Picture courtesy of judianna2u from PhotobucketIt has been over four years since my brother was diagnosed with cancer. We don’t even want to count the number of trips made to the hospital for either treatment or follow-up with one specialist or another. Most appointments were respected, meaning that the time spent in the waiting room never went much over 30 minutes…until he needed the lung specialist.
I do not know if this specialist is unorganized, or just downright greedy. I do know he is full of his own importance. I also know that we have never waited LESS than 90 minutes to see him (often it was longer than that!), even if the appointment was scheduled a month or two ahead. He overbooks on a regular basis, has dithered around ever since we met him, and on four different occasions we were sent to ‘consult’ another of his ‘specialists’ where nothing was accomplished; no physical examination, no tests, and always the same damned questions asked while all the answers are already in my brother’s file.
Yesterday was no exception. We arrived 20 minutes early for the 11:30 AM appointment. An hour and a half later, we were still waiting. Finally the little fart (he’s a very small doctor) took us into an examination room, where we sat for another 30 minutes. When he did strut in and started his usual humming and hawing, paging through the file with his superior airs, it was quite evident that he still had no clue as to what was going on. He was bluffing again.
I lost it.
I won’t relate the ensuing bitchiness that occurred on my part other than to say that the little fart had the grace to look embarrassed when I was done. It got results.
Because of being shunted from doctor to doctor, my brother has had problems lately getting his prescriptions filled. He doesn’t need the extra stress of having to worry whether or not he’ll have enough pills to alleviate pain. By the time we left the room, the little fart had written out all the prescriptions necessary, and early next week Bird will be admitted to the hospital. He will be seen by the cardiologist and, if okay to go, will have the operation on his lung. It’s about time!!!
Sometimes one has to be the squeaky wheel.
Sending you all SMILES and wishing the ladies a HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
1 comment:
Boy...do I feel the frustration here. Your bro is lucky to have a sister qui a du caractère et capable de parler à ce petit péteux là. You should send this frustration letter to a newspaper; however change certan words. Never call a doctor a "fart", you may call him un étron, which comes after a fart. I guess its about the same everywhere when one has to visit a dr. I have to wait at least an hour when I see one.
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