The oncologist's staff has called in the wrong prescription four times over the past three days. FOUR TIMES. That doesn't count the frustration of them not calling it in at all the first time I asked them to. Calling the doctor's office several times over the past three days, I finally talked to a person this last time. Before that, only answering machines. They call in the prescription to the pharmacy. I go to pick it up, and its not there. Or it is the wrong drug. Or they called the wrong pharmacy AND the wrong drug. Doesn't give you confidence in Dr. M's practice, does it?
You would think, since Dr. M has gotten over $90,000 for my six chemo treatments (think about that, the five minute office visits were $130), they would treat me like a VIP. Nope. And for you who are interested, the radiologist oncologist was paid over $80,000 for the seven weeks of radiation treatments (their fifteen minute office visits were $500.) The radiologist's office treats everyone like a VIP, so I'm happy with them.
Happiest is that the cancer is gone and won't recur.
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| photo taken on my walk |
Do I sound whiney? I am. Went to Dr. C to have him take off the basal cell carcinoma. After over an hour of waiting, I'm escorted into the exam room. Morning appointment, why is he this behind schedule already? Right away I am feeling frustrated. He came in, asked how I was doing? I said nothing, he didn't notice I said nothing, he just marched right on. He washed his hands and looked at my chart, started talking. Interesting. Ah, now he turns and looks my way. Circles the spot on my shoulder with a purple sharpie.
Numbed up with lidocaine by the nurse, he cuts away. Asking me about my past months of chemo, what it was like, what did I have, etc. Then he says, This is bigger than we thought. I think, We thought? He says, It's quite a bit deeper than we thought. Again I think, We thought? Next he says, Funny how all that chemo, what was it, six rounds, doesn't touch this cancer on your skin. Funny, right. I was lying on my side, tears were dripping down my cheek. He went 3.1 cm deep, 3.6 wide. Seven stitches. Oh man.
Compare this to getting the port out, at Dr. R's office two weeks ago. That office is run with compassion as well as efficiency. Always warm greetings. Sometimes I have waited there, but I didn't mind as much. When they shot the lidocaine, another nurse held my free hand and told me to squeeze. She sat by my head the entire procedure (ten minutes), and talked with me.
Driving home I dealt, or tried to deal with, the prescription puzzle. That's why I took a long walk when I got home. It seems like life is continuing as it was pre-cancer, full of frustrations and stresses. Except now I am tired and achy all day long, and my left breast is tender. I wasn't tired and achy before. And my left breast was happy.
I have thoughts of wanting to go away, to a cabin in the woods or to a cottage by the sea. Just be separate from all this stuff and focus on healing. It would follow me, wouldn't it? You can never get away from daily responsibilities, can you? No one does it for you. In fact, I do a lot of it for them.
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| stork, anhinga, egret all on the branch |
We can't protect our kids from tough times. We know tough times are part of life. May you, Lord, be gentle with them, whisper into their ears that You love them, right when they need it most. And may you, Lord, hold them in your strong loving arms and comfort them when they feel alone.
Oh yes, I think I need to get away. I wanted life to change and it hasn't. So maybe it is me who needs to change?
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