Doctor W retires.
I suppose I could have been sad. Except that I wasn't.
I have a lot of doctors. I have had cancer twice. I have rheumatoid arthritis, meniere's syndrome, not just grave's disease, but hashimoto's, too. Migraines. Other things.
As long as I can remember, I have never really been well. I often feel like Roseanne Roseannadanna. "It's always something!" I used to refer to this as being a hypochondriac. Now, I realize that you can only be a hypochondriac if you imagine things are wrong with you. I would love to be only imagining that these things are happening to me. I would LOVE to walk into a Doctor's office and have him or her say, "Oh, sweetie, you are just imagining things!"
Nope. This is all painfully real.
So. It is rare that a week goes by when I don't either have a doctor's appointment, need lab work done, or need to have some test taken...a bone marrow biopsy, an MRI, an EKG, an ultrasound.
Doctors are just a very real part of my life. I wish I could say that I like all of my doctors. I do not. This is the part where you scold me and tell me that I should "shop around" until I find a doctor who I like. It isn't that easy. 1) You would be amazed at the ratio of good doctors vs. bad ones. The good ones are hard to find and if you can find them, others already have, too. This means that they are in high demand and hard to get in to see. 2) I am in recovery. I have a limited amount of energy. I don't really want to waste it traipsing around the city trying to find that needle in the haystack.
I have been both lucky and very unlucky. I had a family doctor for over 20 years who was the most decent, caring physician that I have ever known. Three years ago, he decided that he wanted to move to be closer to his (now grown) children and left for Arizona. Bad luck. Then good luck intervened. I found a new family doctor (after going through two loser ones) who is almost as wonderful. It helps that he is very young and his children are toddlers. I doubt that they will be moving away anytime soon.
My first oncologist, for breast cancer, was Dr. L. He was not only brilliant, but also very snarky and had a droll sense of humor. He is also the only doctor who ever talked politics with me and we were on the same page. But, the EXACT same thing happened, except that instead of heading to Arizona, he took off for Washington to be closer to his daughter. He was replaced with Dr. R. She is from Croatia. I am not sure if I like her or not. She is in and out of the office so fast that I barely remember what she looks like from appointment to appointment.
My second oncologist. for leukemia, is Dr GB. He is from India. He seems incredibly uncomfortable with humans. I think he loves research. He is an acceptable doctor, I guess. Unlike Dr. R, he spends time talking to me. He just looks as if he hates every minute of it. He also uses a lot of medical terminology. I have to continually ask him to please dumb it down for me. I am familiar with lots of medical terminology but I am a newcomer to leukemia.
Today, I met with my rheumatologist. Dr. W. I have known Dr. W since I was in my mid 30's. I had been having trouble with my left knee swelling up and had seen doctor after doctor, trying to figure out what was wrong. Finally, I was referred to Dr. W. He ran tests and it was determined that I had rheumatoid arthritis. This is not to be confused with arthritis, he told me. This was a very special kind of arthritis that, unfortunately, was eating through my joints. After my initial horror wore off, he kindly told me that we could slow it down....TAME IT. I was still sickened. I was only 35. He cheerfully told me that there was a very good chance that I would be wheelchair bound by age 55. I am 60 now and while I walk with a cane, I am not in a wheelchair just yet. I sort of liked Dr. W and sort of didn't. He had this personality that wasn't warm but wasn't particularly cold either. He prided himself on being honest with his patients. He got me on medication that made the swellings in my joints lessen and for that, I was so grateful. But, he had a nasty habit of sitting across a room from me, asking me questions and writing my answers on his computer. He looked up at me from time to time but I mostly felt as if he were a secretary taking down my words. And I never really felt that he cared much about me as a person.
