Venice Family Clinic

Doctor Despina Kayichian

She is my kidney specialist at Venice Family Clinic. I had an 08:00 appointment today. I was there on time. I checked in . I had my vitals taken. I was placed in an examination room, where I continued to crochet on Please, Mr. Postman Blanket.

When I stood up to take a break from sitting for so long, I checked my phone and discovered it was 08:46!

On my way out, I stopped at my case worker’s desk to explain that I am tired of being treated like a specimen, that I was taking back control of my health care. As such, I will not tolerate unprofessionalism; lack of common decency, courtesy; disrespect. I will continue to go from doctor to doctor until I find one that provides the kind of care I desire.

A counselor with huge ears, butted in. I asked “Who are you?” She expressed a desire to speak with me – convert me! I wasn’t having it, repeated my reasons, and left.

As mother and I drove away, my phone rang and it was Venice Family Clinic. I answered and it turned out to be Dr. Kayichian. I related to her my thinking from last might that I am viewing our relationship, as such: A relationship! From that perspective, I am breaking up with her, pointing out that she would hardly tolerate the behavior she has been showing me.

www.ayokasystems.com

Checkin’ in…

Having cut off communication with my healthcare providers, I feel more in control, rejuvenated, not depressed. I think I need a break from all the bureaucracy, unprofessionalism and lack of common courtesy the health care industry is in bountiful supply.

Seriously, think about it as a relationship…would you have a relationship with someone that did not have any respect for you? I think not! And if you did, WAKE UP HUMAN!

The Bottom Line: It’s MY health! I care. If the health care industry cared they would not aggravate this ill person more.

DaNell Daymon and The Greater Works Gospel Choir

DaNell Daymon & Greater Works Gospel Choir

I just saw their semi-final performance on America’s Got Talent and I this is the closest I have come to have a complete breakdown and just crying my eyes out, which is probably what I need most.

DaNell shared his desperation; I can identify with that. What I can’t identify with is my reason for being created, here. He says that one must/just believe in yourself. My immediate reaction is that I don’t think I was taught that growing up. I know I was always told how smart I was, how handsome I was, how intelligent I was…I never believed it because my life experiences never matched or made sense to me. If I was so handsome, why did I never have/secure a companion? If I was so smart, why was I not able to earn as much money as my colleagues – in reality, I never have been motivated by money.

Anyway, I would love to see the choir perform in their own show in Vegas. It might be worth the $s to go; I would be crying during the whole performance, loving it! Their performances move me.

 

93°F In Culver City

93°F In Culver City

I awoke this morning to do some work before an 8:30 a.m. appointment.

I was called in at 8:34 a.m. for vitals at Venice Family Clinic.

I had a very thorough examination by my doctor, albeit beginning late at ย 8:50 a.m.

I had been experiencing a shortness of breath and pain in the middle of my chest since I switched from duloxetine(?) to viibrid(?) – which I learned today would not improve my impotence. The doc felt that the impotence was due to diabetes. Of course, being a government recipient, an Rx for viagra is out of the question. Strike 1 *

OMG! I just thought of something funny ๐Ÿ˜€

The doctor orders an EKG. Based on the EKG, she suggests I go to the emergency room for suspicious coronary event. I hesitate, but under threat of calling the paramedics – which would not be all bad, if you get my meaning – I comply and mother drives me to Marina del Rey Hospital.

Strike 2 was the third patient in triage: I find it the rudest and such a lack of boundaries when another patient is playing audio at a volume as to invade the person sitting right next you. By this time I had not eaten, nor had a stroke or heart attack, so I was getting uncomfortable, impatient and irritable. Fortunately, mom brought me something to eat. Finally, the Dr, Kay(?) came in and suggested overnight hospitalization for good measure due to enlarged heart. Additionally, due to my government coverage I would have to be transferred to another hospital. Fine. Let me get the hell out of here and get my ass over there because I can get over there faster than it takes you to even inform me of what’s going on, inflammation of my legs and feet very apparent.

Oh, and by the way, how fucking pretentious are you that you have a scribe who is violating my health care privacy by actually viewing me. If she can afford $20 lunches – overheard – why can’t she afford a dictaphone and learn to use it?

I get to Southern California Hospital, Culver City. I am super calm, but direct because I feel that half my day has already been wasted going from one medical institution to another. I relate what has already transpired and inquire politely if she has any idea how long it would take to get admitted. She turns to Dr. Bitch – I can see and actually hear through the six inch bulletproof shield, which, thankfully for them is there and that I am one fucking angry pacifist – relays my story and without even looking at the documentation I had brought, says “I am busy right now.” ย <The Truth**> The admissions clerk – I think it’s the same lady I complained about before – turns to me and says she can’t be definite. Thank you, have a nice day.

I decide to take the bus to the dispensary my psychologist had referred to me. As I am walking to the bus, I have another stroke…

It just occurs to me, that I am pretty sure that I justifying my desire to just go the fuck home already – if I am going to fucking die, I’d rather die at home than in some incompetent, unprofessional hospital.

