Ranting and Raving

My day started off well enough. I went to physical therapy, which felt wonderful. Then I rushed home, changed, and my parents and I darted off to my neurology appointment at Valley Medical in Renton. We walked up to the information desk inside the main building, where we had to spell out neurology for the old gentleman there (well, at least part of it). He directed us to admissions where the lady told us it was in the building on the other side of the parking lot, where we just came from (the parking lot, not the building). The receptionist told us to arrive at 12:30 to give enough time to fill out paperwork for a 1:00 appointment. Yesterday a different receptionist told me I didn't need to be there until 12:45. We arrive at 12:44, and they're out to lunch until 12:45. I step into the bathroom to finish my face, and Carmen comes in, "Come on. They're waiting for you." I think, "Are you kidding me? They told me to arrive 15 minutes before they got back from lunch, and now they want to be bitchy about time???" (the office was also locked so we had to stand in the hall) I met Dr. Vossler, supposedly the best neurologist in Washington. He was arrogant and a jerk. I've been to three neurologists, who all told me nothing. The tests didn't tell them anything, so there's nothing to say or any advice, except to take this medication. Vossler pretty much blew me off right from the start. He told me he didn't understand why I was coming to him and what I expected him to do. Maybe I want some fucking answers! Some type of closure! I've been dealing with this for three years and these "doctors" won't tell me anything. I understand that if nothing shows on the test, then nothing shows, but it doesn't fucking mean that there's nothing there. Maybe I should be grateful that I got to live longer than my aunt, who died when she was 20 from a seizure. But they've proved that I don't have epilepsy like she did. But they don't want to really entertain the possibility that it just might be from the accident that I was in that predated the first seizure by three months. I'm just frustrated. I'm not angry or mad, just frustrated, tired, and bitchy. I had to fight back tears before I went into my women's studies class today. Dr. Mower automatically knew that something was going on. Funny how women can do that. What is it called? Intuition? Shit. Now I am crying. I'm just so tired of feeling so old and sick and helpless. I'm doing what I can. I've done what I can. Ok. I'm better now. I hate being this emotional. The alcohol probably didn't help. My parents wanted me to join them at a nearby casino where they have a good happy hour. We all drank too much. Carmen couldn't even stand the last time I saw her. I eventually just walked home; most of the way in my fishnet stockinged feet. It's been a long time since I wore 3 inch heels. I still have more rantings and ravings about today, but this is enough negativity for now. This blog has gone on long enough and I need to try to get some sleep. I'll read a bit more about the French Revolution in my historical novel.

"A pessimist sees only the dark side of the clouds, and mopes; a philosopher sees both sides, and shrugs; an optimist doesn't see the clouds at all - he's walking on them." ~Leonard Louis Levinson