Prose Before Hoes (jeshala) wrote in bad_service,
Prose Before Hoes

Tale 1: This was about four years ago, prior to being diagnosed with severe hypothyroidism and pcos and a general inability to knock off pounds. I am not that large, but it's still irritating. Anyway, it was my first time seeing Dr. Cafaro. Reason: Hurty kidneys, hurty bladder. He takes one look at me and says "You're overweight. You need to work on that." Yeah, I'm trying, dickface. It's not WORKING, but that's not why I'm here anyway. He doesn't do a urine test or blood test or so much look into my eyes. Just goes on about weight and effects on cholestorol and how my cholestorol was probably sky high.
It was 157. Eat it, Dr. Mc Quackersons :P
So I go home and chug cranberry juice and generally feel sorry for myself. It doesn't get better. My skin starts to get this yellowish tint to it. Go to lunch with my mom and she gives me this horrified look and rushes me back to the doctor. One again, "You're overwei..." I cut him off. Things are Not Happy in my person and I let him know clearly how Not Okay I am. He agrees to do a urine test. Gets the results and tells me to RUN to the hospital to get an ultrasound.
This probably could have been avoided. It turns out I had a severe kidney and bladder infection and needed to take prednisone and something else for it. Doctor was quickly given the "I'll call you, baby" speech and new doctor was hired.

Tale 2: Same office. The new doctor I have there is an absolute peach and has gone far in diagnosing a myriad of health issues and unfortunate injuries that have plagued my person. The office's registered nurse, Jeanine, however, is a daffy old bitch. Multiple times I have called and left messages requesting paperwork and test results and not gotten them for weeks. Or she won't even call me back. Top notch worker.. Fortunately, my doctor is on my side and has had me complain to the office manager (this took some doing -- I do not like to raise hell even when I ought).
So recently I got an a/c separation (the teensy joint in your shoulder connecting your clavicle to stuff). There are torn ligaments. It is bogus and sad. So bogus, in fact, that my doctor actually prescribes me darvocet. She NEVER gives out painkillers. I had a herniated disc in my back and she gave me naproxen. Joyous morn, I can move again and function.

Well, as pills do, I ran out partway after starting physical therapy. No probalo. I call the office and have to leave a message with the nurse (cue many eye-rollings but pleasant phone message). I ask for enough darvocet to get a little further into therapy -- I already had made my prescription last far longer than it ought to have. Was supposed to take three a day and took one a day just in case of emergency. Quite quickly and much to my shock, I got a call back. W00t!.

"I'm sorry WE CAN'T refill your painkillers. You HAVE to go to your surgeon. We already have enough problems with people misusing medication." Now, y'all know how much weight inflection can carry. I was being grouped in with the morons who grab oxycontin and snort it. Don't think I've ever heard of someone mainlining darvocet but... jesus fuck, you don't just call someone a junkie who, in the three and a halfish years she's been with your office, hasn't once asked for pain pills despite having a slew of problems that could use them. I think smoke came out of my ears.
Fortunately my surgeon (because surgeons are like this) just sorta tossed some at me like it were halloween. Didn't quite need THAT many, but at least he didn't think I was eating entire bottles or anything. Still, it's a sucky crpapy injury. Don't treat me like I faked it because, hi, X RAYS WERE TAKEN YOU DAFT BINT.

Tale 3: This is a tiny tale what happened to my mom. I was witness to it.
Mom needed back surgery. Her entire spine is sucky and nerve damaged. I worry so for her. She requires help so I gladly assist her in going to the surgeon she needs to see across town.
She gets the initial consult, all is well. Now (please god don't let my mom somehow be reading this), my mom is 150-160 pounds, somewhere around there, and in the best physical shape I've ever seen someone in their fifties. Anyway, the doctor goes on about her options, yadda yadda, nothing big, asks her to get weighed.
She does, gets the results.
He looks at it, starts in about losing weight for surgery. Not really a big deall -- it's apparently prudent that she try. She asks for some tips on good ways to expedite the process so she can be in good shape 'round cutting time. He suggests working out. Which she does. Dieting. She can't eat much after having endoscopic surgery on her esophagus and having the ring too tight. Plus she's always been a light eater like myself. He finally looks at her and says "My friend had his jaw wired shut and lost weight. You should try that." He was serious.
Mom hasn't gotten the surgery she needs because of it. :S. We've filed complaints on all of these, but nothing got done. Blah to the blah.

Man, I feel better. Sorry about the poor grammar. I've not slept.
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