more ironic

When I take it easy, my body’s happy but I get restless. When I try to push myself just a bit, I’m happier as a person but my body definitely gets angry.

Yesterday was the first day of the spring semester. I’d been trying to slowly extend the number of hours I’ve been out and about per day (even returning to work for a few hours last week) so that school wouldn’t be overwhelming, but it was too much anyway. It’s frustrating because regression quickly beats out progression, and while I may (mostly) have patience for others, I seem to be running short of it for myself.

The neurologist’s secretary refused to ask the doctor about writing me a note for my professors. “I don’t think we ought to do that sort of thing,” she sniffed, as if I was asking her to type up a note condoning my consumption of alcohol during class rather than “She has a condition which may cause her to miss classes on occasion.”

I guess trying to expect myself to be normal again before even being diagnosed is unrealistic, but I felt the need to experiment with “mind over matter” anyway, as I absolutely refuse to let this condition define me. I don’t want to be The Sick Girl, I want to be the girl who does this, this, and this, but happens to be sick. I would like to be more than I am right now.

Wish me luck that the new general physician I’m seeing tomorrow (since my previous new GP retired his practice unexpectedly) will actually look into my condition rather than brushing it off like just about every other doctor? I feel like I’m playing the doctor lottery now with the number of medical professionals I’ve seen in the last nearly four months.