Disclaimer: I'm about to use the word FUCK a lot. If you think it reflects poorly on my writing skills or myself, then you can fuck off. This isn't about YOU, it's about ME. I have a right to offend you, you have a right to be offended and then I have a right to be offended that you're offended and then I find some little girl wearing a vagina t-shirt to hold a sign that says, "Feel your Fucking Feelings!!!" I provide no refunds on feelings. The blog reads as is, no warranties implied.
Let us begin.
So, I'm a mess, we've established this an infinite number of times over the years. I've been crying, can't control my anxiety, worrying about stuff and so I need to figure this shit out. There is stuff going on that the Rug Doctor can't address. I don't want to go on and on about what is currently going on with my body, but let me just break it down on a general level, as to give you an idea of why I'm doing what I am. Basically, I could be dying. Or, it could be a stomach ulcer, my gall bladder, endometriosis, uterine cancer or it could be a hang nail or any combination thereof. Suffice to say, I'm getting stuff checked out.
In starting the process of elimination on What's Eating Angry Pony I had a doctor appointment with the girlie doctor yesterday. She got all up in my business and checked things out. Then she ordered a bunch of other tests for me to go have done and then talked to me about Weight Watchers...a lot. Clearly, she drank Oprah's Kool-Aid (sugar-free) and is all about that. No offense to any WW fans out there, but it's not my jam, you know? I know it isn't, so don't hold my naked ass hostage on the table talking about it. Look at my bits and then let's wrap this up.
While I felt okay about the girlie visit, I wanted to talk to someone that I felt would be more in touch with what's really going on in my body, so I arranged to see a naturopathic doctor that I had seen years ago. I knew that she would do a deeper analysis with my blood work and that she would be able to help me find natural resolutions instead of jacking me up on a bunch of pharmaceutical candy for the governments profit and enjoyment. I was very excited she could fit me in today, so I took the day off to go see her and then I was planning on getting my nails done later in the day. A vacation day used for the betterment of Angry Pony. Sounds great!
First of all, fuck you, Friday, you piece of shit. I get up early and am filling out the bazillion pages of info that Dr. Nature (not her real name) wants to know and it asks if I have called my insurance company to verify naturopathic coverage. Well, I went to my insurance website yesterday and she is in-network, isn't that enough? No, it isn't. So, I call. Long story short, I find out that my fucking insurance doesn't cover naturopathic medicine. You know why? Because my insurance fucking sucks. That's right, I said it. All they fucking care about is sending me to the fucking doctor, collecting my fucking co-pay, getting my mother-trucking deductible, and hopefully, if they are lucky, the doctor I choose will hopefully put me on some fucking drugs to cover-up whatever is really fucking wrong with me so that they can give me more drugs to fix the problems the first drugs caused. And then they hope I die. That's right, they want me to take a lot of drugs and then they want me dead. That's all that makes any sense to me. Why cover a naturopathic doctor that might be able to help me get healthy? To help me enjoy my life without chemicals and shit? Nope, NOT TODAY! Not the fucking government and healthcare we have. The government allows and condones the poisoning of our fucking food, then we are sick, then we need drugs and then we die. On top of all of that, they build a bunch of fucking houses and business all over our agricultural areas, they make it hard for farmers to survive so pretty soon there won't be any REAL food left to eat and we will all be living off of Cheez Whiz in a can and some sort of Pop-Tart crisps. It's going to happen. I'm not even making this shit up.
Now, don't think for a minute that I don't know there is at least one of you that is thinking, "at least you have insurance, look at the people in poor third world countries that don't have it...or even my uncle Joe, he can't get coverage." You know what? Fuck off. I'm not talking about that right now. What I'm talking about is the fucking quality of our insurance here in the mother trucking U-S of A. I am thankful I have it, but for the love of God, can we do some shit that makes sense? I'm living in a fucking country where women put on vagina costumes and have their head poking out of their clit and asking their children to carry obscene and vulgar signs and telling me to "Feel my Fucking Feelings!!!" Well, you got it girlfriend, I'm fucking feeling those feelings!!!! If women can march in vagina hats in an effort to lower their cable bill or whatever else is on their mind, I can be a voice about better insurance. I'm not wearing a costume, but I did spread my legs for a doctor to look up in there, so same difference.
But. I. Digress.