We had one terrible time together. I had a finger joint that swelled and would not go down. He tried prednisone. He tried giving me shots. Nothing worked. The middle joint of the middle finger of my right hand swelled to the size of a superball. The pain was indescribable. I was still working at the time and much of my energy was spent typing up reports. I was doing it one handed or simply recording it and having it transcribed since I could not do it successfully. Dr. W referred me to a surgeon. The surgeon turned out to be a brash, snotty manchild who told me that his x-rays showed no bone infection and that I should "tough it out." I went back to Dr. W and tearfully demanded that he refer me to another surgeon. He did. This one did another x-ray, determined that not only was my bone infected but so badly infected that I needed surgery asap. He said, "Why aren't you on antibiotics?" I replied that I had asked Dr. W for antibiotics and he had refused. The surgeon clammed up immediately, not wanting to say anything to incriminate another doctor. I had the surgery on my finger and lost half of it as the bone was too far gone to save. When I returned to Dr. W, I asked him why he had refused to put me on antibiotics, that perhaps my finger could have been saved if he had. He gave me a long steely look and told me that he had not felt antibiotics were warranted, that it had happened "so fast" that there really had been no time and that if I felt that he was not a good doctor, I should look elsewhere. I was torn. The finger swelling had gone on for more than a month. I was without half of my middle finger. I was feeling stress at work and had already taken too much time off. I didn't have the time or the inclination to look for another doctor. Besides, I surmised, he would never let this happen to me again after this.
He didn't. In fact, every time I had even a slight swelling on any joint, he immediately prescribed antibiotics with no fuss. After that, things were fine.
Still. When he told me today that he was retiring, I was not sad to see him go. He said that by the time of my next appointment, another rheumatologist would be assigned to me. Privately, I thought to myself that it didn't matter. Doctors were hit and miss. That is just life. I wanted to tell him that I hoped that the next doctor would be more personable. Would LOOK AT ME when he talked to me instead of at his computer. Instead, I wished him a happy retirement.
He repeated that he would be gone before my next appointment in three months. Did I want to make a final goodbye appointment? I was momentarily confused. Why? Did he think I would bring him a loaf of my famous banana nut bread? A parting gift? Maybe a heartfelt letter? No. I sent a heartfelt letter to my family doctor when he moved to Arizona. I told him that I had always felt safe in his hands. I had sent a heartfelt letter to my oncologist when he moved to Washington. I told him that he had not only saved my life, but made me laugh on days when all I wanted to do was either throw up or cry. But, no. I have no heartfelt letter for Dr. W. He was there. He diagnosed my rheumatoid arthritis. He did his job and nothing more. I doubt if he would even recognize me if he saw me in the street, out of context of his office.
Have a good retirement, though. I guess.
I have a lot of doctors. I have had cancer twice. I have rheumatoid arthritis, meniere's syndrome, not just grave's disease, but hashimoto's, too. Migraines. Other things.
As long as I can remember, I have never really been well. I often feel like Roseanne Roseannadanna. "It's always something!" I used to refer to this as being a hypochondriac. Now, I realize that you can only be a hypochondriac if you imagine things are wrong with you. I would love to be only imagining that these things are happening to me. I would LOVE to walk into a Doctor's office and have him or her say, "Oh, sweetie, you are just imagining things!"
Nope. This is all painfully real.
So. It is rare that a week goes by when I don't either have a doctor's appointment, need lab work done, or need to have some test taken...a bone marrow biopsy, an MRI, an EKG, an ultrasound.
Doctors are just a very real part of my life. I wish I could say that I like all of my doctors. I do not. This is the part where you scold me and tell me that I should "shop around" until I find a doctor who I like. It isn't that easy. 1) You would be amazed at the ratio of good doctors vs. bad ones. The good ones are hard to find and if you can find them, others already have, too. This means that they are in high demand and hard to get in to see. 2) I am in recovery. I have a limited amount of energy. I don't really want to waste it traipsing around the city trying to find that needle in the haystack.
I have been both lucky and very unlucky. I had a family doctor for over 20 years who was the most decent, caring physician that I have ever known. Three years ago, he decided that he wanted to move to be closer to his (now grown) children and left for Arizona. Bad luck. Then good luck intervened. I found a new family doctor (after going through two loser ones) who is almost as wonderful. It helps that he is very young and his children are toddlers. I doubt that they will be moving away anytime soon.
My first oncologist, for breast cancer, was Dr. L. He was not only brilliant, but also very snarky and had a droll sense of humor. He is also the only doctor who ever talked politics with me and we were on the same page. But, the EXACT same thing happened, except that instead of heading to Arizona, he took off for Washington to be closer to his daughter. He was replaced with Dr. R. She is from Croatia. I am not sure if I like her or not. She is in and out of the office so fast that I barely remember what she looks like from appointment to appointment.
