Today I Am (Officially) A(n Old Southern Wo)Man

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

TMI and not for the TLDR of heart.

I’ve had two major problems with doctors not believing me recently. The first was my General Practitioner- I’ve gone to this guy, more off than on, since he first hung out his shingle, he’s about my age, and when I first started going to him I really liked him, but his practice has gotten so big (he’s in practice with his wife and her brother) and he’s aged, and per rumor he’s having marital problems, and there’s a major frustration aspect with him.
The first is that because he has so many patients it takes, no exaggeration, about two months to get an appointment with him. Obviously if I’ve got an arterial spray going on I’m going to go to the E.R. anyway, and routine bloodwork and physicals don’t matter much- they’re set up months in advance- but the irritating thing is when I have something just major enough that I want to see my regular care physician but too mild to go to an E.R… I’m about to turn 42 so my warranty just expired and things are starting to fall apart, and there’s a long history of death in my family so sometimes I’ll want things to be looked at to make sure it’s nothing really major.
Example: I had a curious bump on my leg that was growing and changing shapes. I wanted to see a regular care doctor because this might be nothing or might be major. I made an appointment, told them what it was, and they bumped me up to an appointment just 5 weeks away instead of the 2 months that they originally had. Meanwhile the thing became painful as hell and I couldn’t get worked in, so I went to a TWDB (Third-World Doc in the Box) for it. Turned out it was a spider (or some kind of insect bite) that was infected, had enough pus to drown a Chihuahua and required PAINFUL AS HELL cutting and draining and cutting and draining and bandaging. At least it wasn’t cancer, but damn— I thought it hurt before I had it lanced- so I ended up cancelling that appointment.
Well suh, that same spider-boil scar is still extremely evident on that leg, so I asked my doctor to look at it when I had the routine physical. I wasn’ that worried about it again but a friend of mine who was anxious to work the phrase “necrotic skin” into a sentence anyway combined with another couple of friends and had me convinced the nickel sized brown scar was a combination of leprosy, AIDS, scrofula and the first return of the tokens of God. I mentioned it at my physical and Dr. ___ casually looks at it then says “Nothing wrong with it, it’s just not healed well. What happened here?” For the second time in five minutes I told him I had a bug bite lanced and cut out and drained and he said “damn… they should have used stitches on that, which is what the problem is. Who’d you go to?” I told him that I went to Doc in the Box (couldn’t remember offhand if it was Dr. Muhammad, Dr. Patel the elder, Dr. Biafra, Dr. Patel the younger, Dr. Adebayo, or Fez off hand) and he said “you shouldn’t go to those places, you have good insurance… you have a scar now because they didn’t sew it up, but there’s nothing wrong with it.” I told him that I hadn’t been able to get an appointment with him for weeks and his words of reassurance “Yeah, that’s what happens when you make so little from insurance companies you have to take more patients than you can really handle unfortunately”, and that was it.

