It seems like the older I get the dumber medical professionals get. Or else the older I get, the more human and relatable they appear. I imagine them as pre-meds/med students, pulling their hair out over biochemistry books and corpses, trying their best to learn as much as they can possibly handle, spit it out on a test, become doctors, and then immediately forget about it (which is what I would do in their position). And then, after this nightmare image, I think: shit.
I confirmed my concerns today during a regular checkup to my doctor-who-shall-not-be-named. I haven't had a checkup in a few years because I haven't been sick and didn't have great health insurance, and was fully supporting myself so therefore didn't want to waste $$. Now I live with my parents, and have bomber health insurance (why should I live independently again?) Therefore, I went in with a list of things that have been of mild concern to me over the past few years.
So I list these things to the woman doing the intake. She seems disinterested and rude and bored. She takes my vitals, tells me I'm good and alive, and says the doc will be in to see me.
In rolls doc (who, btw I've really liked in the past). It seems as though she had never received my list of concerns from the intake nurse, so I have to recite them again:
1) Tonsil Stones. What are they, what can I do about them, why the fuck do they smell so bad?
She consults google (and freely admits to it), and says to gargle with salt. Or else tonsil removal, which she doesn't think is necessary. Mmm k? Thank you for making me pay for you to consult google about the potential destiny of my tonsils.
2) Back injury. Why isn't it going away? She asks me if I'm having numbness or tingling. I say yes and show her where on my leg. She whips out google again, and opens up a chart and says that because I have numbness in x area "that, according to this picture, it must be an injury in your lumbar." (I've already learned this from a previous doctor so this is not enlightening to me, and it's disturbing that she has again consulted google). She forwards me on to yet another medical professional regarding my back injury.
3) Heart murmur. She listens to it. Nothing dramatic there except that as usual it's freaking loud. Schedules me for a echo since my last one was 10 years ago.
I think to myself that I've gotten through my list, and begin to gather my things, feeling the pressure to get the F outta there cuz they're busy. She says I'm healthy. On my way out, she suggests that I go get my blood drawn just for history's sake. I wonder to myself if I should have a fasting since I have historically high blood sugar. I figure if she's read my chart that she would know and suggest this but she doesn't. So I don't say anything. I take my orders, and head to the lab. Sitting in the lab, it hits me "oh shit! I forgot to ask about the blood clots and factor V!"
Lab tech calls me back. She's amiable enough. I sit. She asks for an arm preference. I think nothing of it and stick out my right arm. While she's unwrapping the needle I notice her name badge. "Sierra." I say outloud. She nods. "Hey, your step mom worked for my mom!" She nods and her demeanor turns serious. I immediately regret telling her this information because I know I've made her nervous. I see the HUGE needle (way too big) and I recommend to her a butterfly. She says no, she's fine, taps my HUGE vein (the one that looks so tempting, but always rolls) and then sticks in the needle. The vein rolls, and the needle misses hopelessly. I again suggest the butterfly needle, as well as the vein that doesn't roll. Ignoring both of my recommendations, Sierra stabs again, and determined not to miss she sinks that sucker in. It goes through the top AND bottom of my vein and bubbly blood eeks its way into the tube. I'm in agony waiting for her to let go of the elastic armband so that my blood actually flows. She doesn't. Time goes sloooowwwlly by. She takes out the needle, tapes on a cotton swab, and sends me out the door.
Now I'm cradling my once dominate and now defunct right arm, and go back to my medical provider, to ask about blood clots. The front desk tries to turn me away since I didn't use my appointment time to discuss this issue. I get frustrated (and cry) and tell them that I made my concern known to the intake nurse and wasn't it their own communication error that lead to this issue in the first place. Acquiescence! The daughter of Laura Baird will not be thwarted by medical bureaucracy. So they let me in. I describe my symptoms, which my dearest doctor google tells me could be hives but could not be clots. I wholeheartedly disagree with her at this point. She admits to not having much knowledge of my blood clotting disorder and will get back to me later. I leave this supposed checkup feeling emotionally bruised by first being ignored and then having to cry my way in to having my health poorly examined and my treatment outsourced, and with a partially crippled arm from a routine blood draw.
So I drive home feeling cranky, pull in the driveway, get in the door, take off my coat, when I discover that I've been left a souvenir from said visit, in the form of a golfball size swelling on my inner elbow full of dark oozy blood. I call the doctor where I wait on hold hold hold hold. I reach a receptionist and finally wrangle up some remorse and a suggestion to wrap an ace bandage on it and a "sorry, the doctor isn't available." I'm about to hang up and the receptionist says "didn't she wrap it with a bandage in the first place?" To which I say "no." "Well no wonder." says the receptionist. She's the first person that has made sense all day.
No comments:
Post a Comment