Well, I have gone to the city and they have real doctors there. I am happy to report that I was wrong, and that my breast cancer team does care about more about me than just my left breast. They all listened, answered questions, reassured me, and brought on new team members to make sure I am healthy and ready for the surgery. They are, all but one, women, and I realized that these women have entirely different listening and responding skills than the man, and I prefer them to him. I now have a new primary care provider, and, even though I live 150 miles from her office, I feel for the first time in 5 (or more?) years that I am in good hands. The doctor at my last appointment in the city said, “well, are you about done with those doctors out there in (my town)?” And I am. I realize that a large amount of the resentment that I’ve had about doctors is due to the fragmented type of medical response I’ve had from the local clinic where doctors come and go, order lots of tests, but don’t follow through with patients to a diagnosis and treatment.
I have tried to hang on to a local doctor because I live alone in the country just one mile from the clinic and hospital. It has really been a long struggle, and I should have given it up sooner. Unfortunately, it took breast cancer to force me to let go and move on.
I wrote earlier that last month when I was hospitalized overnight with pneumonia, the local woman doctor refused to look at my recent medical results. I asked her to please, please look at tests I had within the last couple of weeks (that were only reviewed by a physician’s assistant who was just rotating in to help out and is not even on the staff). The doctor scolded me and said, “too many cooks in the kitchen!”
Last week when I was leaving the PT room at the hospital where I exercise in the mornings, this doctor came in dressed in jeans and a red felt cowboy hat. The hospital and clinic staff were having “Cowboy and Indian Dress-up Days.” I. Am. Not. Kidding. When I saw her, I had a huge urge to take off her hat and slap it around her face and yell, “there are NO COOKS in your fricking kitchen! I have breast cancer, and you are an idiot!”
I am really looking forward to getting past this. I have to. I need to. I will. (Whew.)