Doctors and other dumbasses.......

Now--let it be said here that I absolutely do not believe all doctors are dumbasses. And granted.....they have, on the average, about three minutes to spend with a patient. And there's no doubt--there are patients who are living proof that Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest (and I'm going on the assumption here when he said 'the fittest'--he meant they had some modicum of intelligence as WELL as being sound in terms of evolution) was a load of shit.

But sometimes.....

Today was the second time in a week I have been turned away from my doctor's office as 'there's so much flu.....' and try Urgent Care or my ER. (Um--and you think these places have less flu because.......?)

So I made my way to Urgent Care--not so affectionately called a 'doc in the box' by my sister. Usually, I am pretty pleased with the treatment I get there. They always give me the opportunity to just get it over with and take the shots: one for each cheek--ceftriaxone, and dexamethasone. Antibiotic for the infection (and in my case right now, that would be 'infections', plural....vacation's hangover: sinuses, bronchitis, ears, and kidney/bladder--in other words, I'm just f---ed) and steroid for the swelling and inflammation in my face, throat and ears. And--even if it's up in the air whether or not I'll sleep for three or four days (steroids)--at least I'll be awake and stir crazy without the throbbing in my head, and I can pop my ears again already.

Again, my emphatic disclaimer--not all doctors and/or healthcare professionals are morons. But--I have met more than a few in my day that I have wanted to sucker punch in the head--in the head because I already suspect: a blow to the head won't do too much damage.

But a trip to the doctor's office or an ER is ALWAYS good for sheer entertainment value. I'm serious here......ask anyone who works in healthcare. My sister calls me with some of the most fantastically funny and stupid shit I've ever heard.

For example, where else will you see a person who is covered from head to toe in tattoos faint dead away because the nurse drew a little blood?

I once watched as Bill--in with a patient with the door open--and she was about four drinks past giving a shit what HIPAA was, if she even knew such a demon existed--examining a patient who was obviously near less than conscious, and she dumped the contents of her purse onto the exam table--which was complete with about a dozen pill bottles and a fifth of what appeared to be Beefeater gin. Bill began picking up pill bottles and handing them back to her.......and that's when the lady slid off the table into the floor. Bill helped her up and came out into the admit area, shaking his head. And whispered to me, "Booze, hydrocodone, alprazolam, Prozac......and that's all I saw!!" I looked at him in disbelief. "Uhhh.......911, dear." He looked at me. "You think?" I closed my eyes and nodded.

One of my favorites: my Dad, admitted to the cardiac floor with chest pains a few years ago--after suffering a near-fatal heart attack the year before --was brought--IN THE HOSPITAL--fried chicken for dinner. On that one, I wasn't so nice. At seven months pregnant and incapable of bullshit, I snatched it away from my protesting father, taking it to the nurse. "Fried chicken for a cardiac patient? Really?" I went up the road to a grocery store with a salad bar and brought back a salad. Dad was less than amused.

In labor with my first child....I was being wheeled into the delivery room, which was full of doctors, as I'd had an episode with my heart, and Christopher was beginning to show signs of distress. So--there was the doctor, nurses, a resident, cardiologist, perinatologist and three pediatricians for the baby as I was wheeled into the delivery room. And one of them--in a chipper voice that made me want to rip out his vocal chords--asked, "How are you feeling today?" Not nice that time, either. Irritated and tired after 21 hours of labor, I pushed myself up on my elbows and bellowed, "Well, I've had better days!!" He's lucky he didn't get, "Come here and let me show you, asshole!" because that's definitely what I was thinking. I also didn't get it that everyone in the room thought that my 'better days' comment was hilarious.

I have to say--when Cate was in the hospital with meningitis.....the doctor who was in the Northside-Cherokee ER: what he lacked in bedside manner he more than made up for in the brains department. And the doctors at Scottish Rite--there, boys and girls, are some people who have definitely got their shit together. VERY impressive staff there. Outstanding. However, I was less than blown away by her pediatrician--who, in a follow up appointment asked first (I assumed she'd read the chart the hospital faxed over....but that's my fault, 'assume'--and therefore made an ass of me...) "Why did they think she had meningitis?" And I did it.....the eyebrows went up, and there was more than a hint of sarcasm. "Ahhhh......a positive spinal tap result?" Call me crazy.

And--if some of my nursing professors are correct--and some of them are doctors, kids-- and readily admit: my opinion and esteem of doctors will wax and wane in my career.

