"What is it exactly that you think I can do for you,' he degraded, 'fatigue has nothing to do with neurology.'

Now this was the first sentence out of the man's mouth.  Not, 'hi,' or 'I'm Dr. Vaughan, nice to meet you."  And remember after trying to get out to Dallas for days on standby, I finally made it out that very morning on a 6 am flight, landing at 9:30, racing to my appt by 10.  I hadn't even sat all the way down yet.  What did I want to do?  get right back up and avoid the mistreatment that I then realized was awaiting me.  7 months.  I had waited 7 months for that appointment.  It was the last doctor I was going to give a chance.  You see why I go through these phases where I swear off anything with an MD attached to their name.  Then, six months will go by and I start to think that there has to be something I could be doing to help the situation, to expose the docs to it a little more, even.

then i go in and get chewed up.

i had to take several deep breaths, but i stood my ground.  I flat out told him, 'I'm not lazy, I'm not just a little tired, something is really wrong.'  "There is nothing I can do about someone who is just tired,' he kept saying.  'Doc. my body moves itself.  I'll be sitting in bed and my leg will suddenly move 2 inches up and down without me telling it to.'  I handed him a copy of my crazy abnormal spinal tap results that no one can figure out and he just shrugged, 'yeah, it's a little off but that could be because of anything.'

mmmkay.  I see how this was going to go.  Supressing tears, I had to stop, fight back the tears, and beg him to help me.  I just get so tired of having to practically go before a jury to prove that I am sick.  It's like walking into an ER with a bone sticking out and the doctors just shrugging their shoulder and saying, 'looks fine to me.'

oh, cfs, you are an invisible beast.  but you haven't gotten me down for good.  doc number 76, here we come.