Getting ahold of an actual doctor is as difficult as getting Jesus to respond to a text message. It’s like trying to get ahold of someone at the VA.
No, it’s like ripping out all of your fingernails and making a hot-glued Christmas ornament out of them while trying to do long division in your head.
No one knows what the hell is going on, and if you’re working with multiple doctors (in my case, I have a cancer doctor and a cosmetic surgeon), no one has the right papers, no one remembers who you are, and you have to repeatedly tell everyone, “No, Cassie, not Kathy. I’m the 25-year-old who had the mastectomy.”
“OHHHH! CASSIE! That’s right. How are you FEELING!?!”
I’m feeling vengeful, thanks for asking.
OR, they start to weep. I have had multiple medical professionals weep at me because “You’re just so young,” and (sobbing) “Is there anything I can do? Here, do you want drugs?”
Yep. Yes I do.
Many of you know that I am not always a patient person. I have a short fuse for disorganized office rigmarole. I have been in administrative roles before, and they are seriously effortless jobs. All you have to do, literally, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO, is stay organized, and minimize your facebook when your boss walks by. I want to scream at these people, “YOU HAVE ONE JOB. DO YOUR ONLY FUCKING JOB. “
But I don’t. I realize that these office assistants, nurses, and physician’s assistants, (and other people who answered the phone for some reason) are human, and they are what stand between me, the patient, and the appropriate treatment. They are the liaisons, and if they don’t like me, or are getting annoyed with me, they can send me to voicemail purgatory.
So I plaster on my fake beauty-queen smile and talk through my teeth. I know the name of every receptionist in Omaha, even though they never seem to remember mine. I laugh, I make jokes, I ask them how they’re doing, and I hope that all of this effort actually gets me somewhere.
Sometimes, it does.
If you take nothing else from my experience, remember these two virtues: Patience and persistence. It’s your health, and though it’s a stark reality, it’s ultimately your responsibility to make sure no one drops the ball.
And I’m out. I just got a text from Je…
Jeremy. It was from Jeremy.
“I wish they had a cigarette for cancer people.”
“They do. It’s called pot.”