Insomniac Nightmares

Got another new doctor today. This one basically heard me out, threw his hands up, and said “I can’t help you.”

Then he backtracked, saying what he could do was offer referrals to a shrink, a pulmonologist and a disability assessment specialist, and he could take some more blood for some more tests – apparently when it was suspected arthritis, the previous doctor neglected to check for the rheumatoid factor, which would strike me as an important factor to look for if you think someone might have arthritis, but hey, I’m not a doctor – printed out the referrals and then sent me on my way.

I really wish Dr. House was real. Maybe he could fix me. It would turn out to be some stupid thing that was missed, some minor detail, and he’d catch onto it and make me magically well. Plus, I might get to meet Dr. Cameron. Bonus points there.

So that’s where it stands; I have dumbfounded yet another member of the medical profession, who decided all he can do is play with seven vials of my blood like some kind of bizarre biblical metaphor, and offload me onto specialists. Hooray.

I am so sick of doctors. I wonder if that’s a disease or condition in and of itself. Probably.