Becoming Isis, putting Osiris back together

My pleurisy has now gone on for a month, with no known cause, and just isn't getting better. I skipped out on the morning of our Morris Ale on Saturday to go to the doctor. He gave me two referrals (and more drugs): one for a chest CT scan, one for a respiratory physician. I had hopes for the specialist, since I'm not really keen to have more radiology.

Oh, how I should have known better. The last time I had a referral, when I had an ear infection that lasted three months, the appointment was so far in advance that by the time my appointment came around it was completely healed. And I had to pay for him to simply tell me not to stick cotton buds in my ear – no bulk-billing for specialists. This one can't get me in until the 15th of October – five weeks from now.

This is what makes specialists useful for chronic problems, but completely rubbish for acute. Missing a lung? Well, you'll still be missing it in two months' time; what's the rush? Severe pleurisy that may have other complications? Come back in December 2009. You say it'll be fixed by then? Why, then my job is done. It'll heal on its own; no need for me.

Bah. I'm wondering whether I should just take the appointment, as for all I know, my pleurisy could still be going on in five weeks' time. The receptionist suggested I go back to my GP and get a list of other specialists, to see if any have appointments earlier than the 15th. This sounds like a lot of work (even if my GP is currently on shift at the clinic) for dubious result. Suddenly the five hours waiting in the Royal Melbourne emergency department seems far less dire. At least I was in the same day, and only had my bladder and hunger to suppress.

Edit: I called the clinic, and they gave me a couple of other names. One is on holiday until the end of September, the other is going on holiday at the end of September, but can fit me in next Monday. Hurrah!

After spending a miserable morning where my innards rebelled against me, I went to the doctor's about the excruciating pain emanating from my ribs every time I try to do something so rash as breathe too deeply. We assumed it was a muscular injury of some sort, as I haven't done anything unusually strenuous recently, but it's slowly been getting worse.

So I went to the doctor, and he poked my ribs, and said I probably had pleurisy, but that I should get an x-ray to be sure. So I walked around the corner, and stood in a dim room with a dartboard in the corner, trying to count the number of times I'd had an x-ray in my life (several for my orthodontics, one session when I badly sprained my ankle in 2003, one in the last few months for dentistry), and wondering how many one could have in one's life before beginning to glow. (My MIL apparently is no longer allowed to have x-rays due to the high number she's had already.)

And I had to breathe deeply and hold it (OW), and breathe out and hold it (ow), and lean a little to this side (ow), and lie on my side (OW). And both in the doctor's surgery and on the x-ray table I had to helped because it hurt too much to sit up. That was a little humiliating, but I was mostly in too much pain to care.

The results won't be in until tomorrow, so I have another appointment at 12. Jeebus, but I'm sick of being in pain. Surely normal people have whole days at a time without feeling in physical discomfort of some kind.

In other news, my housemates moved all the furniture yesterday while I was at writer's group (not that I would have been able to help anyway). I think they would have moved the toilet if they'd had a few extra metres of pipe.

Also, we had tequila and awesome Mexican food on Saturday night. You are all jealous. No really, you are.

Fuckity-fuck balls. My back hurts so very much. I thought it'd be better than yesterday, but presumably I slept on it wrong, because I've been in more pain today than I was yesterday. I had less of a crap day, though, because Princess Bitchface wasn't home, so I was installed upstairs, where I played Voodoo Vince for about fifteen minutes until (after a foolish backtracking to a previous level) I lost my temper with its poor game design (the way it handles the camera is seriously wonky) and switched it off. I also continued reading through The Complete Polysyllabic Spree, by Nick Hornby, which my dad got me for Christmas. After Steph came upstairs to give me more aspirin (I decided yesterday I wasn't going to have any painkillers, but today I went back on that. Anyway, it always bothers Steph when I go through pain. She has a lower pain barrier for me than I do), she also brought me Morrowind (as I requested). I sucked. I picked up my old save game, but it wasn't where I remembered leaving it, and I didn't remember all the little tasks on my "to-do", or which ones I'd already completed, or ANYTHING. I got brutally slaughtered by a bunch of dark-elf policemen for picking a couple of leaves off their pot plants, which seemed to be a vast overreaction to me. There was blood on the screen, for fuck's sake. So I switched it off in a fit of pique, and went back to my book. I guess that's what happens when you don't play a game for over a year. I think that next time I might just start a new game from beginning. It'd be annoying wandering around Bumfuck, Morrowind, but at least I would know who I was, where I was, what I was doing, and not to pick other people's pot plants.

We were due to go to Y—— Street for New Year's tonight, but my back has kinda put paid to that. I wish we had at least the soy icecream Steph and I bought for Litha, but we left it at Hedda and Liam's, who are among the many people in Melbourne who have plans for tonight. *sulks* We have no plans, and nothing to do. We'll open a bottle of wine, maybe. That'll be it. Steph suggested we watch the fireworks on telly, but I declined, since frankly I'd rather watch a computer screensaver. So I'm not sure what we'll be doing this New Year's Eve, but I can pretty much guarantee that it will involve me lying on my back. Bah. As Steph's said, if I'm still this bad tomorrow, I'll have to call my temp company and cancel my day of work on Tuesday (though I'd still like to know what happened to my two-week contract I thought they'd arranged with me which also started Tuesday). I won't be all that sorry, since they wanted me there from 8am to 6pm, which I think is a stupidly long time to answer phones. Please, please, universe, let me get a worthwhile job in 2007.

Don't forget to answer my two polls (on Steampunk cards, here, and send me vertual hugs becausde i need the locing form me frineds!! LOVEs JME! on my pagan filter, here. And ignore the italics, which is Steph interfering as per ushual, as Molesworth might say). I'm hoping to send my cards out tomorrow. I hadn't seen Chronographia's steampunk holiday cards when I devised mine, but I heartily approve. I already know what I want to put in mine – a short-short story inside, and there should be an illustration to match.

OH, GOD. I had racked my brain, trying to think of a food I wanted to eat tonight, but came up dry. We're having Mexican, but N—— is making it. I just heard her argue with Steph that it doesn't need garlic. DINNER IS DOOMED. is ojk I PUT IN a gablespoon!!