Bitchy McBitcherson's Blog

Tag: health

  • My Grandfather

    He is more coherent and has better motor control, so they are keeping him at home for now. This is good news. Unfortunately my grandmother has come down with the flu, which is always a risk for somebody at her age and health level. Plus my aunt also has it, and is the primary care provider for both of them. Definitely a rough week in that house.

    I am still so pissed about the lack of what I consider decent medical care. Unfortunately, like the major airports, the nearest major hospital (and any significant second opinion) is also a 4-5 hour drive away.

    For the moment things are not dire, but it is clear that I really need to move up a visit on my priority list, if I want to make a real attempt to get in another visit where he knows who I am, and I do.

    I must concentrate on getting my taxes done. I need that off the table so I have some flexibility.

  • More On How I Feel About the Medical Industry

    First I will start with the general.

    I do not like the medical profession laying their personal, or societal opinions on an individuals medical care unless they are specifically asked, “Well, what would you do?”

    Then I will move onto a story about somebody I knew.

    There was a woman who used to clean my house. She was nice enough, but unfortunately was entirely too chatty. As the result I know a lot more about her than is reasonable. Now you will know it too.

    When I first met her she was barely 22 years old and had just given birth to her third baby. Her first one she had when she was 16. The first two were with one guy, this third one was with a different guy, but she still considered the father of the first two “The love of her life, that she knows she is meant to be with again someday.” She swore that they were using birth control for all three pregnancies. She told me that during pregnancy number two she kept telling her doctor she wanted her tubes tied when the baby was born. Her doctor insisted she was too young to make such a decision.

    Prior to baby number three being born, one of the other girls suffered a severe head injury and became disabled. The woman was 20, no reasonable education, unmarried with two children and one of whom had extra educational and medical needs. During pregnancy number three she again repeatedly told her doctor that she wanted to have her tubes tied. Again she was told that she was too young to make such a decision. When baby number three was less than a year old she became pregnant for the fourth time, again swearing that they were using birth control (who knows if they’d ever been given decent instructions on HOW to use it).

    A doctor finally agreed to sterilize her at that point, two kids after she started requesting it.

    Finally we will get on to the personal.

    I have one kid. I am pro choice. I meant to have that kid. I was not absolutely positively certain that we would stop with one kid.

    We waited. We thought about it. We talked about it. We were pretty damn sure. We waited some more. We talked about it more. We decided. This took place over the span of years, not days.

    I went and saw a doctor and told them that I was done. She laughed and told me that I would change my mind. She did not want to refer me to anyone. Nothing. She just said I was too young (which I think “they” term as under 30 with 0 or 1 kid) to make that choice, and that (I kid you fucking not, she said this to me) “It isn’t right to have your daughter grow up so lonely.”

    I did not kill her on the spot. I hope somebody is as amazed by this as I am. As far as I know, she is still alive and practicing medicine. I never saw her again. If anything happened to her, it was not me.

    Now all I was going to do was talk and get pamphlets. We were still strongly leaning toward him having a procedure rather than me having something done, but I was not done researching. At that point we knew one person who had a vasectomy that they were not happy with. We knew several who had them who were happy and felt it had been no problem at all.

    After a bit of time (as I have mentioned before we tend to avoid doctors whenever possible) we finally got to a point where we set foot into a medical setting again. This time we let him try. We got a little bit further. They were willing to give him a referral, after he attended a class. This pissed me off to no end. I was furious. We are supposed to have medical privacy and being forced by insurance to go to a group class on any sort of medical condition or procedure as a condition to getting the care that you are requesting was completely beyond acceptable to me. I began throwing fits left and right and before we got very far with that our insurance coverage changed. Yes, I am choosing publicly to talk about this NOW, but that is my choice. They were holding the procedure hostage in order to force public discussion on it.

    By the time we got back to the subject yet again we knew two more men who had vasectomies who were very unhappy with the procedure and the outcome. (chronic pain, decreased sensation from orgasms, etc) I know that the vast majority of people have no problem, and a lot of the medical community discount the complaints out there, but these were people who I did not think were likely to be having psychosomatic complaints. I needed more time to research.

