I’m never writing about a doctor again. Never. I swear it. I’m not doing it again.
Since I started the installment of “About to Sin” that takes place in the clinic, I’ve spent more time in the hospital that I have in the past 3 years combined. Between myself and my father-in-law, the staff now recognizes me.
In less than a month, we’ve had a me collapsing in the kitchen, found out I need to go in for a biopsy, my father-in-law has fallen, needed a hole drilled in his head and has been in and out of ICU.
Last night, once again, I spent the night in the ER and discharged with little more of a shrug and, “We don’t get many serious gyn problems here. Make sure you keep your follow up appointment.”
Ya know, it think there should be a law that doctors can’t drop bombs on your lap unless they’re going to do some kind of test to see if you actually have that bomb. The first time I went into the hospital the ER doc told me that one of my conditions, coupled with one of my symptoms could lead to another condition. Did they do a test or any kind to see if I have that other condition? Nope. Not a one. So, I get online and find out this potential condition has no cure. It is terminal. It’s a long lasting terminal thing, but terminal nonetheless unless I get a transplant.
I have the second rarest blood type in the world. I’m not expecting a transplant and even thinking along those lines seems like needless worry. They didn’t do any tests to see if my “could have” is or isn’t “do have.” Every single one of us out there “could have” something. All of us. We’re all mortal something has to take us out, right?
And to hell with what I might have, what about what we all know I do have? Couldn’t they do the biopsy at the hospital? Ya know the last time I had this biopsy it was under general anesthesia and at that very hospital.
So, doctors of the world, instead of telling someone they MIGHT have a few terminal diseases, do ya think you could run a few tests before you send them home?
Your future patients will appreciate it.