So I’m lying in bed, trying to nap before my queer line shift. I’m trying to get to sleep but it’s not working. I feel like I’m on a coffee buzz (i’m weak and sick and my heart is racing). But hmm, the last time I drank coffee was five hours before and the last time I took my sudafed was four hours before that.
I get worried, and I call Info-Santé. The nice lady asks for my symptoms, which I explain to her, and then she has me count my pulse while she times me. It’s like 28 or something in 15 seconds, which is like 112/min. (This is after lying in bed for three quarters of an hour, mind you.)She goes oh my god and tells me to head down to the local clinic pronto.
I do so and check in, then cool my heels for an hour until the doctor can see me. By then it’s, oh, 80 or so. Still rather high for me. Anyway, he takes my pulse and blood pressure. Doesn’t ask for any medical history (it might have interested him to know that I’m getting over the grippe and my fever broke this afternoon.) He just keeps going “your pulse and blood pressure are normal” at me like I’m a dummy, four or five times, then shoves me out the door.
Now I know doctors are great and noble souls, and I have nothing but respect for the medical profession, having been given birth by an MD myself. But I don’t take kindly to being told there’s nothing wrong with you in a tone of voice that suggests I’m a moron.
Look, putz, there may well be nothing wrong with me (forget the fact that I’m so weak I could barely sit up out there in your waiting room) but obviously I thought there was, or I wouldn’t have come to the clinic and wasted your valuable time, okay?
And maybe it would be a good idea to take my medical history, especially considering you’ve never seen me before.
Jeez. Way to inspire patient confidence, doc. Good thing it’s my mom who’s teaching family practice and not you.