    Then I got sick. I’ve talked about that before.

    Finally I was ready to look into everything again and this time I found Essure. That looked very interesting to me. First I contacted a retired gynecologist who happens to be a friend’s father to ask him what he knew about it. It had come about after he gave up his practice, so he contacted colleagues to get opinions and got back to me. He also helped me formulate some questions that he felt any decent doctor should answer.

    I took his questions, did some additional research and added questions of my own. Pulling a list of doctors listed on the Essure website that happened to be covered by my insurance, I contacted fifteen of them. Fourteen by letters and one by email. The one who responded by email responded quickly and was great, but I was not thrilled with his answers to my questions. I liked very much that he communicated effectively by email, and I also liked that he was giving up the OB portion of his practice because that would make him a more effective doctor for me. However, he just had not performed the procedure enough times and with enough success that I was comfortable seeing him in this case.

    Thirteen doctors ignored me completely.

    One other had his nurse call me to give me the answers to my questions. I wasn’t thrilled with having the nurse call, but the answers to the questions were decent. I booked an appointment to meet him in person.

    I arrived on time to a fairly empty waiting room. I had to wait for 40 minutes before they took me to a room and another 20 minutes for him to appear. We spoke and were okay with the responses to each others questions. He remembered the letter and we talked a about his history with the procedure. He actually wanted to know if, should I go ahead and use him and do the procedure, whether I would be willing to be filmed for the local evening news. We also decided I should get a shot of Depo because that gives the best chance for the procedure to go well (condition of the cervix and endometrial lining) and we worked out when the right time for the procedure would be. Sounds good, right? Then it turns out the do not have the Depo in their office and I have to go downstairs to the pharmacy to get it. They write a prescription and send me down. This eats up more of my day as I have to wait.

    In the meantime I called my husband to discuss this television news idea. On the one hand I despised the idea of having a camera anywhere near me. On the other hand it seemed like the doctor would work extra hard not to fuck it up if a camera was there. Also I very strongly believe in getting any and all reproductive choice options out there for people to be aware of. We decided it was creepy and we were not comfortable with it, but that assuming all the details, as ironed out, worked for us, we should go ahead and do it.

    When they finally had the prescription filled for me they tell me insurance will not cover it. It is ridiculously expensive. Insurance won’t cover it because they will only pay for a 30 day supply from a local pharmacy and it lasts for 90 days. They will only cover it if the doctor has it in their office and it is used as part of the office appointment.

    *sigh*

    So I paid the exorbitant fee for the liquid and returned back upstairs because, of course, they only give me a little bottle, no syringe. I give the pets vaccinations, surely I could give myself a damn shot. Diabetics do it all the time. Instead I went back upstairs to the doctor’s office and was forced to wait again in the waiting room. Finally they stuck me back into an exam room where I waited some more. Eventually a nurse showed up and gave me a shot.

    I asked her when the procedure will be scheduled for. She told me that the scheduling person wasn’t in, but that she would call me within the next 10 days. She said that if I didn’t hear from the woman within two weeks, I should call.

    Now, here is the thing. They are running a business. They get real money to do this procedure on me. They actually have a woman who gets paid specifically to schedule procedures and book the operating rooms. That is her job. I am the customer. I already reached out to get the process rolling. I do not want to be having to chase people down to convince them to do their damn job.

    I explained to the nurse that it is very important that the scheduling person call me, because I will not call back. I point out how many years it had been since my last pap. They needed to call me. She said that she usually calls and she’d be sure to mark my folder correctly and put it in the right pile.

    I told her that I had spoken to my husband and we were willing to do the TV show, so she said the doctor would speak to the PR person from Essure and they would get back to me on that with the details and paperwork.

    I left. I had been there for four hours. 4. Not, 3 hours – 4 hours. I had to go home and load the car and drive to Seattle. Really, no problem I don’t mind it taking four damn hours to spend 20 minutes interacting with the actual medical people.