Okay, so for a few weeks I’ve had some shooting pains in my left leg and left but-tock. It’s at it’s worst in the morning and it’s not unbearable, but it is damned annoying. It hurts when I take my downward facing dogs on their sun salutation just after I get up, sometimes it really hurts when I get into or out of the driver’s seat (that’s the but-tock pain), and while it’s not on par with migraine or searing hot pokers up the ass it is something I’d like to have stop. So I made an appointment, took- no exag- 7 weeks.
I get to his office, he examines me for- no exag- less than a minute. “I don’t even have to look any more to know what it is- I can see them- you’ve got varicose veins. You’re in your forties, you’re overweight, you smoke, it happens. I’m going to refer you to a vascular specialist I know, there’s a new procedure with deep heat ultrasound, outpatient, he’ll take care of them.”
“So it’s not the muscles or the cartilage or whatever then?”
“Nope… it’s varicose veins.”
And that’s it. I’m referred to the vascular specialist, which takes about a week and a half.
At the vascular specialist’s office I wait for about an hour while every kind of walking and hobbling and rolling “damn, I didn’t know veins did that” painful case goes by me before getting back to see him. The nurse does her spiel, I’m asked to take off my pants and cover myself with a towel (which I was planning on doing anyway cause it’s that time of day) and the doctor (who shares the name of a very famous TV dad incidentally) comes in.
He examines my leg for- no exaggeration- about a minute and asks “Why did [primary doc] send you to me exactly?”
“He said the leg and butt pain is caused by varicose veins.”
“Hmmm. You do have a couple of varicose veins but they’re not at all bad, and pretty much everybody gets them at some point. And the pain you’re describing…when’s it worst?”
“In the morning when I get up.”
“Does it get better during the day?”
“Yes”, I allow. “If it didn’t then the pain would be worst at some time other than the morning.”
“That’s exactly the opposite of vascular pain. Vascular pain is better in the morning when the leg’s been relaxed all night and then gets worse as it has to pump blood all day. You’ve got a muscular sprain of some sort, probably not too serious but that’s not my sepcialty. Go back to Dr. ____ and tell him to refer you to a muscle specialist because frankly I don’t even know why you’re here” he says, I think, a tad accusingly.
“Well… I’m not the one who sent me here.”
“Hmmm. Well, good day then.”
That’s the entirety of the exchange. From start to finish, five minutes, not one test performed and I’m told there’s nothing wrong with my veins, which I know is a good thing, but it irks me I wasted this time. On the way out (I think I’d put my pants back on) I stop at the receptionist window- I can’t imagine there’s a co-pay since they didn’t do anything, but just to make sure- and the receptionist is on the phone but looks up and smile and sort of waves. I take it she’s saying goodbye, so I walk out through The Island of Misfit Veins and down the hallway. So at least it didn’t cost me anything.
I’m waiting for the elevator when the receptionist catches me- “Sorry hon, I thought you were just coming in- you were in and out so fast. You’ve got a $35 specialist co-pay.”

SHIT! For what?

Oh well, not her policy. I pay, God knows what the insurance paid, and I’m back out on the street. Where my butt and leg hurt. And for two days I can’t look at anything be it a book on windsurfing or a set of hair curlers that costs within $10 of $35 without thinking "You know… I might have bought that… except I wasted $35 so I could meet a “Dr. TV Dad” who says “Gee, I don’t know why you’re here, but thanks for the money!” and I instinctively feel for my wallet, which is on my left butt cheek. Which hurts. Though not as bad as it did in the morning.

Then this week it was my eye.

TBC

2

Sounds a lot like sciatica to me.

3

Sounds like you need to find another primary doctor.

4

Are you sure it’s not lupus?

5

Did you actually say this to him? Out loud? If so, that was awesome.

I agree with ivylass, you need a new primary doc. If I call early, I can get a same day appointment with my doctor. If I call later, it’s a next day appointment.

6

New Doc sweetie. No question. And I hope you feel better soon. :slight_smile:

7

So, as I mentioned in another thread, my eye started hurting like hell last week whenever exposed to light. Miserable, miserable, but at least it gave me an excuse to wear an eyepatch. (An irony: the school I work at, which isn’t exactly a major threat to Yale shall we say, had just had a pirate themed week that had something somehow to do with nursing- anyway, faculty were encouraged to dress like pirates, and I did, but didn’t wear an eyepatch; the next week when I wore an eyepatch for two days faculty members would say, in earnest, “Uh… I think that’s over…”; of course my inner 4 year old delighted in flipping it up to show a hazy blood red eye and say “Yeah, but… still fun.”)

Anyway, I had almost exactly the same symptoms ten years ago. I’ve had it since then as well but not nearly as severe as the one ten years ago or the one this week. Ten years ago it was diagnosed as acute iritis (iritis is, essentially, arthritis of the eye- it’s not that terribly serious an ailment but damn it hurts like hell- the testicles ain’t got nothin’ on the eyes when it comes to the little-balls-can-make-great-pain department).