Anyway, I talk to Dr. Nature and she's talking to me about my girl stuff and thinks I'm low on progesterone. Oddly, she didn't mention anything about thinking I might be low on testosterone...I think I may have ample supply of that...and then we talked about my guts and what is going on there and the fact that my body is not absorbing the nutrients it should. Insert a lot of other information here, but bottom line, if my body isn't absorbing that stuff, no wonder I'm tired and my insides are a hot mess. She suggested I get a nutrient IV which basically by-passes my guts and all the plumbing that is currently not taking the time to pull anything good out of the food I eat. I ask her how much it costs since, clearly I have to be a cash customer since my fucking insurance is shit. It isn't too horrible, so I ask how long it takes. Mind you, my appointment was at 10am. I arrived at 9:45am. Dr. Nature finally took me into her office at 10:35am. I was wrapping up with her at 11:31am. She says it should take anywhere from 40 minutes to 90 minutes. I told her I had an appointment at 2pm in Stanwood, could I be done by then? She said yes, so I agreed.
I was parked in 90 minute parking out on the street, so I went and moved my truck, came back in and sat there and waited and waited. Finally, IV Chick comes and gets me at 12:30pm. She gets me in position and then says, so you have to be somewhere at 2pm? I answered that I did. She says that will not allow enough time. Well, this is problematic. I said I would call my nail girl and see if she could bump me out. I called and she couldn't, so I went back and told IV Chick, who now had Dr. Nature with her, that I couldn't stay. IV Chick gets all a-twitter because she has already mixed up my nutrient IV and so doesn't know what to do. Dr. Nature then proceeds to say, "Is getting your nails done really a priority right now? You came in about your health. I think your health is more important than your nails, and maybe if you get healthy, you won't have to get your nails done for a while. I mean, it's up to you, it's your decision, but I think your nail person would understand how important your health is and she would also want you to put your health first." Holy shit. I feel sorry for her kids, she is Guilt Level - Expert. I felt dirty and shallow for wanting my nails done. What a whore. I call nail girl back and let her know I have to cancel my appointment. I wasn't that upset about my nails, but that is how nail girl makes her living, that isn't cool to cancel on her last minute. So, now I had that guilt, but I also felt confident she would have someone fill that spot as it is a Friday and someone will want their nails done.
So, I'm laying on the table and it takes forever for IV Chick to get me all hooked up, in my hand no less, since my veins are safely residing in cellulite deep within the safety of my arms. She leaves me in a position that is not super comfy and I have to hold my arm just right so that the IV drips continuously. She left the room and said she would be back later to check on me. I laid there and watched the dripping of the IV for a while and then tried to close my eyes and relax. Pretty soon all the dripping of the IV and the ticking on the clock was making me have to pee. By now, it was a slow time in the office as I can only hear the receptionist up front. I stand up and I drag the IV stand to the doorway. I'm like, "helllooooo...." Nothing. So, I grab my IV stand and shuffle down the long hallway to the bathroom, all the while the IV stand making noise, squeak-squeak....squeak-squeak....squeak-squeak..."OUCH!" as I run into a cart in the hallway...squeak-squeak.... No one fucking hears me. I make it to the bathroom and take care of business and head back. I see IV Chick in one of the offices, but she doesn't see or hear me, apparently. I squeak on back to my room.
By now, my lower back is killing me and my elbow is, too. I try and turn on my side and that is when the biggest injustice of the day happened. I felt a pain directly under my right boob. That's right, my size B cup boob was so angry, it busted out of a size C cup bra. It took out the underwire and now it was stabbing me in my boob. No worries, I only have to lay here another fucking hour! I tried to remain calm and shove some of my shirt between my busted bra and my boob. As I lay there, I just felt so angry. My whole day off, ruined. The IV was going slower than expected. It was now 1:50pm. I started to get mad and then I started to cry. IV Chick comes in and says, "I know, it's a long process, but we'll get there..." I stared up at the ceiling, angry tears streaming down my face and said, "WHEN?? IN TWO OR THREE MORE HOURS??! I'm probably getting a parking ticket right now to add on to everything else I didn't plan for today." I think I may have startled her, but I'm not sure as I never looked at her. I just stared at the dripping IV. I was so angry. I wanted to channel my Dad and rip that bag off of there and rip the needle out of my hand and then call everyone a Mother Fucker and then tell them they could shove this whole son-of-a-bitch right up their ass. (To those of you that knew my Dad, you know he would have done just that.) But, I didn't. I sat there and lay in my self-pity and then anger at myself for not being thankful for this process that is supposed to help me...and the people in third world countries without insurance...or clean drinking water. Fuck that.
