*~*~Warning – non-writing-related personal crap ahead. Check back tomorrow for something more interesting.*~*~
I don’t have much time or energy to devote to posting today, because I’ve already been to the doctor and still have to go to the physiotherapist and wait on a call from the psych unit.
Why? Because I am sensible. And forgetful.
Not going into excessive personal detail, I have two problems that impede my ability to do certain jobs. First and most problematic, I suffer from mild hypermobility syndrome, which means my joints are unusually flexible and basically means that I am constantly spraining and twisting and damaging and dislocating myself, which as you can imagine is just delightful (Did you know it’s possible to dislocate your collarbone? It is! And my giddy aunt, does it hurt.). After my fourth major injury in three years, my physiotherapist told me very firmly not to work in a supermarket or a job that requires constant heavy lifting ever again.
Note that my physiotherapist said this, not my doctor. Why? Because I am not stupid and don’t have money to waste. I learned quickly that my injuries needed attention from a physiotherapist, not a doctor. The doctor would at best immediately refer me to a physio who could actually help me, and at worst would screw around for weeks or months assuring me that my acute DeQuervain’s Tenosynovitis was just a sprain and to keep working, it would be fine. (I did. It wasn’t. I was in physiotherapy for months.) So I stopped wasting my money on going to the doctor and just went straight to the physiotherapist. The receptionist and I now know each other very well.
Which has suddenly become a problem because when proving to Centrelink (Australia’s unemployment services thingie) that I have a physical condition that prevents me from doing certain jobs that involve heavy lifting or repetitive motion, a physiotherapist is not acceptable. I need a note from a Real Doctor. So I had to go check in with the doctor and convince him to accept a note from my physiotherapist, which I now have to obtain, because the rules are stupid. I mean, I get them wanting proof that the problem exists, but it really bothers me that they won’t accept the word of someone who can treat it, only someone who can’t.
As for the psych unit referral, well… I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder about fifteen years ago. The doctor I saw at the time (who I was referred to by Centrelink, so they should already have this on record) told me that since my coping mechanisms were already pretty good and my panic attacks weren’t severe enough to make medication necessary, there wasn’t a lot she could do to help me. So I spent the intervening time polishing my coping mechanisms, identifying and avoiding or learning to manage situations that would set off panic attacks, identifying food intolerances that exacerbated the problem, ‘medicating’ myself with chocolate and herbal supplements and generally managing to get along all right. So now I have been informed that I need to see someone again to prove that I really have a problem because I am not taking medication and therefore cannot really be sick.
I am being penalized for coping too efficiently with my problems. Which kind of sucks.
Sorry about the downer post, will try to get back to writing-related subjects tomorrow.