Comedy of Errors.

So this morning? I showed up at the endocrinologist’s office to find out my results from the sodium loading.

And… wait for it…

There aren’t any.

Somebody at UCLA’s Santa Monica Clinical Lab effed up, big time, with my 24 hour urine sample. They checked the metanephrines, of course (which were negative, of course), but…

THEY NEGLECTED TO CHECK THE ALDOSTERONE.

Yes, you read that right.

***bangs head against wall***

The endo wanted me to repeat the test. I told him, HELL NO – It’s been over a week since I completed it and I STILL have a horrendous headache and elevated BP and probably the worst trapezius muscle spasm I’ve had since… ever, really.

I am done. DONE with the testing and the clueless doctors and with being medically interesting. Enough already. As I’ve said for years – my body, my science experiment – and even if it kills me, I am determined to be in charge from here on out.

There are two options, really. It’s simple. First get my potassium back under control (feeding me giant doses of salt pills will do the exact opposite) and hope that takes care of the BP once again. If it does – problem solved. I have hypokalemia – easy peasy, there’s my diagnosis. If that fails, I start taking the dreaded eplerenone. If that works – easy peasy, I have a hypertension diagnosis on my record and nothing more.

And if neither of those solve the problem, then maybe I’ll be willing to revisit this testing stuff. But at this point, I’m ready to just let the damned disease have its way with me, even if it kills me.

Because really, I think the medical establishment’s incompetence is more likely to kill me than anything.

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