Persistence pays.......

I used to invariably expect the best from people, and that included doctors. I used to wear rose-colored glasses. Now, I invariably hope the best but expect the worst. But every now and again I get fooled. Today was one of those days.

After writing that letter, I hung over a steaming pot, took ibuprofen and mucinex, and prayed to the steam gods to loosen my sinuses so I could sleep. The next morning, with the feeling of umpteen hangovers I was wondering when the party ever started. When my phone rang, I contemplated ignoring it, but did pick it up.

"This is [Lulu]. Dr.M wants to know if you can come in this afternoon. She's double-booking just so she can see you. She got your fax."

"What fax?" (Did I send that in my stupor??)

"The fax you sent about your visit to the doctor on Saturday."

"I didn't send a fax."

"Will you hang on a moment?"

As I was "hanging on" it dawned on me. Ah ha! SOMEONE had sent it. I suspected the recipient of the letter who works for customer service in the medical organization to which the urgent care belongs.

She returned. "Yes, well, Dr. M. is talking about you. She said she got the fax and it's about you. Can you come in this afternoon?"

"I'll be there."

I did go, wishing I had a chauffeur so I could close my eyes against the glaring sun. Oh, my pounding head. Dr. M was a dearheart. She apologized mightily for Dr. X's treatment of me and said, "Off the record, we've had a lot of complaints about him." She professed delight in my letter. I hope she wasn't trying to make me feel better. No, I think she really meant it. BTW, I got a big hug from Dr. M to go with it. She does hug....that's good medicine, too.

A shot of rocephin, two prescriptions for 14 days of levaquin and some percocet later, I was off to sell my soul to Walgreens. Since it took 45 minutes, I found a cup of Starbucks and a place to rob wireless internet while I waited. Oh my aching head. (Have I said that already?)

I'm hoping my letter does some good, but I'm doubtful. I was even second-guessing myself after writing it and asked my good friends if I was over-reacting. I asked my parents the same thing. They assured me I wasn't, but that's what chronic illness does. It beats us down to the point we are almost apologizing for being ill, and then when we do react...well, we second-guess our reactions.

I have dreams of educating our local medical profession about my type of illness, but then reality hits when I meet a Dr. X. How do I overcome that God complex? And where do I find the energy? How do I make them read the new research? And frankly, how much time do they really have for that? The Doctor Will See You for Exactly 7 Minutes....


My head is still pounding. I just took a percocet. I hope it helps. Wonder if I should send Dr. X one?