"His Blood Pressure's Dropping"
Some people complain about military medicine and TriCare and all that, but I tell you, civilian doctors are starting to annoy the hell out of me.
I showed up at 9:20 for my 9:30 appointment to see a neurologist downtown yesterday, was called into the office at 9:45, and sat there until 10:15, when a little man in glasses and a tan corduroy sports jacket came in dressed as if he were on the way to a luncheon. Even though I'd written out my life(back) history yet again on the admission forms, he asked me to explain what was going on with me. I thought I summarized it fairly well, hitting the historical high points with aplomb and alacrity.
"So why are you here?" he asks.
...
I explained...again...that I had been in pain for five years, even after my surgery, numbness and tingling remained, I couldn't exercise, that it seemed to be neurological, and that is why the doctors at the base had referred me to a neurosurgeon.
"...So why are you HERE?" he asks. Again. As if I were a walrus that had shown up asking for directions back to the San Francisco piers.
He gave me a very cursory examination and left the room to check out my MRI films. Unfortunately, the films were too dark for him to read, so he asked if I'd brought along the CD version, which I hadn't since I was told ahead of time that they wouldn't use it. I told him I could drop it off later, and that I had looked at those images on my laptop and they were clear.
He put a condescending hand on my shoulder and said, "Well, clear to you and clear to me might be very different things."
So that was an hour and a half wasted trying to convince some hack that I was sick and not being able to provide photographic proof.
Well, good thing I had my second epidural injection scheduled for that afternoon to prevent the day from improving at all.
Showed up a little late, 3:20 for my 3:15, got checked in around 3:30, and sat in the waiting room reading my Ronald Reagan autobiography (purchased at his childhood home in Dixon, Ill!) until 4:15, when a tech put me into another room where I waited another 15 minutes until I went back up front to complain. Finally, Dr. Reddy showed up, sat down with me, and asked how things were going. I said I'd had a terrible meeting with the neurosurgeon and really felt about the same as I did six months ago. We talked medications and then he recommended I come back for a second injection in about three weeks.
...
"But I'm here today for my second injection. That's what was scheduled, that's what I've been waiting an hour for."
"Then why did they put you in here?"
"I have no idea."
*sigh*
Turns out the girl who checked me in for the injection (and had me sign the consent form) had put my folder in the "wrong slot" and then left for the night and so everyone else thought I was there for an office visit.
They put me in the old injection room, and a nurse asked me if I wanted the IV. I told her that I'd gotten really nauseous last time from "the relaxant" but I'd defer to Dr. Reddy's recommendations. "Is it required?" I asked. "No, it's up to you," she said. "Well, let's try it without," I said, since my injections back in Bethesda Naval Hospital were done with just a local, and I didn't feel like feeling sick and/or ralphing up my dinner later.
Dr. Reddy seemed surprised to see me sans IV when he walked in, but carried on.
Well, kind of like going to the dentist, the application of the numbing agent hurt more than the procedure probably would have; it felt as if he had laid a stapler down on my glutemus crackius, pressed down, and somehow reached in with a metal hook and yanked the tip of my spinal chord down through my coccyx and spread it into both legs. Then he did it again. I grabbed my hands underneath the table and sucked at my teeth, not wanting to move.
Just as the fun was beginning, he used a portable x-ray machine to insert a catheter into the area around the scar tissue that formed after the surgery. He then prepared me for what he said would be the terrible burning of "the medicine", and I waited, and he asked me if I was okay, which I was ... didn't feel a thing. I didn't even know he was done. It hurt worse when he removed the catheter. He lowered the table, cleaned up my back, and sent me on my way.
I sat up, and my back was very stiff. I got up, walked over to my small bag with my book and personal affects, and he called me over to the screen to show me what he had done; he tried to explain that we were looking at my spine, but the image looked like a cloudy day over Dresden in "12 O'clock High." Plus the stiffness in my back was turning to pain, then to searing pain, then to dizzying pain, and I bent over onto the table as sweat started to form on my lip. They went into Emergency Medical Mode and told me to lie down, Dr. Reddy said that it looked like my blood pressure was dropping and started to prepare an IV, and added, "See what you get for trying to be a hero?"
I wasn't trying to be a hero, you poor-bedside-manner bengalese bastard, I was trying not to be sick for the rest of the day. Maybe you shouldn't kick your patients off the operating table thirty seconds after injections next time.
After about a minute, the pain subsided, and I told them I felt much better, so they didn't put the IV in, but my blood pressure was still reading as low as 105/52. So I had to sit there another twenty minutes, taking deep breaths, getting oxygen back into my bloodstream.
They seemed mad at me for not having anyone there to drive me home, but I wouldn't have any friends left if I were to make them sit there for two and a half hours past my scheduled appointment time due to their screwups. I told the I was fine, that I lived just the other side of the river, a ten-minute walk.
I was feeling a little weak, though, so I stopped into McDonald's and ordered a value meal, to go, as you know I do to save on tax, but then they wanted to charge me tax anyway. "What's that for?" I asked. "The carbonation in the drink." "...You tax the carboNATion?" "Yes." "Never mind." I walked out and went home and made myself a delicious cup of tea. Tax-free.
I went to bed at 11:45 but couldn't fall asleep until well after 2 a.m. Seem to remember that happening after the last injection, too. Plus I had a nasty, jolting thought that it would suck if the injection caused me to, oh, I don't know, die when I fell asleep. I would miss my wife terribly.