After what seemed like forever, IV Chick cautiously came into the room and told me it was just about over and together we watched the final drip into the tube and then the final liquid going through the IV line into my hand. "All done!" she said. It was now 2:50pm. She then says, "I bet you're hungry and I always get even more hungry after I have one of these." I said, "Well, I haven't eaten anything yet today because I didn't plan on the hostage crisis happening." Oh, and I'm so glad the treatment makes a person hungry. That's fucking fantastic.
I head up front and tell the receptionist, "The hostage situation has ended, I'd like to leave, please." My doctor was long gone and no one really knew what to do with me, but they did remember seeing me at 10am. They finally got the bill together, I paid it and left.
On the way home I thought I should probably stop at Kohl's and get a new bra and as luck would have it, there is a Carl's Jr. there in the parking lot, so I could get something to eat. I don't really like Carl's Jr., but at this point it was either that or Taco Bell, also in the parking lot. I didn't want to shit out all the nutrients just put in, so I chose Carl's. I ordered a cheeseburger and a Coke, got my food an then drove over into Kohl's parking lot to eat my burger and calm the fuck down. I take my first bite and the burger tastes gross. Then, I take a swig of the Coke and I don't know what the fuck it really is, but it isn't Coca-Cola, it isn't Coke, I don't even know if it was Diet Coke. I'm pretty sure it was some sort of cleaning fluid that the cook took a piss in, then spit some Copenhagen in there and added ice. Today just isn't my day. Look, I know the burger and Coke were a bad idea. I get it, but for the love of unicorns and all that is magical in this fucking world, I just wanted a mother-trucking moment of something good. Fuck. This. Place.
I did manage to find a bra that won't fit very well, but that will keep my boobs from looking like moobs. I have zero expectations for this bra or the bra experience. It will suck like all the others before it. When expectations=standards, that's where the calm lives. I headed home and immediately removed the broken bra and now, as I sit here blogging, they have morphed into blob status and are hanging out partly in my armpits and partly comforting my belly with a boob hug.
So, where do we go from here? I sure as fuck don't know, but I will do the testing that the girlie doctor has recommended and check things off the list. If it all turns out to be nothing, which honestly, is a best case scenario, then I think it will be time to look into witchcraft, becoming a Wicken, or start going to psychics for future guidance and health advice. I just need my body to stop being a bitch. Because, fuck her.
Let us begin.
So, I'm a mess, we've established this an infinite number of times over the years. I've been crying, can't control my anxiety, worrying about stuff and so I need to figure this shit out. There is stuff going on that the Rug Doctor can't address. I don't want to go on and on about what is currently going on with my body, but let me just break it down on a general level, as to give you an idea of why I'm doing what I am. Basically, I could be dying. Or, it could be a stomach ulcer, my gall bladder, endometriosis, uterine cancer or it could be a hang nail or any combination thereof. Suffice to say, I'm getting stuff checked out.
In starting the process of elimination on What's Eating Angry Pony I had a doctor appointment with the girlie doctor yesterday. She got all up in my business and checked things out. Then she ordered a bunch of other tests for me to go have done and then talked to me about Weight Watchers...a lot. Clearly, she drank Oprah's Kool-Aid (sugar-free) and is all about that. No offense to any WW fans out there, but it's not my jam, you know? I know it isn't, so don't hold my naked ass hostage on the table talking about it. Look at my bits and then let's wrap this up.
While I felt okay about the girlie visit, I wanted to talk to someone that I felt would be more in touch with what's really going on in my body, so I arranged to see a naturopathic doctor that I had seen years ago. I knew that she would do a deeper analysis with my blood work and that she would be able to help me find natural resolutions instead of jacking me up on a bunch of pharmaceutical candy for the governments profit and enjoyment. I was very excited she could fit me in today, so I took the day off to go see her and then I was planning on getting my nails done later in the day. A vacation day used for the betterment of Angry Pony. Sounds great!
