So I feel like life has decided to smack me in the face. I've been pretty miserable since Thursday because Thursday was just a miserable day. I woke up, and found out that I won't be allowed to be a CIT at camp this year. Camp starts tomorrow, and I've spent about 50% of today crying because camp is my life.
This is diabetes camp. I've been going since I was three years old. I've been a CIT twice, once for the 3-6 year old boys, and once for the 9&10 year old girls. I love doing it, and this year would've been my 13th year. So, you know, there's that. I understand why I'm not allowed to go, seeing as I'm barely three weeks off back surgery, and kids can't jump on me, and if I fall over, I'm toast. With jam. (Sidebar: My new catch-phrase is "that could've ended poorly" in reference to me stumbling over curbs, rugs, stairs, my own feet, and of course, air.) So it makes sense. But I'm still really really REALLY ReAlLy rEalLy super SUPER bummed. I honestly have no idea what I'm gonna do with myself, seeing as all the people I wanted to see are going to be knee-deep in campers while I sit at home, staring at a wall, thinking "I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally need to do my summer reading. Like, now."
Also on Thursday, I had a post-op appointment. Let's preface this story with a clarifying statement. I did not have a pediatric doctor for this surgery. What happened to me doesn't really happen to normal(ish) sixteen year old girls. It happens to adults. Therefore, I had to see an adult doctor. ALRIGHT. Back to the story. So, post-op appointment. First of all, it was called for 11:15. I didn't see the doctor until about 11:55. And as we all know, I've got a bad case of "Only Child Syndrome." My friend Matt, from Store-A-Tooth (I'll inform you about them in a future blog post, I promise) is an only child. And he informed me of this problem I have, Only Child Syndrome. Seeing as that's the case, I HATE BEING MADE TO WAIT. And I sat there, for 40 minutes, waiting for a doctor who I hate.
Now, this man could've been Batman, or Molly freaking Weasley before I had my surgery. I didn't care WHO was operating on me, as long as the pain was gone. And the pain was gone relatively quickly. And now, I'm looking for some bedside manner. And of course, I didn't get any. This guy talks to me like I'm five years old, plus, he asked to see the cut on my back, and he just ripped the bandage off and started touching. No warning about what he was going to do, and when I asked for him to wet the tape around the bandage (it makes the bandage easier to take off, and way less painful), he didn't even respond.
I get it. Adult doctors aren't as gentle as the pediatric ones, and I'm probably his first "young" patient ever, but holy crap. Can we have a little compassion for the sixteen year old who is just having the worst day ever?! When he did that, I nearly jumped into my mom's lap. Like, all composure went straight out the window. It just wasn't happening.
It was probably the most traumatic day of my entire summer. Including surgery day. And on top of all of that, I was getting TOTALLY FREAKING STIR CRAZY sitting at home having nothing to do but watch Futurama on Netflix and text Katelyn (who, by they way, was an AMAZING sport throughout the beginning two weeks of recovery. She listened to me whine, complain, and be a total pain in the butt about being confined to my house).
I made Dad drop me off at the movies, and I went by myself. And then I had a GF cupcake. Which, by the way, was delicious. Drowning my self-pity and worst day ever in Chocolate-Peanut Butter cupcake and Ice Age 4 was probably the best idea ever. So the day was saved.
Much love,
Alexa
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