Toxteth O’Grady

I owe Paddy and Sneezy the biggest apology on the planet. I was going to make Sneezy a star!! In her very own blog entries!!

Yet, as of this moment, I’ve not been able to extract my cranium from my posterior in order to do so. I promise you guys I will finish it one day. I’ve not done anything in WEEKS. I’ve not even read any blogs, much less written any.

As I mentioned last time, I am seriously fucking stressed out–not that this is anything NEW  to me. Hell, I’ve been an ulcer waiting to happen since I was six years old. I am quite shocked that I’ve never had high blood pressure in my life; I still continue to confound the Keepers of Caduceus by maintaining perfect BP.

It’s just that there’s SO much more stuff lately. Stuff I can’t talk about. Stuff I COULD talk about, but refrain from doing so.

And you know that phrase ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’??

 Well, I feel like I’m surrounded by about 50,356 pair and I expect they’ll ALL drop at any moment.–this is all my own fucking fault.

It isn’t fun.

ANYHOO. Let us, for the moment, witter on about something we CAN chuckle about–you’ve got it–the fits!! Ok, not so much the fits, and more Fucktarded Insurance Companies.

(I am not even discussing the hives which are still conveniently popping round every other day or so. I don’t know why. And I suppose going to the doctor since this has been going on for fucking weeks now, might be what’s known as ‘A Good Idea’)

A few months ago I was once again on the doorstep of Pinky and the Brain’s Cranial Emporium. I reported to the good doctor that NO!! The dreaded Rash of Death drug (read: the loathed lamictal) is NOT helping anything. Not one whit of a bit. I explained that I am still spazzing in my sleep constantly, and as a result, wake up half the time feeling like I’ve been run over by a 2-ton Guinness Truck. Guinness, might I add, that I cannot partake of because of all the Stupid Fucking Pills.

Pinky and the Brain felt that, at this juncture, it was once again time to go into Ye Olde Hospital for a sleep-EEG (read: tethered to hospital bed for x amount of days to see what yours truly is on about etc). I balked at first, remembering how awful it was the LAST time–being taken off your drugs and knowing the end result will be a full throttle fit or five is not exactly a fun way to spend four or five days, no matter WHAT you’ve heard to the contrary. I was relieved to find out that they wanted me to STAY on my drugs, so that they might see what happens as I slumbered away. And, so sayeth Pinky, after said test and pending the results, she wants me to Seriously Reconsider my negative stance with regards to the Robo-Spaz Operation(read: vagus nerve stimulator doo-hickey).

So, whoop-di-doo and la-di-da, the next day I rang the local hospital, the one Pinky had recommended. And as it happens, they don’t take my insurance. As you might expect, this happens to be the ONLYplace on the island with the equipment for said study (meaning I would have to go to Manhattan, elsewise), and indeed the only place which conducts Spaztardery Sleep Testing. The girl told me, though, that she would see about getting me accepted regardless of insurance issues, and that once the approval from the insurance company came back she’d ring me and let me know one way or another.

And we ALL remember how good my fucking insurance company is about Expediting Matters of Approval, yes??

No one was more shocked than I when I got a letter exactly three weeks later.

That said DENIED. As it wasn’t a medical necessity.

(EEG’s?? For epileptics?? What insanity!! Next they’ll be approving insulin for diabetics!! Or brain transplants for the heads of HMO’s everywhere!! CRAZY TALK I TELL YOU!!)

So the girl from the place what might not take my insurance calls me, and says that since they turned down Pinky’s request, she is going to reword it and send it from their office directly.

Was I shocked when they denied me a second time??

No. No I was not.

What DID shock me, however, was their new reason.

‘Video EEG denied, as member was non-compliant with medication, labs, and there is no documentation that continued seizures occur when medication level is in a therapeutic range’

I am so fucking compliant with my medication it isn’t bloody funny. I FEAR not taking the pills. So much so that if I find myself stuck somewhere overnight sans medication–or idiotically order my drugs at the last moment (both situations are quite rare, but it happens) and get to the drug store after it closes–I will not go to bed until those pills are safe in hand and subsequently down my fucking gullet. If I happen to lie down and forget whether or not I’ve taken my pills I’ll get RIGHT up again and count them out to make sure.

HOW IS THAT NON-MOTHERFUCKING-COMPLIANT?!

And, hello, how can one prove that continued blah-blah-blah when they’ve clearly not FOUND a therapeutic range for me?? Would someone PLEASEriddle me this?? Because it fucking baffles me, to be quite honest. It’s right up there with the Rubiks Cube and basic algebra. And the continued success of American bloody Idol.

I admit freely that I’ve missed the occasional lab here or there, but I’ve certainly done enough to establish my fucking levels. My arm looks like a fucking heroin addicts for fucks sake.

As luck would have it, the second request was exhausted my internal appeals, and now I’ve got to go through a whole OTHER rigamarole just to get this test fucking done.

Naturally, the above is only reinforcing my own fucktarded notion that I’m somehow faking it. That I’m a scumbag for applying for the social.

And that, somehow–in spite of all evidence to the contrary–it’s my own fucking fault.

I’m sick of it.