Well, knowing there’s no way in hell I can get an appointment with my GP on a Saturday (which is when the pain started), and even acknowledging that’s quite reasonable- he’s closed and he’s resting- and knowing it’s probably iritis/photophobia like I’ve had before, and not wanting to go to an E.R., and remembering that the last time it was treated with steroid drops that helped it immensely and quickly, I went to the Nigerian-Pakistani-Indian-Iranian Embassy and Medicine While You Wait place again. On the paperwork where it asks

**Why are you hear today?[**sic]

I avoid smartassery about not wanting deafness and write “Iritis/Photophobia”, because that’s what I have, or so I think. I’m escorted back- in pain- by a woman (not a doctor) who reads my chart and asks “photophobia… what’s that mean you afraid of?”
“Photophobia is extreme sensitivity to light… brightness of any kind makes my eye hurt.”
“Oh, like when someone take your picture and the camera flash it hurts?”
“Yeah.” (Etymologies must be really interesting to the quasi illiterate- remind me to tell you about the lady who asked about “peanut butter balls” sometime.)
“Okay. Well, we won’t be taking your picture, I promise.” She laughs. I smile a little bit and pee on myself just a drop or two as she removes the patch and shines a light into my eye.
“Yeah, it’s red.” Thank God- it wasn’t just me who thought so. “I’ll get the doctor to come in.”
No please, don’t bother, I just come here for the magazines. According to the PEOPLE out there it seems James Brown died this week- who knew?
Anyway, the doctor, a hybrid of Gary Coleman and Osama bin Laden, comes in and says "iritis… iritis… I don’t tink is so… we will in the eye make a stain and look upon it… then from there go… " {“talking about what you are, Willis?”}
So he does, and looks into the eye, and it’s painful as hell, but he’s telling his assistant while examining the stained eye under UV light “ah, there… you see? Do you see…” (I’m remembering Ralph Fiennes’ character saying the same thing in RED DRAGON during the slide show) and tells me I have a scratched cornea and slight ulcer “Probably being from where the cornea became to the iris… ah… touched… attached…”).
It’s not iritis then?
“No definitely not. It is a corneal abrasin and ulcer. Iritis is… a very serious condition that is one you would have on a daily basis.”* So, he had me bandaged as seen in the other thread gives me a prescription for a painkiller to take as needed- Melprovine, which is the bastard son of Thorazine and Demerol. I slept for 16 hours or thereabouts, and I go back to the office for removal of the bandages and a half-dollar sized piece of my beard (I have a goatee now). The doctor on duty, now played by the fat escort guy from BORAT, says “looks better” (as compared to what I’m not certain since he hasn’t seen it before), puts some more antibiotics in it, gives me a prescription for antibiotic drops, and sends me on my way with a “if not better by the end of the week come back” (or something like that, the words Hussein and olive were in there somewhere). In leaving I say “so it’s not iritis?” and he responds, “No, definitely not.”
The pain was stopped, which was good. For obvious reasons I didn’t take another Melprovine, but I’ll save them for my next date (there’s a sophomore I’ve had my remaining eye on and I’m told Starbucks coffee melts through the gel cap in a heartbeat), but days later the vision was not improved at all. I followed the directions- wear an eyepatch for a day, then dark glasses- still no improvement, that eye sees colors and shapes and those cloudy, and I have to close it when typing because to have it open makes everything blurry. So Thursday I called back and said “It’s not getting better- the pain’s gone but it’s legally blind” and am told “Give it the weekend, come back Monday if not better- when come back bring co-pay”. So, $40 in co-pays for this.

Yesterday (Friday) morning I woke up, opened my eyes and screamed, causing two terriers to rustle around under the covers with enough speed and force to set off my aching butt and leg. The pain wasn’t just back, it was worse than the week before. “I’m going straight to an opthamologist this time” I say, the terriers concur, and I find one who can take me that morning, I call my regular doc to set the referral in motion, all that jazz. I have to drive like a 91 year old woman (though that is only tangentially related to how I’ve become an old southern woman as we shall see) with one eye closed and covered and with shades and my chin on the steering wheel and at 3 mph to the opthamologist. The receptionist jokes about her costume with me- I life even though I’m in pain and can’t tell what the hell she’s dressed at other than it’s brown- and see the opthamologist, who tells me “Damn! You’ve got one of the worst cases of iritis I’ve ever seen! You need to be on steroids starting pronto! Why didn’t you come here sooner?”

