2.12.2007

A cardiologist and a massage therapist walk into a bar...

Friday's appointment with the cardiologist was surreal and anticlimactic. Surreal because I was the youngest person in the waiting room, by about 50 years. Anticlimactic because this cardiologist is probably the most apathetic doctor I've ever met.

(Although, "most" can't really describe "apathetic," can it? I mean, you either are or you aren't, right? What do you mean you don't care?)

(Now that's apathetic.)

The only time he showed any emotion whatsoever was when he judged me for having about 5 drinks per week. He even shook his finger at me! And called me bad! Like I have a problem or something! I don't have a problem, just because I enjoy an alcoholic beverage or 5 throughout the week. Five! In seven days! I almost laughed and told him he should have seen me in my glory days, er, college, but he was glaring at me and I was a little scared. It's not like I get smashed every night when I get home (as much as I'd like to, sometimes). Frankly, I don't have time to have a drinking problem: I'm hardly ever home and I'm definitely not drinking when I'm out and about, as I still don't have a pretty silver flask with my intials engraved on it, no matter how cool I've always thought that would be. I certainly don't believe I have an alcohol dependancy or anything. Healthy love of, sure. Dependancy, no. Why are you looking at me like I'm getting defensive? I'm not getting defensive. Fuck you.

Except for the bit where he essentially called me a Heavy Drinker Headed for Nothing Good, most of the time he talked past the tip of my nose and out the window. Zero eye contact, even as he skimmed through my paperwork, looked me up and down, held a stethoscope to my fully-clothed chest and had me take two of the quickest deep breaths I've ever taken, half-heartedly rubbed my stomach while asking if I'd had any issues there, shook my hand, and flew out of the room and on to the next cardiac case.

His much more personable nurse came in to explain how the event monitor works. I guess I thought it would be smaller. With less obvious wires. That wouldn't need to remain attached to me 99.9% of the time. The thought of wearing this thing at the office is no big deal (and should even help with some Boss Reconditioning), but I have no idea how this is going to work for my class. Walking around with this thing is a bit... melodramatic, don't you think? Woo hoo, look at me! Ask me about my possible heart condition! And everyone will just shake their heads and roll their eyes like, What's up, drama queen.

Once I receive the event monitor (via U.S. mail, so, whenever) and hook myself up, I'll have to call every few days and download the event reports to reset the thing. And sometimes the nurse will call and ask me what was going on during a certain event so they know I wasn't actually having a heart attack at the time my heart rate spiked.

"I was exercising."


"I was breaking up a dog fight."


"Um, we were- yeah."


"I was drinking! Heavily and over-excitedly! Two beers in four hours on a Saturday! Wooooo!"

3 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

Do they teach condescending/appethetic attitude in med school? I think they do. In fact I think unless you get an A+ (meaning you are an A+ asshole) you don't get to graduate... Yeah, don't get me started...

4:01 PM  
Anonymous skyhawk said...

"Um, we were -- yeah." ROFL.

As far as the doc's "I don't care, as long as your insurance clears" attitude, I'll impart a bit of wisdom a nurse told me as I recovered from the biopsy last year: "The brilliant ones are the least personable... actually, they're kinda dicks."

5:24 PM  
Blogger Kelley said...

At the other end of the spectrum, I once had a doctor declare that my smoking was "not that bad". (Of course, I'd lied about how much I really smoked, but still.)

11:22 AM  

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