At home, basically bored
Neurology appointments tend to go worse than visits to a general doctor, but Friday proved the exception, as I have a new doctor: a cheerful guy rather than a House wannabe. This Dr. House, wheelchair-ridden, seemed to overcompensate for his disability by being short with patients to try and get a shit-ton done. Or else he’s just ornery, maybe from an addiction to pain killers? That’d be too much like the character...
I had tried to see cheerful guy or anyone in his clinic before, but they “don’t treat headaches.” Dad happened to mention that to his boss, whose idea of “What the hell do they treat, then?” probably helped.
Migraines seem taken care of, so I’ll be scaling back from what I call the “happy pills” to a half dose before none at all. He also helped me with triptans, the quick-relief pills. Best doctor ever.
Now I’m on the day 3 of less meds, and managed to avoid a migraine. My grandparents’ health problems hammer perspective into my own- heart surgeries and beginning Alzheimer’s beat fading migraines any day. I’ll be seeing them in St. Louis as I drive from home to Beloit (Dad’s likely promotion + Mom’s raise = new car = oldest car for oldest son), and staying with them for a little while will be...interesting. Knowing so many others suffer through worse helps sometimes.
Now, to finish up Grad school apps, a process I never quite seem to get around to completing as I always let something else snag my time. Reminds me of a song I loved in high school, and found again- Stress, by Jim’s Big Ego, which starts:
I'm addicted to stress, that's the way that I get things done
If I'm not under pressure then I sleep too long
And I hang around like a bum
I think I'm going nowhere and that makes me nervous...
As I have too much time, I really just don't wanna do anything. Almost too relaxing, really. Lately, I’ve been distracted mostly be gifts, reading, and pirating DVDs. Good Omens beats archaeology reading, though Kathleen Deagan, in an essay called “Archaeology and Understanding Early America” said something I thought amusing and true, when describing the accuracy of archaeology:
“Would you prefer to tell somebody how many beers you drank last week or have them search your garbage every day? Even if you did not mind telling them the truth, you probably would not remember it anyway.” Reminds me of drinking in Chile, where we’d save bottles to recycle and the maid made jokes about how quickly we drank the village’s liquor supply. Honestly, I don’t remember how fast it was.
I had tried to see cheerful guy or anyone in his clinic before, but they “don’t treat headaches.” Dad happened to mention that to his boss, whose idea of “What the hell do they treat, then?” probably helped.
Migraines seem taken care of, so I’ll be scaling back from what I call the “happy pills” to a half dose before none at all. He also helped me with triptans, the quick-relief pills. Best doctor ever.
Now I’m on the day 3 of less meds, and managed to avoid a migraine. My grandparents’ health problems hammer perspective into my own- heart surgeries and beginning Alzheimer’s beat fading migraines any day. I’ll be seeing them in St. Louis as I drive from home to Beloit (Dad’s likely promotion + Mom’s raise = new car = oldest car for oldest son), and staying with them for a little while will be...interesting. Knowing so many others suffer through worse helps sometimes.
Now, to finish up Grad school apps, a process I never quite seem to get around to completing as I always let something else snag my time. Reminds me of a song I loved in high school, and found again- Stress, by Jim’s Big Ego, which starts:
I'm addicted to stress, that's the way that I get things done
If I'm not under pressure then I sleep too long
And I hang around like a bum
I think I'm going nowhere and that makes me nervous...
As I have too much time, I really just don't wanna do anything. Almost too relaxing, really. Lately, I’ve been distracted mostly be gifts, reading, and pirating DVDs. Good Omens beats archaeology reading, though Kathleen Deagan, in an essay called “Archaeology and Understanding Early America” said something I thought amusing and true, when describing the accuracy of archaeology:
“Would you prefer to tell somebody how many beers you drank last week or have them search your garbage every day? Even if you did not mind telling them the truth, you probably would not remember it anyway.” Reminds me of drinking in Chile, where we’d save bottles to recycle and the maid made jokes about how quickly we drank the village’s liquor supply. Honestly, I don’t remember how fast it was.