I've always kind of wanted to say this to my doctor when he walks in. What's stopped me? I guess the look he'd have on his face when he told me there's nothing wrong with me that a few years of intensive therapy wouldn't cure, or that I'm a hypochondriac, or just a dumb loser.
Today felt different. I thought it could quite possibly be the day. My doctor has a good sense of humor, and there's clearly something wrong with me, so what better time? As I sat there in my little chair, however, listening to the nurse whisper stuff to him outside the door, I started to change my mind. When he walked in, all I could think of was how to interpret the look on his face. Was he cheerful? Concerned? Could I tell whether or not he had something horrible to break to me? Was he laughing at me? I froze.
"So, how are you doing?" he asked. This always seems like a bit of a dumb question. If I was fine, would I be sitting there? Or is it possible that I just have money sitting around that I want to donate to a nice guy with a stethoscope?
"Uh . . . okay, I guess. Just kidding. I'm not really doing that great." That's why I'm here, see. I'm not like my friend, who comes to visit you because you're hot, and she just wants to look at you.
Or I could have said, "I just weighed in on your stupid, broken scale at my top weight ever. How do you think I'm doing?" Instead we just chatted for a while.
"Well, here are the possibilities."
Okay, give it to me straight. No, wait, I just decided. Don't give it to me straight. Lie to me. Tell me I'm fine. No, wait. Don't tell me I'm fine. Then I'll feel stupid for coming in here. Tell me something that will mean I'm fine, but the weird symptoms certainly warranted coming in. That's what I want. Whatever you do, don't give it to me straight.
"Diabetes, Thyroid Disease, or something else. Or nothing. Let's do some blood work, shall we?"
What? That's what happens when you don't give it to me straight? I'm going to go blind, lose my feet, or else nothing? Can I change my mind again? I want it straight, after all. Just don't tell me it's all in my head. Unless it's a brain tumor, and then you can.
So after they punctured every single one of my uncooperative veins in an attempt to draw a quart and a half of blood from my body, I left. With nothing. Except a bunch of free Band-Aids. And the possibility that I'm going to die, or not die. Heck, I knew that when I went in.
So I'm still dizzy, still feel terrible, still have this headache, etc., etc., only now I can't tell if it's because there's really something wrong with me, or because I'm having an anxiety attack over the potential diagnoses. I don't feel like I'm having an anxiety attack. And believe me, I've had a few. I'm a freak. That's what I am. A crazy, hypochondriac freak. Can't breathe . . . chest tightening . . .
I'm going to go lie down now. If they call about the blood tests, give it to them straight. Tell them I'm in the middle of my dialysis treatment and can't be disturbed.
6 comments:
I think the worst scenario would be the doctor thinking that your symptoms are all in your head and that you're just wasting his time, when in reality you have a terrible illness. He makes you feel like a fool with his nice, condescending remarks, after which he gives you the brush-off by insisting that he give you a prescription for antidepressants. So you go home to die alone. The only satisfaction you have is in knowing how badly he'll feel when he reads the obituary.
Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a tiny bit, but I think that actually happened to me today.
When my wife was 6 months pregnant, we went to her regular doctor's appointment. She had gained more weight than other months, and this was a doctor we hadn't seen before (keep in mind my wife wore her pregnancy weight really well and looked very thin). After giving JellaMama a 20 minute lecture on eating sugary and salty foods (and giving her a strict diet), he could see that she was becoming kind of emotional. He said to her, "now don't go home and cry all day. Go do something." He then turned to me and said, "To cheer her up, take her out for a treat. Umm, maybe just a salad." I wanted to smack the freak.
Of course, that was just a jerk doctor story making a problem out of something that wasn't a problem. This is completely unrelated to your post, I realize. I'll pray for you.
Some doctors are jerks. Like the one who told me I had severe depression and needed antidepressants, when actually I had a raging ulcer. So it does happen.
As for that dumb ob, he was dumb. You should have smacked him. Why do people go into doctoring if they're going to be jerks? I had one once that was so mean to me when I was crying about my severe cramps. And I do mean severe. He said, "Well, I don't have a MIRACLE pill. A lot of women experience discomfort." I never went to him again. Jerk.
My current doctor is very, very nice. I think I also mentioned he's hot. Not to me, so much, but to my friend. She's funny.
Anyway, feeling much better today after following doctor's advice. Still don't think the problem is solved, but I did get the dizziness taken care of, and when you can drive without weaving all over the road, that's something.
Your doctor sounds a lot better than mine. (But if I ran an insurance company, I'd make a rule that the doctors can't be too attractive or charming in order to prevent unnecessary doctor visits.)
So what blood tests did they do? I trust you will let us know the outcome. That is, unless they don't give it to you straight, in which case you won't know the outcome.
WARNING: NOT FOR THE WEAK OF STOMACH
We had this doctor in Canada who did nothing. Ever. His response was always, "Go home, come and see me in two weeks and we'll go from there." So we switched doctors. Apparently we should have written a nasty letter to people in charge of him, because it would have prevented what happened this summer.
A guy we know worked in a restaurant. One day, he slipped, so he threw his arms out to steady himself. One arm went onto the burners of a stove. The other went up to the elbow in a vat of oil. Of course, the next reaction is to take your arm out of the burning oil, which he did, but that caused hot oil to drip down the entire side of his body.
They took him to emergency where he encountered our previously-mentioned Dr. Doolittle. Dr. Doolittle bandaged up the burns and told him to come back in a couple days.
When he went back, the new doctor who was tending to him unwrapped the burns and said, "What are you even doing here!?" She immediately called the Burn Unit in another city and he was taken there immediately by helicopter. When he got to the burn unit, they asked him, "What are you doing here so late? You should have been here as soon as this happened!"
I hope that stupid doctor has lost his job by now.
He sounds like the Yodeling Veterinarian of the Alps. If you're not familiar, run, don't walk to the nearest video rental store and get Veggie Tales' Silly Songs by Larry. You won't be disappointed.
I hope the guy sued the doctor for malpractice, because that's exactly what that's called.
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