First of all, fuck you, Friday, you piece of shit. I get up early and am filling out the bazillion pages of info that Dr. Nature (not her real name) wants to know and it asks if I have called my insurance company to verify naturopathic coverage. Well, I went to my insurance website yesterday and she is in-network, isn't that enough? No, it isn't. So, I call. Long story short, I find out that my fucking insurance doesn't cover naturopathic medicine. You know why? Because my insurance fucking sucks. That's right, I said it. All they fucking care about is sending me to the fucking doctor, collecting my fucking co-pay, getting my mother-trucking deductible, and hopefully, if they are lucky, the doctor I choose will hopefully put me on some fucking drugs to cover-up whatever is really fucking wrong with me so that they can give me more drugs to fix the problems the first drugs caused. And then they hope I die. That's right, they want me to take a lot of drugs and then they want me dead. That's all that makes any sense to me. Why cover a naturopathic doctor that might be able to help me get healthy? To help me enjoy my life without chemicals and shit? Nope, NOT TODAY! Not the fucking government and healthcare we have. The government allows and condones the poisoning of our fucking food, then we are sick, then we need drugs and then we die. On top of all of that, they build a bunch of fucking houses and business all over our agricultural areas, they make it hard for farmers to survive so pretty soon there won't be any REAL food left to eat and we will all be living off of Cheez Whiz in a can and some sort of Pop-Tart crisps. It's going to happen. I'm not even making this shit up.
Now, don't think for a minute that I don't know there is at least one of you that is thinking, "at least you have insurance, look at the people in poor third world countries that don't have it...or even my uncle Joe, he can't get coverage." You know what? Fuck off. I'm not talking about that right now. What I'm talking about is the fucking quality of our insurance here in the mother trucking U-S of A. I am thankful I have it, but for the love of God, can we do some shit that makes sense? I'm living in a fucking country where women put on vagina costumes and have their head poking out of their clit and asking their children to carry obscene and vulgar signs and telling me to "Feel my Fucking Feelings!!!" Well, you got it girlfriend, I'm fucking feeling those feelings!!!! If women can march in vagina hats in an effort to lower their cable bill or whatever else is on their mind, I can be a voice about better insurance. I'm not wearing a costume, but I did spread my legs for a doctor to look up in there, so same difference.
But. I. Digress.
Anyway, I talk to Dr. Nature and she's talking to me about my girl stuff and thinks I'm low on progesterone. Oddly, she didn't mention anything about thinking I might be low on testosterone...I think I may have ample supply of that...and then we talked about my guts and what is going on there and the fact that my body is not absorbing the nutrients it should. Insert a lot of other information here, but bottom line, if my body isn't absorbing that stuff, no wonder I'm tired and my insides are a hot mess. She suggested I get a nutrient IV which basically by-passes my guts and all the plumbing that is currently not taking the time to pull anything good out of the food I eat. I ask her how much it costs since, clearly I have to be a cash customer since my fucking insurance is shit. It isn't too horrible, so I ask how long it takes. Mind you, my appointment was at 10am. I arrived at 9:45am. Dr. Nature finally took me into her office at 10:35am. I was wrapping up with her at 11:31am. She says it should take anywhere from 40 minutes to 90 minutes. I told her I had an appointment at 2pm in Stanwood, could I be done by then? She said yes, so I agreed.
I was parked in 90 minute parking out on the street, so I went and moved my truck, came back in and sat there and waited and waited. Finally, IV Chick comes and gets me at 12:30pm. She gets me in position and then says, so you have to be somewhere at 2pm? I answered that I did. She says that will not allow enough time. Well, this is problematic. I said I would call my nail girl and see if she could bump me out. I called and she couldn't, so I went back and told IV Chick, who now had Dr. Nature with her, that I couldn't stay. IV Chick gets all a-twitter because she has already mixed up my nutrient IV and so doesn't know what to do. Dr. Nature then proceeds to say, "Is getting your nails done really a priority right now? You came in about your health. I think your health is more important than your nails, and maybe if you get healthy, you won't have to get your nails done for a while. I mean, it's up to you, it's your decision, but I think your nail person would understand how important your health is and she would also want you to put your health first." Holy shit. I feel sorry for her kids, she is Guilt Level - Expert. I felt dirty and shallow for wanting my nails done. What a whore. I call nail girl back and let her know I have to cancel my appointment. I wasn't that upset about my nails, but that is how nail girl makes her living, that isn't cool to cancel on her last minute. So, now I had that guilt, but I also felt confident she would have someone fill that spot as it is a Friday and someone will want their nails done.
