Wednesday, November 6, 2013


On Monday, I had an appointment with an endocrinologist.  At the last appointment I had with my physician, I felt as though we were all finally on the same page that there is something going on with Melissa that is not an eating disorder.  Since August, I have now been interrogated by six physicians, a resident, and a PA.  The resident and the PA seemed to agree that something more was going on, while the rest have all made it very clear that they believe I am lying about my eating habits and I am in denial that this is a relapse.  So, when physician number 7 entered the exam room and reiterated that the other doctors believe this is related to starvation, I decided I am getting absolutely nowhere.

Let me take you back to last spring.  I was referred to a dermatologist for a suspicious mole.  As he was hacking the thing off my face, he asked me what I do for a living.  When I told him I worked in behavioral health in the inpatient psychiatry unit, he stopped what he was doing and looked at me with a bloody scalpel in his hand and said, "You have my condolences."  I've been told by other so-called professionals things like, 'oh I could never work with those people'.  

My impression of the endocrinologist was that he saw me as one of those people and I immediately felt as though I was a waste of his time.  I had a notebook sitting on the chair beside me full of everything that has been going on and a list of questions I had for him, but I never bothered opening it.  He had obviously spent quite a bit of time reviewing the other providers' notes and did not need much more information directly from the source.  

We discussed my blood sugar being as low as 42.  In fact, just two days before I had my appointment, my blood sugar dropped to 50 only two hours after a meal.  Apparently, for someone "my size", this isn't entirely abnormal.  I may not have gone to medical school, but from what I know about blood sugar, that is abnormal.  If I felt fine with a blood sugar at 50, maybe... but I slept for over 3 hours that day.  We have ruled out diabetes, by the way.  He did suggest that I keep checking my blood sugar and if I find it is low, I should come in to have my insulin checked.  I have insurance on my car, so why not?  Actually, how about if I wait until I'm in a coma so that I know exactly what number is too low so that I can differentiate between "normal" and abnormal" ? 

He ordered labs for the following morning to check several different things, but seemed fairly confident these results would all come back normal because it sounds to him that this is all a matter of calories.  The results are not back, yet.  I do have a referral to nutrition therapy for next week and he would like me to have the dietitian send him her report.  Actually, I am kind of hoping I keel over and die before that appointment because I'm beyond sick of explaining how this feels different than an eating disorder.  I have no follow-ups scheduled with the endo doc or my physician, so I am taking that as a sign that nutrition therapy is going to cure me.  After all, Melissa, this will all get better if you just eat something.  

I put in for a leave of absence (unpaid) from work until November 30th, but have been working six-hour shifts (instead of twelve) occasionally.  At this point, HR has not determined whether or not I can continue working through the leave or not.  I entertained the idea of trying to do a full 12-hour today, but it's well past noon and I'm still in bed.  I did venture out for a cup of coffee this morning, but that was a complete disaster.  When I went to pay for my coffee, I couldn't find my check card anywhere.  I emptied my entire purse, looked through my coat pockets, called the last two places I used it yesterday, and ended up running to the bank to take out cash to go back and pay for the coffee.  I had put the check card on my lap and it was sitting right there in front of me the entire time.

Just another day in the life. . .  when I get those normal test results back, we'll go celebrate.  And by "go celebrate" I mean we'll just leave our pajamas on and take a nap until I qualify for assisted living, a nursing home, or cooler space in the morgue.  

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