Pain I Am In And Meniere's

Kindred,

Today, I had no alternative but remain ready and steadfast. I had an appointment with doctor's and staff there at the Rehabilitation Center at Tampa General Hospital. I took my Little Blue Bus across county for my doctor appointment and my baby sis, who happens to work over in that vicinity transported me home. Blessed I am! Thank you, Baby Sis! Seen.

No sounds that I want to hear are coming from either ear.

I am in pain. Yes, in pain with medicine in my stomach and a system influenced by Botox injections that were provided at plus twenty injectables. Tonight still I am in pain. In my shoulders, upper arms, neck, scalp and back. I am exhausted and "unable" to sleep. Weird. eh?

While at the Rehab. Center, there was not much of a feeling for a welcome. No, not there today. There was too much of a rush-me-in and rush-me-out scenario today, too much like a cattle round up, line them up, get your shots/brand and be off. Just like that too. I was under the medicinal influence of my medications while at rehab. The entire contents of my stomach were medications, as I did not break fast. My blood pressure substantially increased while there. I was then as I am now, very nauseated, sweating, dizzy and emotional. Yes, I wept.

I love my doctor, but some of her staff very truly need a bit of in-service/sensitivity training, STAT. Nurses? Bless their hearts. Most of these folks don't even know me, neither would they know that I am there because I do not want anymore medicine. For shits sake! I am in search of professional aid and assistance. I am in search of a cure and hope. With Meniere's Disease, I have none.  I didn't have much of an opportunity to speak with my Dr. She-With-Many-Names. I believe if we had an a better connection, this visit would have been a better visit all around.

I am in pain. It is 0200 and no, I would rather not visit the emergency departments. I called the rehab center just a couple/few of minutes ago to leave a message on the Nurses Station telephone line. There was not a thing. Nothing. No recorder for messages or even a human voice.  

With cicadas seven foot tall driving me mad, cow's mooing, along with all the other post Meniere's Disease vertigo attack symptoms, I suck on my asthma puffers, and I eat my medication as directed.

This pain I am in, right now. My right shoulder down my right arm, to the bone.

As you drop your mic to the floor, I look up and see your eyes, yours to mine. Kenny, Oh Kenny.