Fuming

[rhondalea]

Maybe it's me. Perhaps the tobacco withdrawal has really done a number on my temper. Then again, perhaps the medical community needs to get on the stick and stop acting as if the only important schedule is its own.

Today was the regular Herceptin infusion, scheduled for 1:30. At 10:25am, my onc's nurse called and asked me to come in a half hour early to see the onc before rather than after, because they needed to get out at 2:30. (My appointment with her was originally scheduled for 2:30.)

I say yes to everything. Always. I told her I would stop at treatment to ask them to order my Herceptin so it would be ready to go when we were done. She told me not to bother--she said she would do it.

I dutifully showed up at the appointed hour. The receptionist told me I wasn't supposed to be there but they were expecting me at treatment. I explained the above. "Oh." (That should've been a clue, eh?)

30 minutes later, I was still waiting. I got up, told the receptionist I was going to treatment and to let them know they could call over for me when they were ready. I did the usual preliminary stuff, including the needle stick, and then I was told to go back for my appointment. I asked the nurse if she had ordered my Herceptin, and at that moment, she thought she was supposed to wait until I'd seen the onc and it had been cleared. I explained to her--nicely--all of the foregoing. She then told me that yes, the onc's nurse had in fact told her to go ahead and order my Herceptin. (So now we know that no matter how implausible the lie, they will tell me anything to cover each other's delicate derrieres.)

So I went back to waiting room and sat for awhile. Finally, someone came for me, and I was put into an exam room. The usual procedure was not followed (wherein the onc's nurse comes in and asks a lot of questions), but shortly thereafter, the onc came in with two students.

At that point, I just wanted to cut to the chase. Each time I go, they ask me how I feel, but it makes no difference if I'm in pain or have fatigue or have the world's worst brain fog because no one offers me anything that might alleviate any of it. If you're not going to fix it, why ask?

So I was terse with her. I was even more terse when she asked me how I was doing with the metformin. It's not her trial. I'd asked her about trials. Repeatedly. And I got exactly zip, zilch, nit, nil and bobkes back from her, so I found one on my own. She doesn't need to know about any side effects I'm having from metformin--she's not going to do anything to help me with them, so I'll save them for the study doctor. Once upon a time (last visit), I sent her a rather lengthy email that detailed everything I wanted to go over at our visit. She didn't read it, but her nurse printed it out for her while we sat there. She joked about how long it must've taken me to write it, but she didn't look at it, and my questions didn't get answered. Then she wants me up on the table so she can examine me. Three times, I said, "the seroma is still there," and she didn't respond at all. (Looks like I'd be stuck with it were it not for the physical therapist (who is also a lymphedema therapist) who thinks she can teach me how to bind it so it will go away.)

I did explain to her that in the rush to get there at the earlier time, I'd left an open nicotine patch on the bed (rather than on my body), and I was worried that the cats might lick it/eat it/die from it.

Well, she was pissed that I was pissed. She wanted to focus on how it wasn't her fault I'd left a nicotine patch on the bed, even though my own emphasis was on "I rushed to accommodate you, and you totally blew me off." I suppose I embarrassed her in front of her students. But I really feel as though I've been condescended to more often than not, that I haven't gotten the answers to questions I've asked, that....

Wow, I'm really not happy, am I? But as I said to her back as I was walking out the door, "I just want September to come so I don't have to do this anymore."

To the credit of CINJ, I do think the actual treatment I've gotten there has been top-of-the-line, so I don't know that I'd have wanted to be treated at another facility. On the other hand, I'll be really hard put to recommend them if someone asks, and if this stupid cancer does come back, I may look elsewhere.

(For the record, I also have nicotine lozenges and a nicotine inhaler, so I wasn't actually suffering from nicotine deprivation at the time my fit of temper occurred. Moreover, the patch is now off my bed and on my leg, and the cats are fine, but I'm still angry at the total lack of professionalism I ran into today.)