So I Kinda Spazzed Out On My Doctor

I really didn't mean to, I swear!

I had an appointment this morning and was told to fast. So I'm sitting there in the office, finally (after waiting forever and having a ton of blood drawn for labs) and the chick is asking about what I'm eating. Which is not a whole hell of a lot. Salads, mostly. And chicken; not fried, of course. Anyway, she notes that I weigh the same as I did last time so I need to cut back. Again. Hell I'm already not eating half as much as I was because everything I like has been banned. And I'm sitting there thinking "the first doctor told me he wasn't worried about the weight, just the level of sugar in my blood. Now you wanna flip the script?" But I say nothing. My numbers were down from what they were, but for some reason she still feels the need to double my dosage, which means paying double for the medicine. She mentions that my blood pressure is up, which it has never been until after the diabetes diagnosis. Even at the doctor's appointment a week before I came to her office the first time my blood pressure was normal. As much stress as I've been under about work, finances, my health, and my relationship, I can't say I'm surprised it was up. She accuses me of not telling her everything I'm eating, then decides I need a prescription for that. "Great, more money gone," I think. But I hold my tongue. Then she asks about the gym and I tell her. She suggests I get a personal trainer. I told her that wasn't an option right now. Then she goes on into this spill about this is life or death, I don't need to be lazy, a trainer can help me exercise even when I don't feel like it... Finally I couldn't hold my tongue anymore. "Are you gonna pay for my personal trainer? Because I'm scraping up the $28 a month to go, I dayum sure don't have an extra $200 a month for their trainer! I don't even know if I'm gonna be able to afford all these prescriptions. So how in the world am I going to afford a trainer?" For a minute she didn't say anything, probably surprised that I'd gone from 0 to 100 in a second. Then she says, "Okay, well I need you to try to lose five pounds in two weeks and come back to see me" and makes for the door. "If I can pay for it," was all I could reply.

 

Moral of the story: I need to move to Canada. Here, I can neither afford to be sick nor to get better.