A Hodge-Podge of a Hullabaloo

Today was sort of a mix of things.
First I went to the endocrinologist's.
Actually, I went to the pediatrician's.

That's the thing that makes me angry about my age.
I feel like I'm 20, and yet I have to get my blood pressure taken with the "big girl's" cuff.
All because I'm 16.

Of course, most of the doctors I go to are normal doctors, but almost all endocrinologists in Nevada refuse to take people under 18. So you have to pick and choose where you can.

The damn place was called "The Peds". Pronounced "peeds" apparently.
Seriously? Was I at a night club, or a doctor's office?
With all that being said, my doctor was really nice.
He didn't draw blood because he said that my medicines would mess with the results, so he went off of my symptoms and my old blood tests.
He even felt my arm pits!
That was uncomfortable. I was thinking "I hope you wash your hands as soon as you leave the room."
So, he diagnosed me. And what he diagnosed me with pissed me off.
Why? Because I diagnosed MYSELF with it last year, and everyone said "Noooo, noooo. That's not what it is! No way!"

What do I have? Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. PCOS.
It's super complicated and hard to explain, so I'll make it simple.
Insulin spikes, cysts form on ovaries, cysts cause spike in testosterone.
Testosterone makes me sweat, get acne, be aggressive, and grow hair weird places.
And it's... wait for it... untreatable! Yay being screwed for life!
Plus I'm sort of a man, because I'm super manly with my elevated testosterone.
*flexes* See the manliness?

The best part are my only options to end the sweating.
I can
A) Take a medicine that turns my hands and feet orange and BURNS OFF MY SKIN so that I can't SWEAT FROM IT. His words, not mine.
B) Get the nerves in my hands and feet surgically clipped off.
C) Botox.

While having my skin turn orange and then burn itself off sounds fun, I think I'm going to pass.
Sound good? Yeah, sounds good.After that we went to Jersey Mikes and got some subs. I really love a good sandwich every now and then.
I'm too lazy to make them myself.
Who has time to cut the bread, spread on the condiments, blah blah blah blah blah.

Then we went to my psychiatrist. Busy ass day for my health, huh?
I told him what happened with the Cymbalta, so he gave me Pristiq. I'm starting it tomorrow morning.
I then told him that lately I've been feeling angry very easily, and that I lash out and can't control myself.
Most of this is aimed at Drew. I get angry for no reason.
Cameron bought him a video game, and I got angry because I thought Cameron was trying to upstage me and that Drew would like him better now.
Truth me told, it's a rational fear. This whole bromance thing is getting out of hand.

So he gave me something called Risperidone to take along with the Pristiq and Trazodone.
I just looked up Risperidone.
It's an anti-schizophrenic/bipolar medicine.
The voice in my head is telling me I don't need that medicine.
What's one of the side-effects of Risperidone?
Anxiety.
The whole reason I went to the psychiatrist in the first place.

So I'm on 3 different anti-depressants, all for different things.
I have a headache, I'm tired, and apparently my ovaries look like someone had a bitchin' party on them.
So, I'm going to go to sleep.
Fair enough, right?

Oh, and Drew read the open letter.
Think he's getting it. Now for him to text consistently... hmm... new letter, here I come...
Oh, and for kicks let's look back at the picture of me the night I took Cymbalta.
I saw it earlier and went WHAT HE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?
I looked awful.
But it's funny as hell, because you can SEE that that medicine was messing me up.
I look schizophrenic, standing on the street corner asking the voices in my head if we've collected enough money.
My eyes especially. The medicine gave me crazy eyes.