If someone had told me that I could compare the service of the US medical care system with that say, of oh...an airport in a third world country, I woulda called you a big fat liar! Afterall, I see how much shit costs whenever I get say, an asprin from the doctor's office. Some of my medical bills rival the GDP of say, Tuvalu....But, guess what readers, the joke is on me!
Today started off fairly normal. Mom and I ran some errands. I bought a printer, ate some Krispy Kreme donuts- all in preparation for what was to be the BIG DAY. That's right, I was gonna start chemo.
After two weeks of bitching- and Paul can confirm this-about this blossoming infection in my right nostril, my genius oncologist Dr. Kasra Karamlou decided it was high time to finally look inside my nose to see what was up. Trust me, I was a little hurt last week when my offered up nostril was turned down by FOUR members of the medical establishment. Surprise! There was an infection. But trust me, dear reader, this didn't exist until the medical establishment said it did....(and they call US crazy?) So, that bought me a trip to an ENT. YUP! Why take a hammer to that nail when a sledgehammer works just as well? This pushed my 10:20 AM appointment back to 2:30 PM. So, what were two lovely ladies to do in the meantime? Well, we got lunch. Duh! Oh, and went to Costco. My mom and I are such a picture...her hobbling on her two new hips. Me trotting along, with, well...cancer???
To kill even more time, we also took FULL advantage of the KICK ASS stores in the "wellness center." Why, I managed to purchase a strapless bra for a dress I plan on wearing to a friend's wedding (swear to GOD!) and a really cute hat for my impending bald head.... It really is better on the east side....
The ENT decided the infection was minor enough to merit just a topical antibiotic. This sent us back to Oncology.
They welcomed my sick ass and hop along assistant with open arms. I was gently ushered into the "treatment" room that overlooks a lovely garden bed of hostas and euonymus. Pretty. I texted a few folks to begin the countdown. My nurse Debbie trots in with all of the paraphenalia....She then states, "Ok honey, I'm getting your lydacaine ready for your port." I asked "Topical, right?" She said: "No, subdermal." I wanted to go all Rainier Valley on her ass BECAUSE I AM ALLERGIC to lydacaine. And...it says so in my records- that NO ONE ever reads. She blanches- cuz that's what her kind does- recovers- and then says: "well, I guess we'll have to go in with no pain killers." Hold the PHONE! Was she kidding? Now look, I'm not that much of a wimp. However, the needle in this case is akin to something one would use to hold curtains up on a curtain rod- velvet curtains at that. F*CK THAT! I was out.
After much wrangling around about the details. Confirming that I didn't want any meat hooks placed into my chest, we all agreed it best to return in the morning at 10:00 AM. Dear Debbie ordered my topical pain killer. Beginning Friday at 9:00 AM I will smear that shit all over myself and try to put some lipstick on that cancer pig.
I love reading your posts!
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