Archive for May 12th, 2009

So I saw a hematologist today and was foolish enough to think that I would have my blood drawn in the hematologist’s office (what am I, an idiot?). I arrived at the 3:00 appointment 20 minutes early. I was allowed into the examination room at 3:30. I saw the doctor ten minutes later. She entered, said hello and went straight for my chart. No apologies. Normally, I wouldn’t care (I always bring reading material and after having to stand for a very long subway ride, I was happy to sit and read in peace.

But the first thing I was asked to do when entering the office was fill out some paperwork — which included an agreement that, if I miss or am late for an appointment due to ANY KIND OF EMERGENCY (be it public transit, the weather, death in the family, being held at gunpoint, basically any act of God or Man) than I forfeit a $35.00 fee “because by not letting someone else schedule the appointment that I missed, I am depriving them of what could be a desperately needed appointment blah blah blah.”

So I started imagining what I might say to this doctor I’ve never met (“Where’s my $35?” or “How about you give me my $10 back and we call it square?”) — which reminds me that I also had to pay BEFORE seeing the doctor (was there a point where I wondered if the entire office was filled with people in rooms, waiting for doctors that never come and then the room each person is in turns out to be the back of a truck and we all get kidnapped and sold to Saudis as slaves and literal camel-jockeys? many.). But she didn’t apologize and I decided that since she looks like a a shorter, wearier version of Angela Lansbury by way of the Middle East, I just waited for questions to answer.

When I finally explained why I was there, she seemed mildly confused (like, maybe, there wasn’t really a reason for me to be there?), but what horrified me was when I asked her if I would be allowed to get a cortisone shot regardless of the results or if I should wait for the lab results, her answer was, “Well if it was me, I would never get the shot. I would try physical therapy. You don’t want someone injecting you with that stuff.”

In exchange for not offering up this woman’s name, I get to say what I might have said if I knew that 5 minutes later the sun was exploding and the world would end.

NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU, DEAR. What is it with you fucking doctors? What gives you the Goddamned right? My wife was put through the ringer hearing this doctor insult that doctor and then tell you that only an idiot would tell you to do this or that and only I know the correct treatment… I came to you, BLOOD DOCTOR, to get my blood drawn and for you to look at that blood and tell me if I’m OK. My actual all-encompassing doctor, who I trust implicitly (which is why I didn’t tense up at the possibility that I needn’t have gone through this — better safe than sorry, eh?) was concerned that a cortisone shot would skew the lab results and make a blood draw completely useless, so I rescheduled the shot in order to get my blood drawn FIRST.

I’m not here for directions to Long Island, or for advice on how to use a bow and arrow, or for stock tips or for a hematologist to tell me that the last doctor I saw (who specializes in the spine and sacroiliac region and gave me a much more thorough examination than you did) is not only WRONG, but he’s giving me POSSIBLY FATAL ADVICE.

Fuck you. Fuck you because if you’re correct, you sure had a blase “if it were me, I’d never, but if you want to, meh” way of telling me. And if you’re wrong than you needlessly (and carelessly) made me doubt a professional (like you) who (until you opened your olive-skinned dwarf mouth) made me feel completely at ease about the condition that has been causing me fits of indescribable agony.

Am I going to tell the person at my (actual) doctor’s office to make sure everyone in Referrals hears about my experience? Well, how about I see if you make good on your promise to call me tomorrow.

That’ll be The Decider.

Boom.

Sigh.

So long(er) story short, I must go back to LHH tomorrow to have blood drawn and then wait to hear from her later tomorrow. But, since I care less about my body than she does hers, I will call to have my cortisone shot scheduled for Friday (if not tomorrow — it’s a Monday/Wednesday/Friday thing).

The concept of not needing to take a cane with me wherever I go is almost pornographic to me.

But if I cannot get an appointment for the shot tomorrow (and if I make it back to WinTer in time), I’ll see this damned Star Trek movie everyone’s all goo-goo over.

Much love, peeps.

Here’s a new Auto-Tune the News. You’re welcome.

Up late writing about toys, overslept, back to writing about toys, see hematologist at 3:00, back here to finish writing about toys.

I ache.

Have a lovely day.