This nighttime imagination of mine can be a bear.
I showed up at 9:20 for my 9:30 appointment to see a neurologist downtown yesterday, was called into the office at 9:45, and sat there until 10:15, when a little man in glasses and a tan corduroy sports jacket came in dressed as if he were on the way to a luncheon. Even though I'd written out my life(back) history yet again on the admission forms, he asked me to explain what was going on with me. I thought I summarized it fairly well, hitting the historical high points with aplomb and alacrity.
"So why are you here?" he asks.
...
I explained...again...that I had been in pain for five years, even after my surgery, numbness and tingling remained, I couldn't exercise, that it seemed to be neurological, and that is why the doctors at the base had referred me to a neurosurgeon.
"...So why are you HERE?" he asks. Again. As if I were a walrus that had shown up asking for directions back to the San Francisco piers.
He gave me a very cursory examination and left the room to check out my MRI films. Unfortunately, the films were too dark for him to read, so he asked if I'd brought along the CD version, which I hadn't since I was told ahead of time that they wouldn't use it. I told him I could drop it off later, and that I had looked at those images on my laptop and they were clear.
He put a condescending hand on my shoulder and said, "Well, clear to you and clear to me might be very different things."
So that was an hour and a half wasted trying to convince some hack that I was sick and not being able to provide photographic proof.
Well, good thing I had my second epidural injection scheduled for that afternoon to prevent the day from improving at all.
Showed up a little late, 3:20 for my 3:15, got checked in around 3:30, and sat in the waiting room reading my Ronald Reagan autobiography (purchased at his childhood home in Dixon, Ill!) until 4:15, when a tech put me into another room where I waited another 15 minutes until I went back up front to complain. Finally, Dr. Reddy showed up, sat down with me, and asked how things were going. I said I'd had a terrible meeting with the neurosurgeon and really felt about the same as I did six months ago. We talked medications and then he recommended I come back for a second injection in about three weeks.
...
"But I'm here today for my second injection. That's what was scheduled, that's what I've been waiting an hour for."
"Then why did they put you in here?"
"I have no idea."
*sigh*
Turns out the girl who checked me in for the injection (and had me sign the consent form) had put my folder in the "wrong slot" and then left for the night and so everyone else thought I was there for an office visit.
They put me in the old injection room, and a nurse asked me if I wanted the IV. I told her that I'd gotten really nauseous last time from "the relaxant" but I'd defer to Dr. Reddy's recommendations. "Is it required?" I asked. "No, it's up to you," she said. "Well, let's try it without," I said, since my injections back in Bethesda Naval Hospital were done with just a local, and I didn't feel like feeling sick and/or ralphing up my dinner later.
Dr. Reddy seemed surprised to see me sans IV when he walked in, but carried on.
Well, kind of like going to the dentist, the application of the numbing agent hurt more than the procedure probably would have; it felt as if he had laid a stapler down on my glutemus crackius, pressed down, and somehow reached in with a metal hook and yanked the tip of my spinal chord down through my coccyx and spread it into both legs. Then he did it again. I grabbed my hands underneath the table and sucked at my teeth, not wanting to move.
Just as the fun was beginning, he used a portable x-ray machine to insert a catheter into the area around the scar tissue that formed after the surgery. He then prepared me for what he said would be the terrible burning of "the medicine", and I waited, and he asked me if I was okay, which I was ... didn't feel a thing. I didn't even know he was done. It hurt worse when he removed the catheter. He lowered the table, cleaned up my back, and sent me on my way.
I sat up, and my back was very stiff. I got up, walked over to my small bag with my book and personal affects, and he called me over to the screen to show me what he had done; he tried to explain that we were looking at my spine, but the image looked like a cloudy day over Dresden in "12 O'clock High." Plus the stiffness in my back was turning to pain, then to searing pain, then to dizzying pain, and I bent over onto the table as sweat started to form on my lip. They went into Emergency Medical Mode and told me to lie down, Dr. Reddy said that it looked like my blood pressure was dropping and started to prepare an IV, and added, "See what you get for trying to be a hero?"
I wasn't trying to be a hero, you poor-bedside-manner bengalese bastard, I was trying not to be sick for the rest of the day. Maybe you shouldn't kick your patients off the operating table thirty seconds after injections next time.
After about a minute, the pain subsided, and I told them I felt much better, so they didn't put the IV in, but my blood pressure was still reading as low as 105/52. So I had to sit there another twenty minutes, taking deep breaths, getting oxygen back into my bloodstream.
They seemed mad at me for not having anyone there to drive me home, but I wouldn't have any friends left if I were to make them sit there for two and a half hours past my scheduled appointment time due to their screwups. I told the I was fine, that I lived just the other side of the river, a ten-minute walk.
I was feeling a little weak, though, so I stopped into McDonald's and ordered a value meal, to go, as you know I do to save on tax, but then they wanted to charge me tax anyway. "What's that for?" I asked. "The carbonation in the drink." "...You tax the carboNATion?" "Yes." "Never mind." I walked out and went home and made myself a delicious cup of tea. Tax-free.
I went to bed at 11:45 but couldn't fall asleep until well after 2 a.m. Seem to remember that happening after the last injection, too. Plus I had a nasty, jolting thought that it would suck if the injection caused me to, oh, I don't know, die when I fell asleep. I would miss my wife terribly.
This nighttime imagination of mine can be a bear.
posted by Dan at 8:56 PM
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