Today finds us at home instead of down South as planned. I am just too weak for a 20 hour roundtrip car ride with two children, and all of the planning and packing that it entails.
I spent Tuesday afternoon/evening in the Emergency Room after an extreme incident of vertigo that caused me to black out. My husband insisted that I go to the ER – he was totally freaked out and I was too tired to argue.
We waited for 2.5 hours to be seen – during this whole time I was demanding that we leave, because I just know they are not going to do anything for me. Once seen, I was treated so poorly, that I honestly don’t think I’ll be going back to an ER again unless I am bleeding to death or dying.
They ran my labs, and the numbers came back higher than they have been in 6 months. I should be excited, yes? Well I would be, except I had my labs drawn only 6 days prior, and they were totally different and much lower. So low that my doc had called me to talk about going on the rescue drugs. I knew immediately that they just couldn’t be accurate, and I questioned their veracity with the doc. Needless to say, that did not go over too well. She looks at me and says, “Congratulations, it’s looks like your treatment is working!” in such a patronizing voice. It was awful.
She starts the exam, and immediately asks me where I contracted my hepatitis c. Ok, this is a logical question to ask, I suppose. But it rubs me the wrong way after 12 years of doctors treating me as if I have a social disease. I gave her the usual, I’m an Army brat, I’ve had blood products, and surgeries in military hospitals. So, who knows??
Then she starts the physical exam and sees my tattoos. Her demeanor immediately changes, and I know then that she has judged me. I HATE THIS.
“How long have you had these tattoos?”, she asks me. It took everything I had not to punch her in the nose. I mean, do they ask cancer patients where they picked up their cancer? I know it’s not the same thing, but damnit, don’t treat me like a choice I made at one point in my life means that I deserve to have this disease. I know I have baggage with this issue, but still.
But C was standing in the room, and the look on his face as she questioned me matched what I was feeling. In a way; having him present while being treated in such a manner was very validating. He was just as disgusted by the treatment I received from this woman.
They did an EKG and were about to run a chest xray, when I just said, “no, I am done.” So the doctor got more pissed, and discharged me with paperwork on PANIC ATTACKS. Because yes, obviously this has all been one big anxiety issue. The fact that I am anemic doesn’t matter, and I must be daft.
The discharge nurse acknowledged that their lab makes mistakes all of the time – especially being an ER lab and with the tests being run so quickly. I told her the doc denied that they could be inaccurate, and she laughed and said, “Of course she did.” Thank goodness for this nurse, because I was starting to feel as crazy as they were treating me.
We went home, 4.5 of our life wasted, and a hundred dollars poorer. Yes. I AM BITTER.
My own doc can’t be bothered to call me back. It’s a holiday week, and obviously my health isn’t an issue during the holidays. Two days of calling him, with no results, has pretty solidified my resolve to find another doctor. I am done. His PA spoke with me numerous times and agreed that travel was not wise, but it would have been nice to talk to my doc.
We made the decision to stay home and not travel on Wednesday. I found myself sobbing at the mere thought of getting organized, and my dear husband picked up the phone and informed my family that we would not be traveling. Of course everyone understands, but I am sad to miss the holiday with them.
M woke up this morning sick with a cold, so I suppose everything happens for a reason.
I am feeling better as the week progresses, as I always do. But I am still beyond exhausted, and the fire of frustration has me ready to rumble come Friday. I will let it go once I get what I need (the rescue drugs), and I can begin to feel better.
I am seriously thinking about looking into getting involved with hep c advocacy, because this experience has left me with a seriously bad taste in my mouth.I refuse to allow myself to be discriminated against anymore.
I feel a bit like Boadicea right now. Once I am better, I am going to find a way to work for change, because this is not acceptable. Not for me, or for any other person who has a communicable disease. Enough is enough.
I had a nice young guy help me with my hand held shopping basket at the store the other day. I felt about 80 years old, but it was sure nice of him to do so.