So, I'm laying on the table and it takes forever for IV Chick to get me all hooked up, in my hand no less, since my veins are safely residing in cellulite deep within the safety of my arms. She leaves me in a position that is not super comfy and I have to hold my arm just right so that the IV drips continuously. She left the room and said she would be back later to check on me. I laid there and watched the dripping of the IV for a while and then tried to close my eyes and relax. Pretty soon all the dripping of the IV and the ticking on the clock was making me have to pee. By now, it was a slow time in the office as I can only hear the receptionist up front. I stand up and I drag the IV stand to the doorway. I'm like, "helllooooo...." Nothing. So, I grab my IV stand and shuffle down the long hallway to the bathroom, all the while the IV stand making noise, squeak-squeak....squeak-squeak....squeak-squeak..."OUCH!" as I run into a cart in the hallway...squeak-squeak.... No one fucking hears me. I make it to the bathroom and take care of business and head back. I see IV Chick in one of the offices, but she doesn't see or hear me, apparently. I squeak on back to my room.
By now, my lower back is killing me and my elbow is, too. I try and turn on my side and that is when the biggest injustice of the day happened. I felt a pain directly under my right boob. That's right, my size B cup boob was so angry, it busted out of a size C cup bra. It took out the underwire and now it was stabbing me in my boob. No worries, I only have to lay here another fucking hour! I tried to remain calm and shove some of my shirt between my busted bra and my boob. As I lay there, I just felt so angry. My whole day off, ruined. The IV was going slower than expected. It was now 1:50pm. I started to get mad and then I started to cry. IV Chick comes in and says, "I know, it's a long process, but we'll get there..." I stared up at the ceiling, angry tears streaming down my face and said, "WHEN?? IN TWO OR THREE MORE HOURS??! I'm probably getting a parking ticket right now to add on to everything else I didn't plan for today." I think I may have startled her, but I'm not sure as I never looked at her. I just stared at the dripping IV. I was so angry. I wanted to channel my Dad and rip that bag off of there and rip the needle out of my hand and then call everyone a Mother Fucker and then tell them they could shove this whole son-of-a-bitch right up their ass. (To those of you that knew my Dad, you know he would have done just that.) But, I didn't. I sat there and lay in my self-pity and then anger at myself for not being thankful for this process that is supposed to help me...and the people in third world countries without insurance...or clean drinking water. Fuck that.
After what seemed like forever, IV Chick cautiously came into the room and told me it was just about over and together we watched the final drip into the tube and then the final liquid going through the IV line into my hand. "All done!" she said. It was now 2:50pm. She then says, "I bet you're hungry and I always get even more hungry after I have one of these." I said, "Well, I haven't eaten anything yet today because I didn't plan on the hostage crisis happening." Oh, and I'm so glad the treatment makes a person hungry. That's fucking fantastic.
I head up front and tell the receptionist, "The hostage situation has ended, I'd like to leave, please." My doctor was long gone and no one really knew what to do with me, but they did remember seeing me at 10am. They finally got the bill together, I paid it and left.
On the way home I thought I should probably stop at Kohl's and get a new bra and as luck would have it, there is a Carl's Jr. there in the parking lot, so I could get something to eat. I don't really like Carl's Jr., but at this point it was either that or Taco Bell, also in the parking lot. I didn't want to shit out all the nutrients just put in, so I chose Carl's. I ordered a cheeseburger and a Coke, got my food an then drove over into Kohl's parking lot to eat my burger and calm the fuck down. I take my first bite and the burger tastes gross. Then, I take a swig of the Coke and I don't know what the fuck it really is, but it isn't Coca-Cola, it isn't Coke, I don't even know if it was Diet Coke. I'm pretty sure it was some sort of cleaning fluid that the cook took a piss in, then spit some Copenhagen in there and added ice. Today just isn't my day. Look, I know the burger and Coke were a bad idea. I get it, but for the love of unicorns and all that is magical in this fucking world, I just wanted a mother-trucking moment of something good. Fuck. This. Place.
I did manage to find a bra that won't fit very well, but that will keep my boobs from looking like moobs. I have zero expectations for this bra or the bra experience. It will suck like all the others before it. When expectations=standards, that's where the calm lives. I headed home and immediately removed the broken bra and now, as I sit here blogging, they have morphed into blob status and are hanging out partly in my armpits and partly comforting my belly with a boob hug.
So, where do we go from here? I sure as fuck don't know, but I will do the testing that the girlie doctor has recommended and check things off the list. If it all turns out to be nothing, which honestly, is a best case scenario, then I think it will be time to look into witchcraft, becoming a Wicken, or start going to psychics for future guidance and health advice. I just need my body to stop being a bitch. Because, fuck her.
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