Doc doesn't remember most of yesterday at the doctor's. He remembers getting mad at me and that's about it. He didn't remember the bronchitis diagnosis. And I don't think he properly remembers the xray, because every time I've brought it up, he has contradicted me in really weird ways, like he doesn't understand the injury.
I found an Orthopedic group that is in my insurance network and connected to the two hospitals that are in network. I told Doc I would have to call Monday and ask for an emergency appointment. At which point he got all angry again and started in with the "What are you planning for me, without me, now?" business again (like I'm making an appointment at a fucking spa or something). I told him that the bone needs to be reset and glued or whatever back in place before it pierced something important. That I was in a precarious position because I had to cough because of the bronchitis, but every time I did, I risked puncturing my lung. And then he told me I was being needlessly melodramatic and he was tired of that from me all the time (Wait. What?) and to just stop talking about it.
Um. Yeah. Have to talk about it. And I was not being melodramatic. I was explaining the facts to him, as I saw them, according to web searches and the papers that the doctor had sent home with me and the xray. And I was doing it pretty emotionlessly. He's out, now, getting my scripts filled. And getting something for my colon. The Metamucil just made me more gassy. So, now, I actually feel bloated. Problem exacerbated. I wonder how much of my budda belly is swollen colon. I just want it clear before I go anywhere near a hospital, because they are enema happy, and I most certainly am NOT.
So, I'm thinking Doc wants me to make an appointment for next Friday because he is off that night and can put off sleep until after the appointment and then sleep as long as he wants. I really don't think I should wait that long. Maybe I should just take Doc's laisez faire attitude toward it and say fuck it. Just sit and sleep on the big couch that he is usually on, and not do anything but wait until Friday.
He's bringing home ampules for the nebulizer and I told him when he did, I wanted to do another 10 minute breathing session with it like I did at the doctor's yesterday because I felt better after. And he tried to talk me out of it. What even the fuck is going on with him? I guess he thought I was getting them for him. I don't know.
He's in denial. This is seriously triggering him in some way, back to when he was young. I don't fully understand it, but I get it a little. I have to be patient and think of him. Keep him first in my thoughts. Allow him to feel what he needs to feel, and not play any Madonna. He seems really fragile right now. I have to make sure he doesn't break. That is more important to me than my rib right now.
I wish I could clean. He is a bad tidy-er. I suppose I could put a few things away that he wouldn't notice that would make a big difference to me. Hang up some sweatshirts. Gather socks. Take my bedding to my room. I'm going to go do that. Then refill my ice water. I wonder if he'll make red beans and rice for me. He made me soup last night and forced me to eat it. He flip-flops. I'm so confused. I'm trying to be my own advocate, but it's hard because I don't really have any control over anything.