Discouragement; It's what's for dinner

So I had the follow up with the doctor. He checked out all the things they had checked for at the hospital and in bloodwork. and acknowledged those were all the most likely things.

He did a few more tests of various kinds. We chatted quite a long while about what the symptoms were, when they started, how often they hit, when they came back...we talked about family health history...

His poor nurse had to draw more blood. Now, mind you, I already look like a crack addict from all the blood-drawing, IV holes, etc. The inside of my right elbow has (still) 5 or 6 puncture marks in it, some bruising, and is a shade of pink that would look great on some lips. Even my left arm has a couple needle marks.

Furthermore, I am already...squirmy, lets say...when a doctor or nurse tries to needle me. The Goose even said when he went to put in the IV I had been so squirmy that he dropped a leg over my arm to hold it steady enough to stick it in. I do not recall this...but am not surprised by it, either.

Well, the nurse had to try bout 4 times because I was so needle-jumpy that I could not hold my arm steady. I was such a jack-smurf of a patient that after it was finally done, she forgot to remove the tourniquet thing they use on the arm...and I was pumping so much adrenaline that I did not realize it until 5 minutes after I had left the doctors office. And it is completely my fault.

Anyway, he came up with a couple things he thought it might be and a couple course of treatment. A prescription for Predisone and over the counter Prilosec are two of the three main streams of treatment.

He said, "Well, we are pretty sure it isn't serious."

Yes! Internal double fist pump, mental gymnastics, plans for getting back to my workout routine and getting to play some tennis and racquetball and, should the weather hold out, call my friend Fluffy the Cat to see if he might want to get in a short bike ride.

Only to have my hopes crushed by his next sentence: "But it is probably best if you lay low and take it easy for a week or two."

With the left hand he holds out hope, with the right he blasts me upside the head with a two-ton anvil. Who does he think he is, Roadrunner? Worse, he was also talking about it not being the best idea to go to work, but you can bet that one at least I killed real quick. I sit at a desk there, so it is better to be there than not.

Now, on the one hand my "self-identity" or whatever you want to call it is not tied up in athletic events. I greatly enjoy playing racket sports. I even care about winning sometimes. But not so much that I do not occasionally deliberately "throw" a game. And I don't really care if I lose to a better player, either.

I just really, really enjoy the action, enjoy pulling off good shots, enjoy feeling physically better as the weight continues to dribble off and, even when the number on the scale does not change, the clothes are looser and I can expend s much energy as I wish in physical activity. I enjoy life more and feel much better.

To have that yanked away for essentially a month is a crushing blow.

It seriously lowers the enjoyment I take away from other activities. Shows I normally enjoy watching I cannot bring myself to watch. I don't feel like painting. I just want to go engage in my games. And cannot.

Worse, it is not as if we know what happened or is happening, nor how to fix it. So who knows if he will release me when I have a follow up?

*Sigh.* I need some light at the end of the tunnel.