Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Tuesday, Aug. 28, 2007 - 11:43 p.m.

I saw the neurologist today and got a clean bill of health there, no surprise. She feels I had a complicated migraine, and gave me drug samples (3) for the next migraine I have, which I appreciate, because the last 2 were doozies. I don't count the hospital one, because it wasn't a normal migraine for me; you know, the kind that involve a level of pain and nausea heretofore unknown by mankind. The last two painful-type migraines I had were pretty excruciating, so I was quite happy to take migraine pain meds from her, with the promise that when I figure out which one works best, she'll write me a scrip, coz that could be really freaking handy to have, yo, if those last 2 are anything to go by. I used to think I knew what pain was, and then those two came along, and boy howdy, am I in touch with the concept, now.

I also went to see my new ob-gyn. Or rather, her NP, because the ob-gyn herself has a 3 month waiting list for new clients, and as we all know, I am not waiting another 3 months to find out what's going on in the nether regions, there. So I went to see the NP today, and she's about as warm and fuzzy as a snowbound porcupine. Which sucks, because frankly, if you're going to ask me to spread my legs and hang my ass off the edge of a table for you, I really need you to be a little compassionate about it. But she did give me an HPV DNA test, which goes pretty much exactly the same as a pap, but with a lot more scraping and pain. I've had pelvic exams that were that painful in the past, but they generally involved doctors I never returned to see, and indeed, I don't plan on returning to see this one, if it can at all be avoided, because damn it, that hurt, and I need you to be a little more understanding of that fact and my concerns, for the love o' Mike. She was also all, 'so, your abnormal pap was no big deal, but I'll give you this HPV probe (yes, she said probe), and then when it comes back all normal, ya big sissy, we'll wait 6 months and then do another pap, and if that's abnormal, we'll do a colposcopy.'

And I'm all, 'okay, but here's the deal: you do that there probe and see how it goes, but there is no way in hell I am waiting even 3 months to do another pap, let alone 6. There's just no freaking way on this planet that is going to happen. I've already been through the cancer thing, and I'm not pussyfooting around with this anymore.'

And she's all - and I kid you not - 'yes, I heard you,' "I'm a very good listener."

If you have to tell people you're a very good listener (especially your patients), I'm pretty sure you're not actually a very good listener.

I'm just sayin'.

And obviously, you're not actually that great a listener, when less than 2 minutes after I told you I'm not waiting 3 months for a new pap smear, you tell me you'll do a probe and then we'll wait 6 months and do a new pap then. Because, like, 6 months is actually LONGER than 3. It is, in point of fact, twice as long as 3. So if I'm not waiting 3 months - and I'm NOT - then you can pretty much bet the farm, your bottom dollar, and your ass that I am not waiting 6. Capiche? Good listener, my ass.

But she did give me a scrip for BC pills to replace the one I lost, and she did do the scrapey HPV probey thing, which hurt quite a bit, so I'm guessing today was not a total loss, right? ::sigh:: I don't dig docs that don't give the full weight to your words and feelings that they deserve. I get that the level of abnormal cells I had was minor. I do. And I get that labs fuck up pap smears all the time. But you are not fucking hearing my concerns, and that pisses me off and makes me want to punch you. And it's not your fucking body. It's mine. If you think it's nothing, and I take your word for it and fail to act on it with due expediency, and then in 6 months you walk in and look at me and say, 'gee, we were wrong, it IS cancer; who knew?' it's me who pays for that. Not you. So dish me some fucking respect, toots. I don't give a goddamn how much you think I'm over-reacting. It's my body. I've been in it 43 fucking years. *I* get to say when, NOT you.

Fuck. Now I'm irritated all over again.

Let's all go catch butterflies and have cakes and tea in a big sunny field of flowers while a string quartet plays Beatles songs at our request. Doesn't that sound nice? I think that sounds nice.

Peace out,
Katie

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