It's really not meant on my part--at least, not always. I am sure--and Carey will probably back me up.....my brain works fast, and sometimes, my mouth works faster. (My father's diagnosis of this is cerebral rectumitis.....) But Carey--my fellow nursing student, will probably attest to this: I have probably made a professor or two a little nuts. For example, with my mind on four tracks one morning in class (one on the professor, one reading over my notes making more mental notes, taking notes, and processing the big picture in my head--and believe me, I got tired just explaining that--walk a mile in my shoes).....I was jerked out of my four-track mind with this statement from the professor--lecturing on the autonomic nervous system: "Reflexes never reach the brain."

Huh? What? But what about.........?? I went quickly back up through the notes and looked up, frowning at my own understanding--or apparently, my lack thereof. Dr. Bern looked at me. "Cheri, are you with me?" "Aaah....no. If reflexes don't reach the brain, why does lack of a reflexive response or a hyperactive response sometimes indicate something is seriously FUBAR'ed in the central nervous system and the brain?" Deer in the headlights look from the professor, which gave way to a thoughtful look, nodding of the head, and the maddening answer I've been given since I was three years old: "That's a good question....."

But--I digress.

Urgent Care just got a fabulous little device in their waiting room called a zero-gravity chair. In the hour and fifteen minutes I sat in the waiting room, I saw three different people, all flushed and glass-eyed with obvious fever, sit in the zero-gravity chair. The receptionist--whom I vaguely know from school (and is that still an acceptable title?)--and I will admit, her heart was in the right place--having seen the symptoms I signed in with, and probably because of the obvious wince on my face--said, "Honey, you might feel better in the zero-gravity chair....."

And I might get the swine flu FROM the zero-gravity chair.....!!! Of course I didn't say it aloud. I smiled and assured her I was fine.

I was amused and disgruntled at the same time with even being there: this far into life, having had three kids and more bladder and kidney infections than I can count, why, oh why, can't I just call doctor and tell them the piss pipe is acting up again--Bactrum, please? I'm about to pay $20 for you to tell me what I already know.

But, alas, this isn't to be. I took the little cup and very generously parted with my pee-pee, and went in to wait for the doctor.

Dr. Bradford was there tonight, and she gave my Mountain Dew a dirty look (remember, I stipulated that patients, including yours truly, is prone to the asinine. Hey, it's fluids, right? I'm just hoping now that my kidneys will prove to be among Darwin's aforemenioned 'fittest'....) I like Dr. Bradford. She's from the Ukraine, even if I think I did get off on the wrong foot with her the first time I saw her. I remarked on her accent--which is beautiful--and she asked me to guess where it was from. I guessed Russian, which was close, but no cigar. She was pleased that I got the vicinity, but less than thrilled at my verdict that would have confused her with what she obviously thinks of as those dirty Ruskies. Apparently, there is a Russian/Ukranian rivalry that hearkens back to Romanov Russia...which was also Romanov Ukraine--so the tsars might be the reason I hit a nerve. I digress again.....see, those steroids are already kicking like a mule....

Dr. Bradford has seen me enough to know that I don't fuss alot, and I will always take the shot ("Tech zhe szhot......") and calls me 'Tough girl...." ("Tuff gull......" I get a real kick out of her accent, guys.) And she examined me, and tonight it was me who almost fell off the exam table....

And, like I said, I'm stoic. She listened to everything and then started beating on my back in the general vicinity of my kidneys (I'm wondering at this. I've had doctors--when visiting for a kidney infection--who do everything from the lightest palpations, asking "Hurt here?" to a firm massage around.

Dr. Bradford placed the side of her fist to my back, reared back and before I could say a word--delivered a sound, "Whack!!" to her fist that was placed over my poor kidney, and the air in my chest left in a rather loud, "D'oh!!" What the hell? Do we now diagnose kidney infections not only by the nasties that show up in the specimen--but by gauging our reaction to a sucker punch to the back? I see it now: diagnostic criteria for severity of a kidney infection: a wince means we'll be back in the saddle (ouch--the thought of a saddle makes me ache) after a couple of glasses of cranberry juice. A dead faint would be grounds to put you on a transplant list.

But, apparently I fell somewhere in the middle. Zhe szhots and zhe Bactroom for me. ('Ahh, you tuff gull, I szhend zhe nus in vwith zhe szhots, mmmm? And I vrite you prescreepshun for the antibeeotics, too, yesh? You be better szhoon.....")