FLAWLESS VICTORY.

I am going to start this entry out on a side note: If you notice your doctor has gotten a haircut, you are seeing him too often. Just need to get that out there.

Okay. I've been avoiding blogging about my doctors and my illness because of an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Until today I felt like my doctors didn't believe how sick I was, and the specialists I went to have been continually giving me the run-around. I am being seen by a Physician's Assistant, and making appointments has been a nightmare. After my stomach scope, the doctor was emphatic that I get further testing as soon as possible, but the office itself said they couldn't see me until after New Years.' All of my friends have flown into a near-incoherent rage upon hearing this, but I didn't expect my doctor to do the same.

I caught him up on what had been happening. "So wait. You haven't even seen a doctor?"
"Er...nope."
"Let me call them about those tests. They'll be seeing you next week." He sounded painfully certain.

In the time it took me (well, Madeline. I need to get her a chauffeur cap) to drive ten blocks and walk in our door, an appointment had been made for me this Monday. The office called me, and the receptionist sounded more than slightly harried.

And I am left wondering how these sorts of spats are resolved among doctors. I can't help but think it must be like Tekken-- maybe he presses the right keys on the phone and delivers a roundhouse kick to the receptionist's face, causing her to cave and agree to his demands. Or maybe it's more complex than that. I've been trying to make an appointment, but the receptionist is blocking all my attacks. So he steps in, goes all super-Saiyan on their asses, complete with his fresh haircut, and bombs the motherfucking office with Kamehameha attacks until the enemy doctors fall to the floor a la Anakin Skywalker, cursing at the cosmos that their plot to cause me pain has been thwarted.

My doctor is my hero. :D

I have to say, though, I could do with less of him pressing incessantly on my abdomen and looking worried. Doctors should not look worried. That has to be like, Rule Two of the Bedside Manner Handbook.

Rule 1: Never, ever giggle at the patient's predicament, symptoms, or face.
Rule 2: DO NOT LOOK WORRIED. Even if they are spouting blood from the eyes.

The massive amounts of pain the pressing causes could stop, too. Then again, that's what could be causing the worry. It's been what, three weeks, and my pain hasn't lessened? My revelation that any solid foods at all hurt to consume might have added to this.

"And how are your bowels?" he asked after learning I had decided to boycott solid foods.
"They are very angry."
I have to give him credit for having an active imagination, but at the same time I have to feel a little bit of remorse* that I was responsible for my doctor imagining an Angry Bowel.

*I feel no remorse for you people, though, oh no. Feel my pain, people. We can bond!