Sorry, a bit TMI. I have a Urinary Tract Infection. 101.5 fever. Bronchitis. No diagnosis on the painful, swollen neck. I hate the ER.
Ok. So my friend, the doc I dated a little, acted like an asshole. I forgot my phone in the car otherwise I would have posted his text message here.
A week ago I phoned him to see if it would be ok to set an appointment with one of his Physician Assistants. He said, “Sure, no problem. Call the office and set one up. If they can’t get you in early enough, call me back.” Cool. Thursday doctor’s appointment and then labs and the script for a chest x-ray and a catscan of my neck.
So Sunday I sent him a text asking when their labs are usually ready. I couldn’t do the catscan until I had the results. I get this shitty shitty text back that basically says, “I am in love with my girlfriend (name left out) and we live together and are going to get married. Because of our past, I think it would be best if you found another practice. Lab results in a.m.”
Who the hell does he think he is??????
a) we barely dated. We had a friendship and not a relationship!! He dumped me for his crazy, loony girlfriend and I was all good with that. He’s still not divorced from his crazy first wife. Can you say, run Forrest, run from that relationship.
b) I adore adore adore my debu_sweetie Tim. Nuff said.
c) HE was the one who told me to come in – very casual and didn’t sound like he was concerned or that it was a big deal.
d) He has issues. Major major issues. More than Brittney Spears issues, no lie. He’s a good doctor, but a wackadoodle.
e) He’s not Brad Pitt. He’s not even Brad Pitt’s limo driver’s ugly second cousin. He’s not hideous, but he’s ordinary. Tim is adorable! No comparison.
So. So. I basically reply and say I’m soooooo not interested and that I’m in love with Tim. That I need a doctor, not a boyfriend.
Then I text that I really really need my test results. No answer. Call his office. Closed for 2 hours for lunch. Finally get through at 2:15 and she says they are in, and she will give the nurse a message.
Ok. So I’m already really pissed and I feel like caca. I swoop up my girl, Zoe, at school and drive to his office. I come in and the receptionist tells me that my labs are not in my file. I told her that they were in apparently and that I’ll wait to get them.
She makes it sound like it’s Grand Central Station and that they hadn’t even reviewed the results… “Um… We DO have other patients.” No shit, Sherlock. I’m standing in front of her, wheezing and gasping for breath, sweating with fever. Finally after about 25 minutes, I get the results. No report or notes. Whatever. Fuck them. I notice a few weird things on some thyroid tests, but I don’t understand them. Whatever. Later.
I then call my San Antonio transplant clinic. I tell the nurse the situation and that I feel pretty awful. She says she will find out what I should do. She calls back and tells me that I haven’t been in their office since April and that I need to come in when I’m well and also when I’m sick. That I can’t just call them up when I’m “desperate.” She tells me that my doctor said for me to “Go to Houston and see my MDA doctor.”
How does this make sense? I don’t go in for checkups that often. I think I’m every six months or so. Why would I go to TWO hospitals to get checkups and tests??? Not to mention, I don’t go to my SA doctor here in town that often because I always end up with an out of pocket bill that seems like bullshit. I don’t have financial aid there, they don’t offer financial aid here in San Antonio, but my out of pocket costs at MD Anderson are minimal and my meds are affordable there.
So I call my awesome friend, Michelle, who is a doctor at MD Anderson. She also advises me to go to Houston if I can. I know I’ll get the best treatment. They know me. They know my history and they also know how dangerous a long fever and congestion can be. Bonus – competency and knowledge.
I talk to my sister and mom. They both agree that I’m in no shape to travel right now. You know, since I don’t have a private jet or chauffeur at my disposal. Sis #1 recommends that I just get to the ER at my local hospital – at least they have some records on me and they have a transplant department.
Six hours. $100 copay. Possible post-visit costs. Four chest x-rays. An IV and 2 blood draws (one that gushed onto the floor). An EKG. At least I know I don’t have pneumonia, found the UTI and I got a script for Levaquin (antibiotic). The only good thing I have to say for the visit is that the staff is remarkably nice. And they seemed really thorough and competent. Thanks for that. It was crowded and busy. They could have been a-holes.
They also tell me that the transplant doctor on call said for me to follow up with them within 48 hours. Um. I tried to make an appointment for this week and was told to go to Houston. I should make them reimburse me the $100.
I’m frustrated. I need my Houston doctors. I can’t afford to live in Houston. All I could think of on the way home is that I’m grateful that so far they haven’t found anything serious. But for a minute, when they told me they needed additional x-rays, I started getting scared and had flashes of something being serious and then getting the worst treatment ever when my insurance runs out and I have to go on Medicare in October.
I can do this. I just want to start feeling less pain.
No assignment tonight. It’s after 3am and I’m just plum out of steam.
P.S. Zoe needs me. I love that little girl like no tomorrow. She was fast asleep, but as soon as I walked into our hallway at 2:30 a.m. she said, “Mommy?” I went in her room and squeezed her up a little and re-tucked her back in. She’s precious. Magic. Sometimes I think it is her love for me that keeps my heart beating. That keeps me from giving up. I think that’s how kids are supposed to make you feel; when they aren’t driving you bonkers. Love love.