You know, I'm not really a cynical person.....Truly. But, when it comes to doctors, I'll be honest....I do NOT trust the really hot ones.....Now, for any MD reading this, don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're not a dog or anything like that. And, I think the looks of MDs probably reflect that of the general population. Most of us are just perfectly fine looking. And to our parents, we're the most beautiful things ever...right? But, then again most of us aren't strutting the runways of Paris and Milan....And how many of us could really handle the pressure of being both smart and beautiful?
Let me get to my story: On Thursday I popped over to my chiropractor, Dr. Shelley Cathrea and her great husband/massage therapist Tucker Roy. I got a great massage and even better lower back adjustment. Thanks for that you guys! But...I probably need to take a break from our relationship until I become a little less radioactive....just sayin'.
Now, with cancer and chemo, I have truly surrendered. I have no expectation of what the one day to the next day will hold for me; let alone the next hour. And I'm pretty cool with it. Honest to God. If I woke up tomorrow with a damn horn in the middle of my forehead, I really don't think I'd panic. I'd probably just chalk it up to the chemo and take nap. My Rainier Valley Black Ops Director, Patty Mate, would eventually phone in for a report. I'd tell her about my horn situation and she'd show up 20 minutes later, broken out in a sweat talking about: "Girl...this is serious. You need to go to the ER." I'd reply: "Sure. But, let's wait till I finish up this load of laundry first."
So, back to Thursday: By 2:00 PM, my back was hurting to the point that I had double vision. I even bitched to the cashier at Trader Joe's about it. (Because isn't that what you do when you're hurting? Grocery shop?) He thanked me for my honesty. He said it was "refreshing." I picked the boys up from school at 3:00 and was doing some serious labor pain breathing. I used the yellow line in the road for my focal point. Yep, I probably shoulda triaged that gig to someone else. Oh well....We got home safely....
Around 6:00 PM. the pain was so intense, that I actually forgot how bad it hurt to pee. That's right...that started at around 8:00 am. I just figured it was normal to pee acid. Chalked it up to the chemo and just drank a bunch of water- thus increasing my need to pee....I'm so dumb sometimes!
So, I did the next smart thing: I called my doctor's office.
What a clusterf*ck that was.....Since it was after hours, I was transferred to the Swedish general operators. Truly, I'm not sure they know they work in the medical field. I got hung up on. Then during a call back, I was told that a nurse would call me back within 15 minutes. I was instructed to: "Just answer the phone regardless of where the call comes from." Seriously, at that point, I woulda taken medical advice from the UPS man.
Upon answering the phone from this random nurse, I discovered she wasn't even in the Seattle area. Judging from her accent, I guessed Alabama or India. Hell, who could remember??? After 15 minutes of Q/A, I was told that I needed to head over to the hospital within 3-4 hours. I was then subjected to a post interview survey. Questions included: "If you hadn't reached me, what would you have done?" and "How would you rate your experience with me?" Honestly, I felt like I was talking to a really passive aggressive prostitute.
So, I called my Black Ops Director, Patty. I figured she didn't have shit else to do, what with her husband and two kids....I called in Warren to care for his kids- because well, they ARE his, too, right? And after much debate, Patty and I agreed to head over to the Swedish Issaquah ER...because....as you know...everything is better on the east side....
Upon arrival, after it was confirmed that I could, in fact, afford to be there, I was whisked into a private room where FOUR eggplant (the color) scrub attired, highly trained medical staff jumped on me like flies on poo. One held up a gown and instructed me to disrobe to the waist. Another- let's call him "Badass Bob" was pulling up every one of my medical records dating from my birth. The other was on central line call. And I think the fourth was giving me a foot massage.
Central line inserted, I hobbled down to the poorly designed bathroom, (I mean, really Issaquah. I expected better from you...) to put my acidic urine in a cup. I returned to my suite and Patty and I flipped on the flat screen and tucked in for the evening. Now this is when things get interesting.
Patty and I were already pretty giggly from the whole four people attending to my medical needs, and the private suite with the flat screen TV, right. Nope it gets even better! In walks the most gorgeous doctor/human, I have ever laid eyes on. Dr. Stephen Bretz- Google his ass. You won't be disappointed.
This caused Patty and I to just erupt in laughter. Dr. B was caught off-guard. And Patty swears he told us to calm down. I don't remember that. What I do remember is saying: "You have GOT to be kidding me. You are GORGEOUS!"
I have cancer. I figured I have nothing at all to lose.
But, see...it's always the pretty ones that cause the most problems in our lives. And, this one was no exception.
After a round of chest x-rays and urine sampling- Dr. B declared I had a UTI- and not cancer of, say, the back....He ordered what I thought were antibiotics and some pain meds and sent me on my way. In the meantime, I had texted Paul who was landing at Sea-Tac. Paul, with his Superman-like tendencies showed up at my private suite 45 minutes later- in a suit. Say what you want about Dr. B...when I saw Paul, I wanted to rip out that central line and, well...do what the animals do.....if you catch my drift.....Relax. I managed to reign all that in (I AM Catholic, after all).
Paul, good naturedly teased Patty and I about our incessant giggles with Dr. B. I mean, we cut him A LOT of slack. For example, he was trying to explain the way the lung works to me....and I couldn't understand what the HELL he was saying. I just busted out laughing, because I realized that maybe he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer but didn't really care, cuz he was sooo HOT!
And on Friday afternoon, my phone rang and showed a 415 area code. Thinking it was one of my family members, I answered. It was none other than Dr. B. Calling me, from his private cell number, to check on my well-being. SHUT THE FRONT DOOR. I was feeling just fine after that call. FINE, indeed!
However, things took a turn for the worse Saturday night. Turns out those antibiotics Dr. B ordered were the equivalent of Skittles....I called my regular, albeit, decent looking oncologist, Dr. K at around 8:00 AM today. He groggily stated: "Um, those aren't the right antibiotics for treating a UTI. Gimme the name of your pharmacy and I'll call something else in for you."
Thank YOU Dr. K and your normal-range doctor looking self. I swallowed down my first new drug and within an hour, I felt better. I predict that my PTSD associated with peeing will recede by the end of the day....
So I close with this: Oh Dr. Bretz, I will always cherish what we had together.....But, this relationship was doomed from the start....what with you not being so, well smart. Remember, I will always, always, always pick brains over beauty....And I'm just NOT that in to you, after all.....
Happy Sunday, gentle readers.
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