Further to the blog post of two weeks ago, some progress has finally happened.
A decision! How exciting I hear you all gasp! (or not) We have chosen the GP to be the GP to see.
Family GP = ruled out. Too fattist for one thing, would probably tell me if I lost 3 stone I'd be fine. And for just being him. Even though he knows me more as a person in my family so might know the history a bit.
Other man GP = ruled out on the basis someone once described him as a "big cuddly bear-type man". Though probably not fattist, and quite nice from what I've heard, that view will freak me out.
Which leaves me with the women GPs. Anyone who would immediately tell me I needed to do exercise was taken off the list promptly. Leaving me with those who have been kind to my sister and her ailments of the impressive odd body variety. (Today, as she dislocated her dodgy shoulder on Friday, she made me get her icecream and strawberries - she is milking the situation methinks)
A woman GP who is kind, who apparently has 2 kids and won't laugh at me. But doesn't know me (or may know me only as a member of the local community/musical person) and so may judge from my notes that I am a complete madwoman who should be ignored.
That is what I am scared of. That they see I've been involved in MH services for years and dismiss this physical problem which is affecting my day-to-day life at the moment. Decide I'm just conjuring it up. That it isn't really there, but what do I know? - I've been classified as "detached from reality" in the past. I'm sure the stigma I'm thinking is going to become apparent isn't actually quite as marked as I'm expecting. Well, I hope not.
Tomorrow, Mum will probably (well, unless some crises happens she will) ring and try and make an appointment. It may be 2 weeks away, by which point I'll have sawn off my own right arm if things stay as they are today, but I'm getting there. The slow process of me just getting to the GP is slowly progressing.
I should probably work out a suitable answer to the "how many units of alcohol do you drink a week?" question, as um-ing and ah-ing and counting on my fingers and toes and the GP's fingers and toes (and a nurse I had grabbed to count their fingers and toes too) would probably be seen to be slightly inappropriate (IF indeed it did come up). Little things to be prepared with are going to be the way forward... Panicking isn't the best idea... *repeats ad infinitum*