The steroids are beyond insidious. Def the scariest, most-out-of-control part of this chemical andventure. Amped-up NFL players running around off the field without a clue that they’re wildly aggro, clocking their S.O.’s, wrecking cars and busting up bars…. I GET IT.
I’m not a 285 lb. guy and am not paid to destroy or cripple other people. Physically, anyway. I am making real progress on verbal destruction, however.
Here’s an email that I sent to my daughter a few weeks ago. Fueled by dex one day, solu-medrol the next. I had everything going but the foam oozing out from the sides of my mouth.
“HELP HELP! AbFab Mom on mega-steroids. Am I Patsy or Edina?? I think the mom was Edina. Need to revisit and figure out who I am these days.”
“Help help it’s me again. I think I’m frazzling. I accidentally posted this on local community bulletin board. (Thought I was writing to NZ.) Not sure how I posted it to the entire zip code. Got hate mail from site management censorship overlords to take message down.
What’s with the frantic moms around here? They’re wringing their hands about their precious spawn crossing a two-lane suburban side road on their way to school. Shit, that is the biggest danger: the kids falling into the big poops that decorate the horse trails where those perfect-kiddie feet have to walk. What’s not safe? Look this way. Then look the other way. Make sure cars are not coming at you in either direction. Is that too difficult for these kids? On a two-lane suburban road that’s mainly used by posses of road bikers?
Try crossing four lanes of rush hour traffic in downtown Chicago, with wild cab drivers, harried bus drivers and sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated people turning right on red, going to work in their oversized vehicles. We took you kids by the hand and taught you how to do it. Lots of times ‘til we figured that the kids were good to go it alone.
When did anxious helicopter parents decide the community had to oversee their kids’ route to school? Isn’t that part of being a parent? Teaching your kids how to get to school or wherever they need to go?”
Later that day….
PS: I am saving the voice message PCP nurse that landed here at 5:00 pm. Am thinking the doc may be passive aggressive. SERIOUSLY.. you have to listen. Granted, info is coming back via the retarded messenger-nurse. YOU HAVE TO HEAR the fuss and detailed anxiety around taking extra calcium, that it could cause heart disease. Hey! You just sent me to a cardiologist for a baseline reading and ECHO test. All clear. Heart is fine. What do they think I am doing?? OD-ing on calcium? Just fucking tell me how much to take, and how often. Need to keep my bone density in the OK zone during treatment, with the steroids especially.
Nursie’s message said: “You need to talk with an endocrinologist. (???!!!???) and you need to work with youroncologist, since it is chemo related.”
WHAT THE FUCK??? How many doctors have to weigh in on this stuff? I think the office nurse is the problem. Too fucking stupid to carry a simple message in two directions? The sky would fall in if the doctor actually spoke with me directly! Using that imbecile as a go-between?? It’s freaking me out. I am going to make an appt simply to ask the doctor one question? It sure is fun having messages mangled and volleyed back and forth thru an imbecile. The only way to communicate is this whispering-down-the-lane business. Or carrier pigeon. Call the office. Hope that your message doesn’t get lost in translation. Wait for return transmission from doctor via nurse. Hope again that doctor’s message isn’t twisted on the return route.
Fucked up. How much research does a doctor need to do to answer a simple question: how much vitamin D and calcium do I need to offset bone density loss during cancer treatment? Not rocket science. Most of that office practice is geriatric. Like I’m the only person to have asked this??!!??
I can’t see One More Doctor. Doctored out. Love my oncologists. They don’t mess around or act coy or use slo-mo, relay-nurses to communicate. I am so fucking FED UP. Don’t llike the games and really don’t want to hear that woman drone on at me in voice mail. Or in person. As if I’m a second-grader with a boo boo. Fuck OFF, or go back to taking to other imbeciles.”
I rest my case. I should self-quarantine after Steroid Day. Or stay clear of keyboards, touchpads and anything else that lets me talk to the world.