Or, at least that’s what it felt like yesterday when Dr Hart’s office finally called me back.

Granted, I had been fully prepared to seek out a second opinion or a new endo based on her willingness to proceed with her diagnosis. But why, then, was I so shocked and dismayed to hear that she didn’t feel it necessary to investigate further.

After some time to think it over, I know why: I let Friday’s appointment with her nurse lull me into a false sense of security. How very naive of me. I’d like to say that I took the news with a certain aplomb and composure. I’d like to say that I kept an even tone, a professional note in my voice, and conveyed my disappointment and incredulity with the barest change of tone and a straightening of my spine. I’d like to say all of that, but I’d be lying.

You know that pithy little saying about how people are tea bags, all unassuming until you put them in hot water and then see their strength? Funny, I don’t feel very strong.

The one thing I will applaud myself for is not cussing the poor nurse out over the phone. I had to physically restrain myself from doing so, but I managed. Hey, it’s life’s little accomplishments, right? And really, she tried to be helpful. She even told me to take the partial lab orders I did have and go ahead and have them done and she’d tell me the results over the phone (even though Dr Hart stopped giving out results by phone over a year ago–no appointment copays for phone call doncha know?). She also suggested that I see another endo (duh) and that I could even get referred to Shands or Emory. So, Robin, thank you for being kind and wanting to be helpful, I’m sorry you work for such an absolute pill.

So, plan B is already in action now. I called my regular doctor and went in to have a chat with her. She’s going to order the Octreoscan that Dr Hart denied me last year. We’re not sure about if the insurance company will approve it or not, but we’re hoping (the one lab in town that does it requires the insurance approval before ordering the isotope ’cause it’s ex-PEN-sive). She’s also referring me to one of the other endo’s in town, a man known to be brusque but thorough. Frankly he can be House x10 on the asshole scale as long as he does his job.

But while the wheels are starting to turn again there’s still so many wrenches that can fall into the works I just feel like in suspension, like it could all seize up at any moment and I’ll have to start all over again. And emotional stress? Yup, it triggers the symptoms as sure as anything else. All I want to do right now is sleep until we get the go-aheads we need.

And Mom, bless her heart, after hearing that the wonder-drug for this type of thing is not only an injectable but generally not covered by CHP has turned to hoping that they find there’s nothing wrong with me. I know she means well, but for heaven’s sake people: ‘nothing wrong’ isn’t treatable. I know that it seems counter-intuitive, but the thing to hope for is that they figure out exactly what’s going on and treat it, even if it means I have to pay extraordinary amounts of money for the ‘priveledge’ of torturing myself with needles, if it’s a treatment and it helps, I’d so much rather that (and y’all, I HATE needles, so if I’m willing to do this, you know I’ve got to be pretty miserable) than living with these ‘inconveniences’ and not knowing their cause.

Until then, it’s a waiting game. But at least I get this weekend truly off, that’s something to look forward to. I think I want to paint some. There’s an exhibit coming up that I want to get in on. And, well, the theme is Armageddon, the end of the world, and while its a dark topic, I really have an idea in mind that’s been simmering for about two years now. Time to bring it up to a boil, I think…