Why I Hate Doctors... or Do They Just all Hate Me?

Today I spent a good 2 hours on the telephone attempting to follow through on the demands, er, ADVICE, that my hubby's doctor gave me on Monday after DH told me that he really DID like his doctor, and had nothing but great luck with him

Rule #1. NEVER trust your husband's physician-selecting advice. EVER.
Rule #2. If the doctor who enters the room IGNORES your child... run.
Rule #3. If the doctor's combover entails more hair on the top of his head than anywhere else... he's NOT going to be very savvy as to what new technology holds.

So, as I stated last week, I managed to see a FABULOUS ER doctor. One that if he were a clinic physician, I would claim him as my own. Alas...

I wound up at the crabassed doctor who needs a razor and NOT a comb.

"So, why are you here?" --- as he LOOKS at the actual LIST I had prepared pre-visit.

"Who GAVE you Dilaudid?!? *I* don't prescribe that." Well, hell.

"You're on Xanax AND Valium??" Well, the Valium was started last week as both a muscle relaxant and an anti-anxiety... "Oh, well *I* don't think you need that."
WOW! He's PSYCHIC! 5 minutes into the visit and he hadn't even TOUCHED ME... yet he's making judgement calls. Faaaaaboo.

"Doctor, I'd like to switch anti-depressants if possible to something that would allow me to titrate off them without severe withdrawls, since planning another child is in our near future." Ready for this one??? "SEE A SHRINK."

SO, what did I gain from this? MOTRIN. More of the SAME anti-depressant. And Xanax... which in all honesty, the Valium did a MUCH better job all around.

I feel WORSE after having seen the doctor that before, because his last words to me, literally, were, "Find a pain clinic - though that may be difficult because of YOUR insurance. I don't know what to tell you about the insomnia, call a Sleep Clinic. But again, insurance issues are likely. And don't forget about the Shrink."

Now, is it just ME, or would YOU be just a step above livid too?

I haven't seen a psychiatrist sine I was *12* - when I was first diagnosed with depression. Yes... at 12.

BUT, I have an appointment... on September 22nd. So I have another month of being on the drug from hell.

I called *3* pain clinics. One is 'at their limit.' One's number is disconnected. And the other? The extension I was given never answered.

After all that... I was literally AFRAID to even BOTHER with finding a sleep center.

The BEST part? Because the aforementioned doctor failed to note that the Xanax and Valium are for different issues - I can't get the new Xanax script filled until the Valium supply runs out. On Friday. Joy oh FRIGGIN joy.

Tomorrow is going to be spent, once again, on the telephone. I just hope that, oh golly oh gee, SOMEONE out there can help me. Because otherwise? I am going to track down my ER doc and get personal suggestions from HIM. He seems to be the absolute lone soul in this field right now that GETS ME. *sigh*



On a lighter note, Greyson provided some entertainment while in the waiting room at Dr. Doom's. He was the youngest child in there, by at least 2 years, and one little girl took it upon herself to climb underneath a row of waiting room chair against one wall. What did my little man do? He crouched down, and shouted, "This is NOT a playground - those are CHAIRS. Come out from under there and SIT on them, not UNDER them."

I thought I was going to die laughing... especially when her mother muttered a, "He's right, you know."

There was also a boy waiting with his father, a child who DEFINITELY should have had a MUCH better understanding of *personal space*. However, it seemed that he was determined that Grey's new Thomas hat from over the weekend was his new matcchbox car ramp - while STILL on Grey's head. After about the secomd time, again, my verbose little boy looked the child in the eye, and came up with THIS one:
"This is my HAT. Cars do NOT belong on MY hat. And you are TOO close to me, and I would like you to go away now."

My face HAD to have been beet-red at that point. Grey then proceeded to grab a Sports Illustrated off the shelf and climb into the chair next to me.

Of course, 5 minutes into his 'reading,' he proclaimed it was "boring because it only has pictures of this man wearing necklaces."

Yep, you guessed it - he was talking about Phelps. =D

He SO deserved the Wendy's he got for lunch on the way home. And now I have a picture of 2 pirates at a birthday party off the side of the bag (what's wrong with this picture??) taped to his dresser since he decided it would be a good idea to save it until NOVEMBER to use for his party. *shrug* Whatever you say, Munchkin, whatever you say.