Not a good day, or, how to have a terrible bedside manner
I called around this morning to get an appointment with a urologist. This afternoon hubby dropped me off at my appointment and he took Caroline to go shopping. I walked in to a waiting room full of elderly people, feeling like a fish out of water. They called me back, took my weight, and I mentioned that I had gained 9 lbs over the last couple of days and thought I was retaining water. The nurse said to be sure to tell the doctor that. I also mentioned that I’d been running a fever last night, so the nurse came to check my temperature under my arm (!) and said that it was 98.5 so I was fine.
The doctor arrived and had very little to say. She was peeved that I didn’t bring the actual CT scan with me, just the interpretation. She said I would need to go get an X-ray down the road. I said I didn’t have a car with me and I’d have to call my husband back to get me, and she started with an attitude: “Look, I’m just trying to save you time here so we can get this taken care of today.”
Yeah, ok, fine, whatever. I called my husband back who took me over for the X-ray. Got the films, came back to the urologist’s office, and while I’m still in the waiting room with my films, a nurse comes out and says they have penciled me in for a lithotripsy. Without the doctor even having glanced at the X-ray? Neat. It’s for just-in-case, don’t you know.
Yeah, ok, fine, whatever. I get called back, the doctor looks at the films, sees a stone in my bladder, and says she wants to ram a camera up my pee-hole to take a look-see. Sounds like fun, right? So I strip down and climb into the stirrups. The nurse came to put some numbing stuff on me, shoved a consent form at me without bothering to tell me what it says (I manage to read, from my awkward position, that it’s for a cystoscopy) and said, “The doctor will be right in!” and left the room. With my hoo-ha hanging out in the wind, and me staring at the ceiling.
20 minutes later, the doctor comes in. She uncovers me and says, “I’m going to need help with this. I’ll be right back with a nurse.” With my hoo-ha now exposed and hanging out in the wind, and me staring at the ceiling.
10 minutes after THAT, they come in together. Nobody warned me that a cystoscopy involved incredible, ripping, searing, hellish pain. I’m choked with sobs on the table from the agony. It hurt so badly I am still tearing up about it, 2 hours later. The doctor said that it was worth it, that it gave her some important information about the stone, that 1) it was triangular and 2) it’s in the bladder. No matter that *I* could have told her both those things after looking at the X-ray of the triangular stone in my bladder. I wonder how much she gets from the insurance company for that kind and gentle procedure.
So she tosses a pamphlet about lithotripsy at me and starts to walk out the room, saying she’ll be right back but that for me to expect to show up for surgery tomorrow morning. Wait, I said, isn’t this stone small enough to pass on its own? She said that tomorrow was the day she had set aside for the O.R. and that if we pushed it off, that would eat into her long weekend. She told me to read my lithotripsy pamphlet and left the room, promising to return shortly. Besides, triangular stones never come out on their own, says she. Hm, there’s a maxipad on top of my clothes. I guess I’m supposed to use it? Who knows? Nobody told me a damned thing.
I call hubby, sobbing, asking him to start heading back to get me.
I wait another half an hour. While I am waiting, I get a phone call from the surgery center asking if I’m going to have surgery tomorrow. I tell her, “Hell if I know.”
I open my door and look around. Nurses stare at me quizzically. I say, “Well, I assume I’m done here.” The nurse says that the doctor has gone into room five and that she’d be out, you guessed it, shortly. Coup de grace. I gather my things and leave, saying this has gone on long enough and is totally ridiculous. One of the doctor’s partners watches me leave and doesn’t say a word.
I called the other urologist’s office, the one that the E.R. doc had originally referred me to, and they can’t see me until Friday now. After the amount of pain that woman put me through this afternoon, I do not want to subject myself to her tender mercies again. In the meantime, I’ll just drink a bunch of water.