After I wrote my positive outlook on life blog yesterday, things changed and quick. I had been referred to a specialist for Lyme, however, she wouldn’t take me unless I faxed all 4.6 billion pages of my family practitioner’s files-a feat so great, so daunting, that I crossed her off the list.
So, now I am on the phone with practice after practice, looking for some enlightenment, and receptionist after receptionist gives me a hard time. Why, one of them was so rude I hung up on her-because she was about to get a fresh can of WHOOP ASS, and I have offended God enough in one week, thank you very much!
The thing is, I have never been diagnosed with Lyme. They did bloodwork twice, and both times told me that I had an autoimmune disorder. Do you have any idea how many immunity disorders there are? However, I had the tick bites and bullseye to go with my other symptoms. Now I need REAL answers from a REAL Specialist. I finally found a woman in Lancaster, an internist. I have to wait a few weeks, but do have to tell Peter about it, my physician for all other things Michele. That should go over well, NOT.
So, with Lyme you have so many symptoms of depression, mood swings and outbursts-and now I can’t tell if I’m truly depressed, or is it the Lyme spirochete? So, I am on the verge of a full out meltdown. I’m not going to lie, I thought about taking a drink. Unfortunately, or should I say FORTUNATELY every bartender within a fifty mile radius of my home knows I’m in recovery. Seriously floundering, I began yelling at God. I do this very, very rarely-only when I am distraught. The mere thought of hurting Jesus is enough to make me faint-I wasn’t so much angry as frustrated, and frightened. And that just isn’t me.
I decided on a joint and a sit by the lake, and drove away from my house like a bat out of hell. Actually, I didn’t know my little jeep had it in her, but I was doing 75 when I saw her. Laying in the road, blood everywhere, surrounded by three elderly women.
I jumped out of the jeep, horrified, and tried to contain the situation (I am a highly trained EMT) when the news hit me that no one had called 911. I didn’t have my cell, so I drove back up to the house and called. This is what I abhor about phoning 911-the idiotic questions. You are sitting by a woman who is bleeding out, right there in front of you, and this jerk wants to know if she’s alive. WHAT THE HARRY BELLAFONTE?????? I told him three, count ’em THREE times I was an EMT. Finally snapped and just told him to send the flippin’ ambulance. Not before he said this to me: “don’t touch her.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, why can’t people do their jobs?
So, the ambulance comes, to see Nora. She is a kindly and mentally challenged Amish woman who lived down our street. She has diabetes, and her sugar crashed-she took a face plant into the concrete, with her glasses on. The blood was everywhere, and, as always-a woman on the scene who thought she knew everything.
The bus (ambulance) arrives. I am busy directing what little traffic there is, and I (seemed like slow motion) turned to see the paramedics lifting her by her arm pits on to a gurney. No concern whatsoever for her back or spine. I have never, ever seen such malpractice in my life. She should have been C-spined, and put in the gurney with padded protectors to keep her spine straight, but she wasn’t.
I left the scene when all was over, the know it all blubbering (she was as upset as I was, to see their lack of skills) and various neighbors talking amongst themselves on the pavement. I turned towards home, and I let out a holy cry-God knew what it would take to get me out of the house yesterday. I never leave the house after noon unless I have plans-I am too busy cleaning and cooking and baking and…………………He knew, and he used me even though I was the biggest, whiniest brat on the planet. He used me to help save a woman’s life.
Cast your burdens upon the Lord and He will sustain you: He will never allow the righteous to be shaken.