Tuesday, January 14, 2014

In which my doctor takes the Lord's name in vain

In the interest of full disclosure, it was actually the Nurse Practitioner. And I also feel like I should say I didn't really like her the first time I went to see her, but these last two times, she's been my absolute favorite, so I think I'm going to keep seeing her.

Today, I had to go back to the doctor's office again, because since I came home from Christmas with asthma, I've been using my "rescue" inhaler every four hours at the least (most?), including waking up in the middle of the night with breathing issues. Just for fun, I added a barking cough into my repertoire. Everyone around me has been super happy about it. 

The stars aligned in some weird way today, and I was able to get in to the office to see them after school. I came in and gave the nurse (who just came off her smoke break to treat an asthma patient… really?) all of my info. Then, the NP came in and listened to me breathe. 

She held the stethoscope up, told me to take a deep breath, and then said "good GOD don't you EVER get this bad before coming in to see me again!"

To which I replied "yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. never again. Did I mention I'm sorry?" 

Because of the snap, crackle, and pop coming from my lungs, she suggested I do a spirometer test, a breathing treatment, and then another spirometer test to see if the treatment helped. Sure! I've never had asthma and I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm totes good at tests, and I have health insurance, so sign me up. 

Big mistake. Big. Huge. 
(Pretty Woman reference- you're welcome). 

For the spirometer, they first make you close off your nasal passages- meaning you have to put on nose plugs. I looked so freaking ridiculous I stopped the nurse so I could take a selfie. 

Again- you're welcome.
Then, you have to take as deep of a breath as you can, and blow it out until the nurse says stop. Only, the sadist nurse, didn't say stop until I was showing signs of passing out and/or dropping dead on the spot. And then she says breathe in and I have to breathe in as much as I can. At which point I seriously got woozy and started to teeter off the exam table, but caught myself before going down. (Insert Ke$ha's new song "Timber" here).

Then. THEN.

I had to it two more times.

While I was getting my breathing treatment, which was amazing by the way (breathing- never again to be taken for granted), she told me that my spirometer showed that I had the lungs of an 82 year old. Awesome-sauce.

I wasn't trying to look pathetic.
 It just appears that way
After the breathing treatment, they made me do it again. THREE MORE TIMES.

This time, they said I had better lung function. They didn't give me a number, but I was shooting for younger than 70. I have lofty goals.

Eventually, they prescribed me all the meds, and sent me on my merry way. I didn't want my Rx pick up to interfere with my tv watching for the evening, so I went to the Target a bit prematurely. With Daisy in tow. Since I couldn't wait with her in the car for 20 minutes (mostly because my phone battery was dying and therefore I couldn't play Angry Birds), we went on a field trip across the street to the PetSmart.

I had to photograph (and Instagram and Tweet) the field trip.

And no, I didn't buy her anything. Every day I have to pick up eleventy hundred of her toys from all over my apartment, plus the trashcan that has now become a toy to her, and I was also spending all the money at the Target.

But she is so. freaking. cute.

p.s. They gave me a steroid shot to clear up the sinus hell in which I've been living lately, and I feel so much better. Like, I could do a cartwheel better. Which I'm sure you can't tell at all by the silliness instilled in this post.

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