Remember that old game, “Hot Potato?” Where you’d take something (interestingly enough, usually not a hot potato) and, sitting in a circle of friends, toss it around. I forget the whole aim of the game but that’s the upshot. No one wanted to get stuck with the hot potato. It was just too darn hot.

Well that’s me. I’m the hot potato. See, yesterday K called the new doctor’s office and left a message about my spotting issues. They called me back and said they were sorry but since I wasn’t an “established” patient yet, they couldn’t give me any advice. :dry But that if it got any worse to go to the emergency room. Great. That made me feel LOADS better.

And I can’t go see the old doctor either. Heck, she’s reluctant to even up my thyroid meds. I got a call that my latest TSH numbers came back a little high. A “2″, still within what most doctors consider normal but still on the high side. Now she’s been handling my thyroid for two years now but all the sudden, no can do. Ask your new doctor what she thinks.

Welcome to my nightmare people. Come on in, the water’s warm.

Basically, the impression I’m getting here is that no one in the medical field really wants to deal with me right now. What’s more, I don’t think they really care that I’m FREAKING OUT on an hourly basis. Or that I got so panicked last night that I cried myself to sleep, certain that this spotting was spelling doom for this pregnancy and poor little Shmear.

So I guess I’m on my own. Until next Wednesday at least. Then I’m an “established patient” and maybe someone will give two shits about my mental well-being.