I tell him and he’s furious. “Who was it? What was his name? I’m going to call him and tell him not to ever diagnose an eye problem again, he doesn’t have the training or experience, and not only do you have iritis but another few days at most and you’d have had irreversible eye damage!” He was irate. I was glad.
“You don’t do anything about muscle pain in the leg and butt by any chance do you?”
Unfortunately not.
He threw away my antibiotic drops, which I was taking in both eyes per instruction, saying they weren’t just not helping but were possibly hurting the situation, and gave me a MARVELOUS ocular anesthetic that killed the pain (motion also, but that I couldn’t care less about) and some steroid drops that I take once an hour until I see him again on Tuesday. My vision is already improved (still not back to where it was but I can at least make out facial features to an extent or read large writing with it). $35 co-pay and another one when I go back, but that I don’t mind- worth every penny and then some, unlike the $40 to Third World Drive Through Surgery and Diagnostics.

So, anyway, that’s the story of the doctor’s offices this week. A much shorter post on other happenings this week in a moment, then the conclusion of how they all combine to make me an old Southern woman instead of a middle aged southern he-gay.

8

Perhaps you should not go back to the Doc-in-a-box, since they seem to be completely incompetent.

9

I am wondering if other people have had similar experiences. They’re kind of like the Wal-Mart or McDonalds of medicine, but otoh they have to pass the same tests and have the same licensing to be doctors as anybody else. Anyone else had problems with them? (In the past I’ve gone to them for things that didn’t require a doctor- flu shots, minor injuries, etc., but these are the only times I’ve used them for something beyond the very minor.)

10

I did. He gave me a sort of “smartass” expression, which was warranted I’ll admit, but went on.

11

I think having a primary physician (although you still need a new one) is good, because they can call up all your records…“I see you were in here four years ago with kidney stones…you still okay with that?” Doc in the Box doesn’t have the same familiarity as with someone who sees you at least once a year and knows who they referred you to for various other ailments. (My primary has been very concerned about my high WBC and low vitamin D levels, and has been sending me for tests hither and yon and keeping my oncologist in the loop.)

McDonald’s might be fine for a quick lunch, but when you want good service, you go to Ruth’s Chris. Why should your health be any different? You knew it was iritis, don’t screw around with that again.

12

Gee and people say Canadian medicine is bad because you have to wait for an appointment. I always have had to wait a long time to get an appointment and then a long time in the office. That argument never works.
Do you have brown recluses in your area? I have a friend that got bit and he has flareups. It goes away with no more symptoms and then a year or so later it comes back. I wonder what the mechanism is for that.
I go to a clinic now. My GP is just not worth the time and trouble. Plus he charges a lot more.

13

So- two quickies that will seem completely irrelevant but I’ll establish relevance, I promise.

Earlier this month a friend of mine got married and another friend of mine came in for it and stay with me (“Earl” who I’ve mentioned: ex-lover, current best friend, lives in Atlanta where evidently God lives according to most gay Alabamians and was reborn when he read the back of Atlas Shrugged and ever since has been lobbying for the return of child coal miners and debtor’s prison, but all that really is irrelevant- only thing you really need to know is I had a guest at my house).

So, we go out and about on a pre-wedding errand and come home around noon. It’s very bright as noons will sometimes be, so while there are no lights on the house it’s no problem. Earl stays outside to smoke a cigarette and I walk into the house. I’m about to get a drink out of the refrigerator when I hear a sort of “shuffling” sound from the Living Room. Then I hear, plain as day, a voice say

Hello there…

That in and of itself was spooky. What’s spookier by far is the voice…

It was a feminine voice of an older woman. She spoke with an eccentric lilt and exactness that many people had actually thought was a faded German accent over the years, though in fact she was born and raised in Autauga County, AL and never lived outside of central Alabama. It was the voice of my mother, who has been dead and buried (in that order) for more than two years. It was coming from a room in her house.
I literally stood motionless. I’m hearing things. And I hear them again:

DEAD MAMA: Hello there…

Earl (who was not one of my mother’s favorite humans when she was alive and I doubt she’s much altered that) walks in.

