You want me to wait how long?
When God made doctors she only got half way through when she ran out of crayons. She’d already done a batch that was coloured in perfectly, making them full, caring, intelligent and giving. But with the remainders she just outlined, leaving the insides empty. Dr Charmless, the neurosurgeon, is definitely one of the latter. He kept us waiting an hour, hurried us in and told us there was nothing he could do until he saw an MRI of O’s spine. Under my insistence he examined her. She weed all over him. (She’s a great judge of character, my girl.) He appeared disgusted and complained bitterly about the mess she’d made. I hurriedly cleaned up and tried to throw the wet tissues in his bin. He pushed it under the desk - it’s full, he said, there’s one outside. The bin was completely empty. The man works with blood, sinew and bone and he gets freaked out by a bit of baby piss? Not a good sign.
He ordered the MRI, told us there’s a waiting list of two to three months and kicked us out. Then his secretary billed me for $150.
Two to three months?
How can we wait that long for a diagnosis? What if it’s urgent and starts causing all the symptoms I read about - muscle wastage, nerve damage, a large swolen head reminiscent of cheap B movie aliens? And how can he determine if it’s urgent or not if he doesn’t even know what it is?
His secretary called this morning (I’m expecting her to bill me for that too). She told me she’s arranged the MRI for next year.
In March.
That’s 6 months away. And two weeks after I’m due to give birth to the twins.
I Oh-my-godded and huffed about being put on a cancellation list but she remained stubbornly unmoved. So I did what Jewish girls always do in a crisis. I ate a tub of icecream. Then I called Daddy. He spoke to the radiology department at the hospital where he works and within ten minutes he’d bargained them down to late November. Two months away.
Which led me to wonder what people who aren’t related to a doctor - most people – do. I suppose they wait. Getting sicker. With large swolen heads reminiscent of cheap B-movie aliens. While fuckwits like me jump the queue.
He ordered the MRI, told us there’s a waiting list of two to three months and kicked us out. Then his secretary billed me for $150.
Two to three months?
How can we wait that long for a diagnosis? What if it’s urgent and starts causing all the symptoms I read about - muscle wastage, nerve damage, a large swolen head reminiscent of cheap B movie aliens? And how can he determine if it’s urgent or not if he doesn’t even know what it is?
His secretary called this morning (I’m expecting her to bill me for that too). She told me she’s arranged the MRI for next year.
In March.
That’s 6 months away. And two weeks after I’m due to give birth to the twins.
I Oh-my-godded and huffed about being put on a cancellation list but she remained stubbornly unmoved. So I did what Jewish girls always do in a crisis. I ate a tub of icecream. Then I called Daddy. He spoke to the radiology department at the hospital where he works and within ten minutes he’d bargained them down to late November. Two months away.
Which led me to wonder what people who aren’t related to a doctor - most people – do. I suppose they wait. Getting sicker. With large swolen heads reminiscent of cheap B-movie aliens. While fuckwits like me jump the queue.
posted by Yidchick at 9:54 pm
3 Comments:
Phew- Thank goodness your Dad was able to move up the MRI. I could not imagine waiting 6 months. No F-ing way! Sometimes you just have to get Shirley Maclain on people.
Oh yay that's the first tiny glimmer of good news. What a total scumbag that dr was. Hang in there yc.
Good aim with the peeing, little one! Best wishes and L'Shana Tova - may you all have a happy and very healthy new year.
Post a Comment
<< Home