Saturday Morning Mail Dump

I attend quite a few outpatient clinics so shouldn’t be surprised when I receive clinic letters about me some weeks after my visit. Usually these letters are routine and uneventful, however this Saturday was the day of the mother load of clinic letters all requiring subsequent intervention. It was enough to put me off writing my blog yesterday.

I’m sure there should be guidance on so much (bad) news landing at once on your door mat, but nevertheless it appears I need to start a new diabetic medication, as my blood sugar levels seem to be rapidly rising, for which I need to take a urine sample to my GP first to rule out a urinary tract infection, and if my hba1c doesn’t improve then in six months they add in another medication. Reading between the lines: two chances for my blood sugar to fall in line before I have to go back on insulin.

I also received a letter from the respiratory physician I saw in sleep clinic, who had the unfortunate task of informing me I have to have a two week trial of CPAP as I do have mild obstructive sleep apnoea and due to the time I unintentionally spend below 90% oxygen saturation overnight, the pulmonary vascular diseases team are pushing for CPAP and have vetoed the management plan I and the respiratory physician made in favour of their initial recommendations.

I then opened a letter which books me in for two individual days in the Lung Function and Sleep Clinic with a physiologist for a CPAP nasal mask fitting (no doubt exceedingly attractive and comfortable) and a second day to pick up my trial CPAP machine. I have no idea where it will sit, possibly on top of the piles of books on my nightstand.

None of the above is in any way sufficient in terms of stripping me of my dignity, so the week I go to my nasal mask fitting I also have to see the gynaecologist, but I must have a vaginal ultrasound first. Terrific. Followed by a removal of my Mirena device in the pulmonary vascular diseases unit, in case I have an “episode.”

A letter from my practice nurse advised me I’m overdue a smear test and my optician needs to do my annual diabetic eye screening.

There’s going to be a week at the end of this month when I’m going to feel overwhelmed and rue the day I ever had anything to do with medical science. Ever. Even though I am au fait with these treatments, after all I have learned about them in medical school and I have even undertaken then as a physician a number of times but it doesn’t necessarily mean I ever thought I’d need them all at once at the ripe old age of 41, and it definitely isn’t the case that I’m comfortable with taking them in my stride, if my current thoughts are any thing to go by.

Even though I concede that all these doctors are working together to extend my life and keep my quality of life as good as they possibly can for as long as they possibly can, a part of me, through illness and disease possibly, just wants to be left alone and not prodded, poked or put under continuous positive pressure, however that part is seriously out voted and outgunned.

On the brightside, I have a routine dental check up on Monday.