Being mad at myself for eating food is not a solution to my problem.

I have a special talent for finding flaws in the health care industry.

I realized that this week. More than once, I gave up, climbed into bed and cried.

Maybe the word 'cried' is an understatement. I sobbed. I wailed. I acted like a toddler who was given a blue plate when she wanted a pink plate (true story).

I have a really long blog post detailing my latest health ordeal, but I think I'm going to sit on it a while before I publish it. It takes time to get over health stuff.

It takes time to heal.

The short story is that there is no appointment with a specialist. I fired doctor No. 2, went back to doctor No. 1, explained the situation to her, and she worked her ass off to find a same-day solution for me.

I don't want to scream success just yet. I did finally get the medicine I need, and for that I'm thankful.

That medicine has some wicked side effects, and I'm still figuring out how to take it without feeling like poop afterward.

Am I being too vague?

Maybe I'll start from the beginning. Well, it's more like the middle.

(I want to stick my tongue out too, The Raven)
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The most frustrating thing in the world is knowing that you have something wrong with your body, and knowing that the person you're talking to about it doesn't really care.

This has happened to me more than once this year.

My latest health ordeal ended up being a severe case of IBS, plus maybe some colitis thrown in there just for the fun of it.

The solution was an antibiotic, a steroid, and a really freaking expensive bottle of medicine that I ended up getting for free.

The symptoms worsened two weeks ago. Last week, I just gave up eating.

Earlier this week, I had a banana and two grapes. That was what I had to eat the whole day.

I felt guilty for eating that because it wrecked havoc on my stomach. I knew it wouldn't agree with me, and I knew I would have a bad day because of it.

I should have known better, I thought.

Okay...I'm criticizing myself for eating a banana. This problem needs to be solved. Being mad at myself for eating food is not a solution to my problem.

I went to the doctor a lot this week. At each appointment, I saw my weight drop more, and more, and more, until finally I just sat in a doctor's office and refused to move until I got an answer.

When she did finally give me a solution, I hugged her. For once this week, I cried because I was happy.

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The thing that I don't think doctors understand is that they have the ability to change someone's life. Whether they care enough to do it is another story.

I went to a lot of appointments this week.

In the end, one doctor and one pharmacist listened to me and took me seriously. The other people collected my money, told me to see someone else about the problem, and sent me out the door.

The health care system is broken.

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If I was in charge of the world, I would make one law. I would make it against the law for a doctor's office to deny an appointment to someone in pain.

This has happened to me three times this year. I don't mean to sound like a brat, but each time it happened to me I was right -- there was something wrong with my body that only a doctor could fix.

It baffles my mind that someone with a high school diploma (receptionist) has the ability to control whether a person in pain is seen or not.

I tried to explain that to one doctor's office this year. Hint: It didn't work out so well. It turns out that you can't fix stupid.

That experience made me have a new policy in my life.  If I call a doctor's office wanting to make an appointment, and the call ends and I don't have an appointment, I fire that office immediately.

Take my advice, guys. It's a waste of time to try and fix stupid. Just find someone else to go to. Don't try to fix the system.

It's not fixable.

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I started this blog post off with the intent to write something precise and on point.

Now I'm not entirely sure what my point is, except that I'm tired of being sick and tired.

I'm thankful that my problem really just ended up being irritating. It's not serious, and it's not life threatening.

I'm thankful that I got ahold of this medicine, and I'm thankful for the people who helped me get it.

I'm thankful that the pharmacist I talked to in my pjs while I was crying actually listened to my problem instead of shoving me out the door like everyone else did.

I'm thankful for my doctor (nurse practitioner technically, but she did more for me than any doctor did, so I officially give her the title of doctor on thishereblogpost).

I wish every doctor wanted to change every patient's life for the better at every single appointment.

I wish.

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I'm thankful, but I'm also mad.

I'm mad that I wasted time and money on people who didn't help me.

I'm mad that the specialist appointment that was to take a "couple of days" never materialized.

I'm mad that the first pharmacy I went to didn't try to help me.

I'm mad that I was denied an appointment when I needed it.

What makes me livid, though, is that this has happened to me multiple times this year.

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I have a tradition of quoting The Bloggess in my health posts.

That tradition continues with this amazing post she made in 2013, called Where I am Right Now. Her words have gotten me through some tough nights.

And more upsetting is the fact that I still feel exactly as exhausted as I did before we started the treatment, so God knows if this will even work or if it’ll just be another bullet-point in my list-of-shit-that’s-wrong-with-me. 

I should be happy that things weren’t worse, and relieved that I have the resources to diagnose and maybe fix the problems, but today I’m just sick and tired of being sick and tired, and I can’t find a way to end this paragraph.