due to go back to work. I already knew I had lost all of my energy, strength and stamina. I initially balked at the PT, saying that it wouldn't be enough to help if I could only go one day a week when they wanted me in at least 3 times a week. Only one day was possible due to my work schedule plus the fact that they, like everything else in "24-hour Vegas", weren't open late or on weekends. When I finally broke down and said I'd do it, it was like watching the fucking Laurel and Hardy show trying to get everything scheduled with them and make them understand that I NEEDED to have rides and also could only come once a week. They finally got me scheduled for an intake meeting, only to call me a couple days later and say "ZOMG d0od we cant take ur inshurence u iz in da shit!11!!eleven!!" I laughed until I cried after hanging up the phone that day.

My first day back to work I nearly died just trying to ride my bike to the bus stop (2 blocks), or walk the length from the bike rack to the break room of my job (maybe 150 feet). I was completely out of breath just going to the bathroom and back and I seriously thought I was going to drop dead at my desk. I had pain in my lower back and hips that I can't even really describe, and to this day I still do just not quite as bad. I somehow managed to make it through a second day of this only to wake up the third morning almost unable to go the 5 feet from the bed to the bathroom. I slept that entire day and went in on Thursday. The second week I made it through the first three days only to have to call in on Thursday. In the last 3 months, I have been plagued with anxiety attacks and insomnia, plus something that turned my stool so insanely acidic that a trip to the bathroom was my worst nightmare. I think it was the high-strength prescription naproxen that I was given for joint pain. I stopped taking that stuff and at least the bowel trouble went away, but not until it aggravated other problems from a few years ago that I thought were gone for good.

My left foot is still not healed, my right foot is back in on the act, and I also have a new ulcer in full bloom on my left leg due to an accidental bump with someone's huge-ass duffle bag on the bus. I look at my legs wrong and they threaten to ulcerate. No kidding. And this is with the help of compression and taking every possible precaution except staying permanently in bed. I've gone back to treating the legs with straight cayenne pepper powder (yes, directly applied to the open wounds) to force blood flow to the tissues, because I can't go through another round of what I had last winter. It hurts like you wouldn't believe for about an hour, but I know from past experience that it forces scabbing and healing. It's the best thing for internal ulcers too, I shit you not. I can't coordinate more wound care visits when I am forced to work (when I can that is). And I am NOT going back to the wound care at St. Rose De Lima. Fuck that! Hell, I can't AFFORD it. Jeanette and I are in arrears $800 to two payday loan companies, and they take almost $160 in intrest from us every two weeks. Joe isn't doing well, and he has yet to get any income of his own coming in. I'm going to have to get on his case about that, as much as I hate the thought. He's at least as sick as I am, and he's stuck with buses just like we are. Social Services, the VA, or someone had better give him some food stamps or something. If not for Jeanette and I the guy would be in the streets. What the fuck??

So, that's me and my hideously degraded emotional and physical condition. That's what has kept me away from here and too scared to express what is on my mind. I am going to stick with the exercise now and hope and pray to whatever diety may care that I can turn this around before it's too late. Maybe my new doctor will have a trick or two up his sleeve, but if not at least I can force him to take me off Avandia for my blood sugar and put me back on old-fashioned glucophage and metformin. I can't believe I'm taking something that could kill me when I'm already weak and get winded crossing the street on my bike.

Oh, and what sucks the most, at least concerning this forum, is the departure of AuntAgonist. I read about that and it was the straw that broke the camel's back concerning coming here. I miss her horribly, and I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one.

No promises on when I'll post again. Maybe if I don't set any expectations at all it will prove to be the thing that actually motivates me. Who knows? :shrug: