Here I sit a’waitin’. Don’t you know the doctor called with my test results when I was not at home and did not call my cell as I requested. Expecting a doctor to really listen to you, I guess, is asking the impossible as he’s too busy trying to overschedule his appointment book to worry about the petty health concerns of patients. What was I thinking?!
Do I sound bitter? I guess I do, but folks, I have worked in the medical profession and my bitterness was hard earned thank you very much.
When his call came in to my home voicemail I was sitting at the hairdressers getting my hair cut way shorter than I requested, but hair grows back fertility does not.
I mean, I don’t want to whine. Thankfully, this time I’m not waiting for a call that will tell me if I have cancer or not, but I am waiting for that call which will let me know if my biological clock has completely stopped…not that it really ever worked in the first place.
The only indication Doc left in his vague HIPPA-compliant voicemail message was that he had “recommendations”. Recommendations…in medical-ese “recommendations” usually translates to “drugs”, and I’m not going there. I’m just not! I don’t care if my hotflashes could power the whole of Charlotte for five minutes a piece there’s not a torture procedure cruel enough to make me go back on hormones….uh uh.
So here I wait at 4:00 p.m. for a the call I made at 9:05 a.m. to be returned by the good doctor or his nurse…an exercise in futility I suppose.