The Medical Roller Coaster Continues

Night and day, the difference between August 25th's rheumatologist appointment, and the ophthalmologist one earlier. All my questions/suggestions were things she was already thinking about. She talks to me as if I have rights, and a brain.

I'm on Lyrica now. I hate drugs that build up in your system, because by the time you know they're harmful, you're already full of the stuff, and it takes days to pass it out. It's an anti-convulsant used for less-than-full-blown epilepsy, so it's a good idea, to quiet down the "current". Like most drugs though, the possible side-effects are the things I'm taking the drug to relieve.

Aug 16 ophthalm appt

It was a total humiliating debacle. I was in no condition to think or speak, and had surprises thrown at me, misunderstandings I couldn't fix but only react to. A diplomat could have done it, but not someone whose nervous system was on fire.
The MD mistook a smaller, recent eye difficulty for the *whole* problem, and wouldn't be moved from that. I ended the appt, and sort of staggered out, mumbling things in shock. This was after being put through two tests, *both* probably unnecessary, one was I know, with bright light shined into my eyes, and they insisted on doing it every appt, which they hadn't told me before.
Now I realize that the smaller but still painful problem she was fixating on (because it's the one part she could *see*) *does* need treatment. I'd pushed it into the back of my awareness, gotten "used to it", but there's grit in my eye(s), and my eye and lid are getting scraped. I could at least have *that* problem treated, and feel better.
Now I've burned my bridge behind me, though. From her perspective, I'll be assumed to be a nut and an "uncooperative" problem patient, when really, things were just happening ten times faster than I could follow, or repond intelligently to. (I think so slowly now that I have to slow down my Talking books on tape way down, to understand.)
I've needed an advocate for 25 or 30 years.

2nd Shoe

The second shoe dropped today. I went for my second appt. to that ophthalmologist, and it turns out that based on some bizarre, myopic misunderstanding of what I'd said last time, she'd already snap-diagnosed my 30-year long neurological state, affecting every part of my body, as an eyelid rash. She was absolutely certain and unmoveable on this point. I left. The appointment was humiliating, and I don't use that word lightly.

I absolutely hate doctors. I've been hit over the head with this for 30 years, and it's time I got the message. As I waited for the taxi home, I realized that I'd never had the slightest chance of getting medical help in this country.