My second oncologist. for leukemia, is Dr GB. He is from India. He seems incredibly uncomfortable with humans. I think he loves research. He is an acceptable doctor, I guess. Unlike Dr. R, he spends time talking to me. He just looks as if he hates every minute of it. He also uses a lot of medical terminology. I have to continually ask him to please dumb it down for me. I am familiar with lots of medical terminology but I am a newcomer to leukemia.
Today, I met with my rheumatologist. Dr. W. I have known Dr. W since I was in my mid 30's. I had been having trouble with my left knee swelling up and had seen doctor after doctor, trying to figure out what was wrong. Finally, I was referred to Dr. W. He ran tests and it was determined that I had rheumatoid arthritis. This is not to be confused with arthritis, he told me. This was a very special kind of arthritis that, unfortunately, was eating through my joints. After my initial horror wore off, he kindly told me that we could slow it down....TAME IT. I was still sickened. I was only 35. He cheerfully told me that there was a very good chance that I would be wheelchair bound by age 55. I am 60 now and while I walk with a cane, I am not in a wheelchair just yet. I sort of liked Dr. W and sort of didn't. He had this personality that wasn't warm but wasn't particularly cold either. He prided himself on being honest with his patients. He got me on medication that made the swellings in my joints lessen and for that, I was so grateful. But, he had a nasty habit of sitting across a room from me, asking me questions and writing my answers on his computer. He looked up at me from time to time but I mostly felt as if he were a secretary taking down my words. And I never really felt that he cared much about me as a person.
We had one terrible time together. I had a finger joint that swelled and would not go down. He tried prednisone. He tried giving me shots. Nothing worked. The middle joint of the middle finger of my right hand swelled to the size of a superball. The pain was indescribable. I was still working at the time and much of my energy was spent typing up reports. I was doing it one handed or simply recording it and having it transcribed since I could not do it successfully. Dr. W referred me to a surgeon. The surgeon turned out to be a brash, snotty manchild who told me that his x-rays showed no bone infection and that I should "tough it out." I went back to Dr. W and tearfully demanded that he refer me to another surgeon. He did. This one did another x-ray, determined that not only was my bone infected but so badly infected that I needed surgery asap. He said, "Why aren't you on antibiotics?" I replied that I had asked Dr. W for antibiotics and he had refused. The surgeon clammed up immediately, not wanting to say anything to incriminate another doctor. I had the surgery on my finger and lost half of it as the bone was too far gone to save. When I returned to Dr. W, I asked him why he had refused to put me on antibiotics, that perhaps my finger could have been saved if he had. He gave me a long steely look and told me that he had not felt antibiotics were warranted, that it had happened "so fast" that there really had been no time and that if I felt that he was not a good doctor, I should look elsewhere. I was torn. The finger swelling had gone on for more than a month. I was without half of my middle finger. I was feeling stress at work and had already taken too much time off. I didn't have the time or the inclination to look for another doctor. Besides, I surmised, he would never let this happen to me again after this.
He didn't. In fact, every time I had even a slight swelling on any joint, he immediately prescribed antibiotics with no fuss. After that, things were fine.
Still. When he told me today that he was retiring, I was not sad to see him go. He said that by the time of my next appointment, another rheumatologist would be assigned to me. Privately, I thought to myself that it didn't matter. Doctors were hit and miss. That is just life. I wanted to tell him that I hoped that the next doctor would be more personable. Would LOOK AT ME when he talked to me instead of at his computer. Instead, I wished him a happy retirement.
He repeated that he would be gone before my next appointment in three months. Did I want to make a final goodbye appointment? I was momentarily confused. Why? Did he think I would bring him a loaf of my famous banana nut bread? A parting gift? Maybe a heartfelt letter? No. I sent a heartfelt letter to my family doctor when he moved to Arizona. I told him that I had always felt safe in his hands. I had sent a heartfelt letter to my oncologist when he moved to Washington. I told him that he had not only saved my life, but made me laugh on days when all I wanted to do was either throw up or cry. But, no. I have no heartfelt letter for Dr. W. He was there. He diagnosed my rheumatoid arthritis. He did his job and nothing more. I doubt if he would even recognize me if he saw me in the street, out of context of his office.
Have a good retirement, though. I guess.
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