Yesterday, my brother came to drive me to my echocardiogram appointment. Except, there was no appointment made, apparently. We got there and they said they had no record of it. My brother and I went to get burgers at Culver’s instead, which was so good. Even with no butter (They invented the ButterBurger) and a gluten-free bun, it was juicy and so meaty (got the double). I learned that you can get a triple or more if you ask, but that would be just way too much meat. Even a double was plenty for me.
I promised my brother that the heart center DID call me. He believed me because I immediately emailed him after to ask for a ride. He figured out that the person probably jotted it down on the wrong client’s page–and I remembered that she did have computer problems while we were talking. So, yes, either wrongly noted it or it didn’t take at all. Plus, as I was messaging Ian to tell him I had an appointment, he asked how long it’d been. It had been ten months, so I was surprised that they hadn’t waited for a year. That’s when we scheduled it for while I was there–they wanted it to be a year.
It got me thinking about driving. I haven’t driving much since I got out of the hospital. To be fair, I didn’t drive much before because of the pandemic and because of my shitty immune system. The last time I went out before I landed in the hospital, I went to Target. I am convinced that’s where I got the walking non-COVID-related pneumonia, even though it wasn’t in the week of when I got it. I just Googled it. The symptoms do not show up for two weeks at least. So it was probably there. It doesn’t make a tangible difference, obviously, but it’s a relief. I had been racking my mind, trying to figure out where I got it (back then).
Let me set the background. I have a shitty immune system. I’m not immunocompromised, at least as far as I know. But I do have a shitty immune system, which is how I always phrase it. In the before times, I got bronchial-related illnesses two to three times a year. My doctor said I had the lungs of a seventy year old. I smoked two to three cigarettes a day (not two to three packs) slowly throughout the day. I smoked half a cig when I got up, then a quarter cig several times during the day. I never wanted a whole cigarette (except when I went out with K. It was our thing), but I liked the little kick that a few puffs gave to me. My favorite doc told me it wasn’t a big deal or something to worry about when I mentioned it to her. When I asked why doctors were so strident about smoking, she said because if they told people they could smoke a few cigarettes a day, their patients would take it to mean they could smoke six packs a day. Which, fair.
Sadly, I had to leave her because she became strident about the BMI because her insurance company switched and started pushing BMI. Hard. I told her she knew it was bullshit, and she flushed. She said she knew it was, but she had to say it. It made me really sad, but I could not stand for the BMI being pushed at me.
I looked her up and she’s moved to a wholeness center. I may switch to her because I cannot find a good doctor within the Fairview system. I found one, but she transferred out after three or four years. The next one I had made a really bad joke…she put me on Celexa. It was the second time I had been on it. Here is my history with SSRIs. The first time, they work well for a year. Then, they don’t work well at all. If I try them again years later, they have adverse effects on me.
This one made me suicidal. I could barely drag myself out of bed, and all I wanted to do was kill myself. I managed to make an appointment with my doctor and explained to her quite frankly what was happening to me. I had lost 19 pounds in a month, which was partly because I could not eat. She asked how I lost the weight and that was when I mentioned that I was suicidal and could not eat. She looked flustered and said, “Well, at least you lost the weight.” I did not go back to her.
Look. I understand that she was taken aback and did not know what to say. I get that. But that was quite possibly the worst thing she could have ever said. She’s a fucking doctor. You cannot tell me that she was not taught better bedside manners than that.
The next doctor was ok for the most part. Until we talked about my smoking. I said I smoked two or three cigarettes a day and she said very emphatically that it was just as bad as smoking a pack a day. Which, come on. I am not stupid. Do not treat me as if I am. You cannot tell me with a straight face that smoking two cigarettes a day is the same as smoking twenty cigarettes a day. If that’s the case, then I might as well smoke twenty cigarettes a day, right? Give me a fucking break.
The next doctor was one I found during the pandemic. We had not met in person, and she was brusque on the phone. It didn’t get better. She was focused on weight, which I am not about at all. You do not need to mention it every time you see me, especially as I am in decent health otherwise. My BP is normal. I’m the only one in my family who was not on high blood pressure meds.
This was my doctor of record when I had my medical crisis. Once I woke up, I did not smoke while I was in the hospital, obviously. When I got out, I had no desire to smoke. The habit was broken, and I never went back. My doctor sent me an email soon after saying she was sorry what I had gone through and maybe I should think about quitting smoking.
I mean, read the fucking room. I saw her colleague when I got out of the hospital because she wasn’t available, and he was so much better. I preferred female doctors, but this male doctor was a relief after all the bullshit I had gone through. He was no-nonsense and down to business, which was fin e with me.
But I massively digress. I was going to talk about all the ways in which I have changed since my medical crisis, but I’ve gone way afield and there’s no coming back now. One positive about the pandemic was that I did not have to go out at all. I didn’t even go to the grocery store, but ordered in. I did not get sick at all for the entirety of the pandemic. Wait. I take it back. I got bronchitis once. But that’s amazing in comparison to how often I would be coughing when the world was not in lockdown. I will take that trade-off any day of the week. Any day.