RIP “ReproEndoGuy”

Very sad to learn that my beloved endocrinologist “The Father of  PCOS,” Walter Futterweit passed away 2/2/21. May his name & memory always be a blessing to those who knew & loved him. 

https://www.legacy.com/amp/obituaries/nytimes/197651401

He retired in 2017. In the last two years of visits,  I suspected he was sick. The last I heard from him was 2018. He had been on my mind a lot since then. His cell phone was turned off in 2018, thereabouts. Recently I was thinking of sending a card to him to reconnect. But had been checking periodically for his obit. He retired at age 86, so I knew it was an eventuality. 

It is an understatement to say he was a huge support to me. I saw him 4 times a year for close to 14 years, and was a steadfast and trusted advocate, and friend. 

Not that I am proud of this detail, but, some years I saw him more than I saw my mom. I saw him 4x a year for nearly 14 years. 

I would plan on spending the entire day in NYC, usually stacking other appointments for the day, and he would be the first appointment.

The entire experience was ritualized, certain habits like showing up very early, so I would settle down after the anxiety of mass transit and walking to the office. I’d sit and crochet in the waiting room, admire the Miro lithographs on the wall, and listen to classical music which was always  playing. I’d review my lab reports before going into his office for a discussion and then on to the exam room. (And of course pleasant chit chat with his secretary Roni, his nurse Luba, and Ricky the doorman.) 

I need a lot of predictability in my life, and for four times a year for fourteen years, Dr. F. provided that foundation for me. And to be honest, ever since he retired in 2017, I have been chasing that experience like chasing a unicorn. The depth and quality of care he provided, I am afraid to say, might never come my way again. 

During the pandemic, I have been revisiting those ritualized office visits, as they were the central part of my self care for 14 years. 

His recommendations were solid gold. He recommended the surgeon for my gastric bypass, as well as other doctors, some of whom I continue to see to this day. His legacy continues through those doctors he respected enough to recommend to me, who have also become trusted advocates for my health. 

He was the solitary reason why I am discerning about my care. He got me involved, making me an active participant in my care. 

He got me involved and educated me on how to read the lab reports for blood tests. He got me hooked on reading peer reviewed medical journals. We talked endlessly about supplements and other things related to my issues.

He was always “just an e-mail” away—my emails were always met with a timely, friendly reply and loaded with guidance. 

He truly was a wonderful person. A fantastic health advocate and educator, and friend. 

My words don’t do him justice. 

I always quipped to him how he lived his life like that old Irish proverb: If you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life. He was the personification of that. 

To Do List Revisited

So it's been about a half a year since my posted To Do List. The pandemic has really been a huge set back for me and my personal care. Not only do all the old issues still exist, but I'm convinced I've developed PTSD on top of everything else.

At the end of 2020, I finally bit the bullet and signed up for insurance through my office. For 18 years I waived coverage as the Maharajah's coverage was always so good and covered at 100% by his employer. When "The Rat" bought out his division, they foisted their shitty insurance upon us. Crappy coverage, and a plan where next to none of my providers participated, PLUS a $6200 out of network deductible to be met. I was hemhorraging cash last year. 

So I signed up, my annual contribution is $1575, with a $1250 out of network deductible, and so far from what I can see, only one of my current docs don't participate. 

This past Friday I had a hum-dinger of a melt down. Raging at the current state of political affairs. Raging about a now-former POTUS that allowed 400+K Americans die (my mom was one of them). Raging about how none of us will have any justice for the losses we incurred, loss of life, loss of a year of our lives, loss of the collective's sanity and sense of well being. Raging and despairing about it all. 

For someone like me, who has a couple of robust life traps developed in childhood, even though I can intellectualize the need for isolation from everyone else, I am still left with this intense sense of abandonment. I wish I had the cognitive dissonance to make me act and think that *all this* is nothing. I rage against everyone who acts and thinks that this is nothing more than the flu or worse, that it's a hoax. 

When I say "hum-dinger," that's code for INCONSOLABLE. Tears didn't trickle down my cheeks, they shot out of my tear ducts like hot bullets. I was so inconsolable, I spent the next two days in bed, trying to rally from it--what a romantic way to spend Valentine's Day, eh?

Today I called my insurance company to see when is the effective date of my coverage, and to verify which of my docs participate in the plan, and today I set about making two appointments. Tomorrow I'll make two more. Thursday, two more. 

The appointments I scheduled today are close to home, or video appointments. The remaining appointments will be scheduled for Veterans Day (or thereafter), and are in NYC. I hope it's not being overly optimistic thinking we'll be coming out of this mess by then. 

I did manage to hear back from my former therapist at the end of July. And I've since reconsidered the notion of going back into therapy, as I'll be starting from square one, as whatever good work I managed to accomplish has totally backslid. I cannot bear even talking about what's going on with me anymore as it's too upsetting. 

On top of everything else, and my suspicions of PTSD, I'm also going through an existential crisis, now that mom's gone. The illusion of a safety net is gone. Intellectually I know I never had one. And the reality of 2017 (year of mom's injury which resulted in her going to Shady Pines permanently--by choice) and 2020 (when she died), those three years in particular I know I had no net--but really she wasn't much of a net even before her injury. But at least she was always at the end of the phone--when her phone would cooperate, that is. 

Now that mom's gone (over nine months at this point), and my friend Susan is gone, and the Maharajah has shown me he cannot handle what I'm going through, my only outlets are my blog here, and occasionally screaming into the abyss which is Twitter--neither of these are problem solvers.

I think about how lonely mom was after dad died. 12 years of loneliness, and yet, she kept retreating further and further from everyone. And here I am feeling (many things, including) loneliness. And right this moment, I know the choice is mine, to decide how long I'll feel this way; however, at least TODAY, I made some self care appointments, and hope by doing so, it'll remind me of normal things I'd normally do during non-pandemic, normal times. Fake it to make it, I guess. Maybe five more months of this?