I wasn’t excited about this visit – hell, I almost didn’t go, but I was unprepared for what transpired.
The first thing that happened was a lot of unnecessary fussing over my blood pressure. I hate doctors, and I am in constant pain…why do you think my blood pressure is elevated?! When I finally convinced them that this wasn’t the end of the world, they took me in a treatment room and there I waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, in came my breast surgeon, who I had not even spoken to since the nasty email exchange (to be posted in Terri’s “Letters to Doctors” book), and the look of shame was written all over her face. Apparently, she had been following up, just not with me. The first words out of her mouth were a jumble of apologies and statements of disbelief, but it seems that she believes me now. It only took 14 months.
We discussed all 35,000 treatments and supplements and drugs and therapies I had tried and she finally handed me a piece of paper with Dr. Denney’s name and number on it. “One last pain doctor to try?” she offered. I took it, because I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. We discussed options and then she dropped the bomb.
“Why haven’t we done a breast MRI?”
*beat of complete silence*
“Have you considered having then removed?”
I actually did a dramatic teen eye-roll here (a la the divine Ms. Tina Fey) and heaved a great big sigh as I answered her question with a quote from a previous phone conversation: “I wouldn’t know what kind of MRI to order – you need to see a specialist.” At this point she got that I was irritated and apologized again, explaining that “she’s never had a patient like me before” and “she’s been reading everything she can find for months”. She blinked a few time while I just side-eyed her in my paper gown, and then repeated her question:
“Have you considered having them removed?”
Yes, I told her, and many times I’ve come VERY close to removing them myself. I explained about my new-ish plastic surgeon, and re-iterated that if the other surgeon’s name was even mentioned, I’d strangle her with my hospital gown. She looked vaguely afraid of me by the end of the appointment, but rightly so. She should be afraid. Very. Afraid.
But, I did leave the appointment with a pain doc appt (since they keep ditching me) and an MRI scheduled. It seems that the universe really needs a kick in the ass to jump start it, lately…
UPDATE: My MRI has been cancelled 3x. Still haven’t had one. The medical community’s un-ending bullshit NEVER fails to surprise me.