“You’re going to think I’m fucking nuts, but I swear I just heard Mama’s voice…” and it’s clear I’m not joking.

"Uh… dude… you… " looks again to make sure I’m not joking. I’m not. I’m perplexed and bewildered. “You… I don’t know what to say… are you taking your medicine.” Now I’m perplexed and bewildered and pissed.

“YES! I’m taking my medicine! Which has nothing to do with hearing voices! Anger management, check! Depression, check! Cholesterol, narcolepsy, check check! Maybe even occasionally in worked up moments a little paranoia I’ll concede, but I am not now and have never suffered from or been on medication for hallucinations!”

Earl, palms out in a gesture of harmlessness I recognize all too well as one taught to people to show harmlessness to crazy people, says "Baby I’m just… your mother’s dead…

Hello there…

EARL: What the fuck…

Several things happen at this instant. One thing I notice that I hadn’t noticed before is that now the microwave light is on. And the house seems somehow brighter. And like Princess Leia in R2D2’s digital memory my mother says

Hello there… for some reason I’m not able to take your call at the moment, but if you’ll leave a message I promise I’ll get back with you…"

True story: the neighborhood, unbeknownst to me, had been having brown outs that day. Whenever the power would go on or off for just a nanosecond it would start up, before any lighting changes or anything else, a digital answering machine still hooked up even though I haven’t had a landline in well over a year. An old recording of my mother I didn’t even know had been playing. Earl and I laugh, then I resumed lecturing him on what my medications are for (the bald bastard of little faith).

Reminded me a bit of a car I used to drive whose cassette player broke while playing a dubbed cassette of JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR. It was one of those cassette players that would flip sides of the cassette when you hit a button. When it broke it would play about four seconds of one side, flip to the other and play, then flip to the other side and replay the four seconds, into perpetuity. The opposite side happened to be at a blank space so whenever the cassette was on you’d hear

“Talk to me Jesus Christ, you have been brought here…Talk to me Jesus Christ you have been brought here…Talk to me Jesus Christ you have been brought here…”

Obviously I didn’t play the cassette player much, but I also couldn’t get the thing out. When I took the car in to trade it I was rather hoping the appraiser wouldn’t try the stereo, but of course he did, and when it blared “Talk to me Jesus Christ you have been brought here…” about three times he just said “ALRIGHT I’LL TALK TO YOU BUT I’M NOT JESUS!” Didn’t get a lot for that trade in.
detained- will continue

14

May I suggest the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in New Jersey?

15

It’s NEVER lupus.

16

It was once.

17

It very well could have been a brown recluse. I was bitten by one about 15 years ago, and still have weird twitches of pain about once a month or so. There was a lot of tissue damage in my case, because it took a while for doctors to realize what the bite was. Since you waited a while with yours, you could be experiencing the same thing.

also, with it being your leg and butt, could be sciatic nerve issues… You need to find a new doctor, because your general physician should be able to help you a little more than that.

Or, you know… lupus.

18

Well there’s your problem.

You’ve got a filing cabinet under your ass!

19

I can’t watch the video right now, but **qwest **may actually be right. Men tend to screw up their ilioscacral joints and tighten their pirformis and/or psoas muscles sitting on uneven but-tocks because of their wallets. Both of those can lead to sciatica, or sharp shooting pains in the buttock and down the leg.

But I’m still waiting for the rest of the story…

20

Sampiro, I hate to hear that you have periods of duress, yet, I delight in them also, because that’s when your mind flies with such great writing.

Waitin’ here also, to hear why yer heading toward your Total Magnolia Transformation Moment. I can bring hot pepper jelly cheese medallions, and prolly some fried pickles w/comeback sauce, too.