Being Bendy is Bad

I had my appointment with the rheumatologist today. It was interesting. I was asked a lot of questions, and found out some interesting stuff, too. I found out that I definitely have fibromyalgia. Not only that, but I have a difficult to treat kind that involves Joint Hypermobility Syndrome (“double jointedness”), panic attacks, autonomic system regulatory problems, and, possibly, a heat condition. (I think he said the heart condition is Mitral Valve Prolapse, but he said that it doesn’t ALWAYS happen. He did kind of hint that it could be a risk, though, because I have the other four problems.)

He has put me on steroid treatment twice a week. If it aggravates the bipolar aspect of my Schizoaffective, I am to go off of it immediately. He doesn’t think that it will affect me, though, because there is the whole “take two one day, wait about three days and take another” instruction, which means my body won’t be as upset by the whole thing. I have to call after taking three doses (unless the mania kicks in) and tell them how it’s going. If the mania kicks in, don’t take it again, but still call in.

I was also told that I need to have my immune system checked out since I grew up with a lot of illnesses (particularly respiratory) and I still get at least 2-3 a year. He said that is indicative of an immune system failure.

After I was told that I was too bendy, had a risk of a heart problem, had sweating issues because my body is messed up, and that my immune system is screwed up, I was told that they needed blood. Not a little blood, though. They needed 4 vials. They were going to get 5 vials, but my vein (the second they tried) started to blow. It was quite painful, and the pain increased as the day went on and the bruise grew larger. I did not enjoy the day, though the doctor was nice. I was quite preoccupied through the day with this pestering thought that there is something seriously wrong with me. I know the MVP isn’t necessarily dangerous (I know people who are fine with it), but I am worried about the whole immune system problem. It’s kind of scary.

The day got worse in my Asian Philosophy class when there I was, in the middle of the class, with people on all four sides. People on my right side were whispering, but I couldn’t tell at first, so I thought the hallucinations had come back. When I finally figured out it was reality, my paranoia kicked in and I started thinking they were talking about me. When I was trying to explain the distress of the situation to my dad, which was worsened by the fact that I was in a tiny room where I couldn’t get out quickly, he told me that my problem is that I’m too ego-centric. There is a difference between pathological paranoia and ego-centrism. Yes, when I hear people talking, I assume it is something about me and I think it’s something bad. Normally, I think they’re either laughing at me or that they’re going to hurt me. I don’t think that the average ego-centric sits there and contemplates how to get away from total strangers that he/she thinks is going to kill them. I mean, it’s possible, but not likely. (Almost like the time a perfectly nice guy was talking to me at A&M and I became convinced that he was going to rape me because that was the only reason why I thought a guy could possibly be nice to me.)

I have to talk to my Asian Philosophy professor sometime, too. I can’t get to his class from my other class quickly enough and I end up sitting too far into the class, which is something that is not supposed to happen according to my Letter of Accommodation, as when I’m surrounded by people I tend to either have an anxiety attack or an attack of psychosis, as happened today. This is something that I need to prevent if at all possible. Of course, I don’t think anyone is actually paying attention to my LOA, except in the one class where I probably need it least.

Published by

Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.