I went to see my GP on Friday. Lovely GP has gone on her maternity leave. This could get confusing because my GP is lovely too and that's altogether too many lovelies. It's his practice though, so Top Dog GP it is. The name confusion is apt as I had to go and see Top Dog GP to sort out the inevitable hospital appointment inspired confusion. This lot of confusion is particularly complicated as it's arising from at least three different hospitals.
Top Dog GP started laughing as soon as I mentioned the hospital inspired confusion so I knew he'd had at least one letter. When I said I'd seen the registrar rather than consultant at Freak Clinic he said that explained it all and suggested it might perhaps not be the service to medical education I'd thought I was offering as the registrar won't have slept for at least 5 nights due to his 'OMG complicated patient' induced terror. I'm just counting myself lucky for only having lost an armful of blood in the name of medical education. Top Dog GP is yet to have the latest missive from Leeds but that should keep him giggling for at least half a day...the bendy specialist is known for his unique style of letter writing.
We went over the whole Oxycontin thing and Top Dog GP also expressed concerns about the long term viability of my 'No Oxycontin' plan. He's right, as plans go it's not up there with the best, but doctors urging pain relief upon me is such a novel concept after all those years not being diagnosed that it perhaps doesn't register with me quite as it should. Still, I got the prescription I needed to continue with the 'No Oxycontin' insanity. I'd originally declined the strongest dose codeine and paracetamol because I wanted to see if the lower dose of 15/500 mg was effective enough. It sort of was but has been out of stock for weeks now so 30/500 mg it will have to be.
That, and a depressing conversation about the costs 'elf n safety have added to the new practice building was pretty much that. £220 for a sink that's not allowed to have a plug in it because of some mysterious health and safety, no plugs in consulting rooms concept. The ConDem government could've had that £220 to help with the budget deficit if health and safety let the NHS order from B&Q like everyone else.
A few weeks ago I initiated divorce proceedings against my hips. Fortunately the orthopeadic version of Relate, the physio terrorists, have been doing their job and both parties are at least willing to enter discussions. A unifying subject is disgust in being given the medical kind of corset instead of the pretty kind.
Disgusting or not the corset thing is also doing it's job and attending all death walks. Even if it does mean multiple dislocations putting the stupid thing on. I did think it might be a sign not to go death walking when I heard the unmistakable 'pop, pop, pop' as multiple joints hurtle in and out of their sockets but then got really distracted by my urgent need for chewing gum, and then I was moving anyway and had to stick to the rule that it is only acceptable to be so stoned mid afternoon if it's in aid of something unpleasant. So off I went.
It was indeed unpleasant, but at least it didn't rain. Pirouetting whilst wildly windmilling your arms is somehow even less cool in the rain, if it is even possible to be less cool than spinning uncontrollably on the spot in a public place.
It's working though. I'm not telling my joints it is as they'll immediately go on a strike so stubborn even BA wouldn't know how to break it, but it is. All that walking face first into doorframes and excruciating pain is worth it for increased function, even if my muscles have yet to get the message. I knew using Royal Mail to send it was a mistake...