…Dr. Bitch didn’t even look at my paperwork and I had expressly stated that this was a matter of a coronary issue. At the time, I became incensed. I march back to the hospital and ask the name of the doctor? nurse? tech? who’s name I will include in a strongly worded letter to Southern California Hospital, Culver City. The admissions clerk turns to the girl and informs her “That guy would like to speak to you,” which is a fucking lie; I only asked her name; I did not specify why. A guy steps in – green shirt with horizontal blue stripes, trying to assist – or nosey? This is when she says “I am busy.”

Fuming, I walk across the street – again with shortness of breath and chest pain. After Lobo, Patient Relations, whom I had been talking to on the phone while the three stooges were trying to get Dr. Bitch’s name, had told me he would look into it and get back to me.

Look into ย what? Bring your fucking ass down her so I can’t point the culprits out! Just WHOM are you going to look into without a name or identification. And that’s exactly what I did when he finally came down from his air-conditioned office to find out why I was in the building. And I will point out, it was no minor feat wiht Reese(sp?), the security guard, choosing to argue over Lobo’s gender – I had thought I had been speaking to a woman. – translate that Spanish IV! ๐Ÿ˜€

I am tired and high and forgetting, let me wind this shit up!

When we get back to the emergency room, the window is shut. There is no way to ID anyone. Okay, that’s the way you want to play it. Give me Tony Desai (sp?), supposedly the top dog. Left message on voice mail.

On the bus, still fuming, call Tony back and leave another voice mail, this time using derogatory terms when referring to Dr. Bitch and demanding a list of all employees working in the emergency room @ 1:25 pm on September 1, 2017, which I will forward to my lawyer, and threatening this ain’t over.

Tell me the truth!

Am I wrong?

I’ll admit, I should not have used derogatory terms in my last voice mail, but considering my measured temperament – compared to how early I would have erupted previously – I may have been a little arrogant to expect IMMEDIATE attention, but I did not argue, I left willingly, no fuss.

WHAT THE FUCK DID SHE DO THAT ANGERED ME SO FRIKKIN’ MUCH?

I need another joint.

Good night!

I just know I’m forgetting somethign. ๐Ÿ˜€

* …o was it Stroke 1?
* As I write this, I can’t remember what specific action by her incensed me, but if you’re still reading, you’ll see just what kind of Dr. she is.

Me

My Shame

This is my secret shame for 54 years…No Penis!

My Penis

Apparently, due to obesity, which has been my companion for 54 years. Seriously, it looks like a vagina with testicles! Doesn’t matter much cause I can barely reach it to pleasure even myself, as much as anyone else. So no matter what I am male? Female? Hermaphrodite? it doesn’t even matter now.

Because of this non-existent penis, I have always been ashamed of my own body, preferring to have sex only in the dark, remaining clothed while I serviced other men/boys. And to make matters worse, I can’t even get an erection anymore – due to diabetes? High blood pressure? Low blood pressure? Weight? I am trying to find out now through my doctor(s).

So more history on how I got so fucked up in the head…

As a school youth, I avoided showering after gym to avoid unnecessary ridicule; I was already being called “gay” and “faggot.” When I started having sex, it was mostly anonymous as a result of being high/drunk – on the beach, cruising; guys I picked up in the bar for one night stands, etc. – so there was not much concern back then, plus I had the advantage of once being aroused, able to get an erection. The detriment I carried forward was the anonymity and the addiction.

I was fortunate once, to encounter Charlie, who taught me there were people that enjoyed big guys and taught me to appreciate and probably even love myself for a short time. Once Charlie and I separated, I returned to what I knew, two-fold.

Today, unable to get an erection, I can’t even act out sexually, when the pressure gets too much, as it must involve drugs. I know because I tried at great risk to myself. I hired a prostitute, who supplied crystal meth and GHB. While he went out to secure a second guy, I was on the phone with a fourth guy. Guy four came while guy two was gone, but I could not go through with it. WTF!? Guy two returned solo, which was probably best, but still the night cost me about $500 and I still was unsatisfied.

I am honest and open about my thoughts and actions with my psychologist and psychiatrist, who have taught me one thing that has really rocked my world. When I introduced the idea that I feel female/male it was suggested that my male persona/half allowed my female persona/half to be abused sexually…Hunger/Fury. Even during my last escapade, I was oblivious to what I was doing and feel that it was grace that prevented me from going further.

Once I get the erection thing solved, I plan on advertising my fat old self to chasers who will appreciate a big guy.

Crying My Eyes Out

Feeling!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG! I was just thinking that I had better start planning…

I ran over to my computer and then started calculating and all of a sudden it came like a swell in the ocean from a tropical storm off shore…

I realized I am beginning to feel again. Anger at my state and federal governments; anticipation of a future event; realization that for the second time in my life that I can just live; that I have more energy, less pain; my spirit is reawakening.

And as I say that, I am feeling imaginary? miniscule gurgles under my right moob. To be fair, I think my venis (new word coined by me on this day in Los Angeles, California, United States of America this twenty-seventh day of July in the year two thousand seventeen) moved!