    They never called.

    I’ve now switched insurance, so I can’t go to him anyway unless I want to pay it completely out of pocket, and why would I want to when their office staff can’t fucking get it together enough to call and schedule me an appointment. They had months in which they could have. This is when I was willing to do them the favor of being their promotional poster girl on the evening news!

    But wait, the reason I am writing this is that I was reminded once again when I got a past due bill from them. They need $80 from me for giving me the injection (which I only got because I was supposed to have the procedure) which my insurance would not cover because they were injecting something that was not supplied by their office. They want 80 fucking dollars to have some fucktwit put on latex gloves, tear a package with a syringe in it, stick the syringe into the vial, draw the liquid into the syringe, and then stick a needle in my ass and depress the plunger. It took her less than a fucking minute.

    So there you have it, yet another example of why I am always so aggravated whenever I even think I might need to deal with anything remotely medical.

  • a northern zodiacal constellation between Gemini and Leo

    I don’t have a thyroid. When I was born, I had one, but in 2002 some guy surgically removed it because:
    It was the size of a grapefruit.
    I couldn’t breathe.
    And oh, I had cancer.

    In about 2.5 more years if it doesn’t reoccur I can answer “no” on the cancer question for medical insurance. For right now, I can’t get medical insurance unless it is through an employer group policy.

    I have had very very VERY bad luck with doctors ever since I moved to California. That is a whole other completely traumatic story that I won’t bother going into at this time, but it has to do with the dark times. Things went very wrong soon after moving here, and a large part of it was directly caused by the doctors I was dealing with. I developed a serious distrust and dislike for doctors and I still try to avoid them. The only one I found the entire time I have lived in California that I actually liked, moved out of the state. It is made all the more unfortunate because, with this whole thyroid thing, I am now forced to see a doctor minimum once a year, or I can’t get the meds I need to stay alive. I should see them more often, but that is easier said than done.

    By 2001, which was a few years post dark time, we never saw doctors unless we were concerned a part might fall off or that we might die. Neither of those concerns happened often, so we mainly just didn’t go.

    In 1999 we had been forced to switch to a new insurance provider when the company downsized and limited benefits. The new insurance provider assigned us to a primary care physician. We never went. Then one day in 2001 we were getting out of the car and my daughter shut the door on her finger. The door CLOSED. I had to reopen it to free her. Her finger did not look good. This was one of those times where I was concerned that a part might fall off. I called the family practitioner we were assigned to, the one who had been getting monthly payments from the insurance company for each of us. I wanted to get her an appointment. They refused to see her, because they “Don’t see patients her age.” I called to yell at the insurance company and they randomly switched us to another doctor (effective the following month).

    In the fall of 2001 I was feeling generally rundown and having lots of mini-illnesses. I just was not normal. Then I came down with a horrible respiratory infection, along with a really bad sore throat and all of my glands swelled up. I was puffy. I was horribly stiff. I felt like I couldn’t breathe or swallow. Eventually the swelling from my lymph nodes went away. At which point it became extremely noticeable that my thyroid (which had been enlarged for many years and I’d been through many discussions with doctors about it) had gotten much more enlarged. It was ridiculously large. It was not something one needed to feel, it was visible. There was an alien lump growing in my neck. The alien that didn’t want to let me breathe was starting to seem like an “I might die” situation, so I went to see this random doctor that our insurance provider had selected. She was condescending. She wanted to put me on antibiotics even though she could not name a part that she felt there was a bacterial infection of (I was already done with the respiratory thing, I just had the strangling alien). She drew blood to run some tests. She was sure she knew what it was though. “It is obvious.” She told me. She sent me on my way and told me they would contact me with the test results, and get things fixed.

    They didn’t.

    I called multiple times and finally, more than a month later, somebody called me back to tell me that the reason they never called was because the test results were all normal, and I was fine. I told them that I was not fine, and they needed to refer me to a specialist. They repeated that they had performed the blood tests and it showed everything was normal. I was fine. I had nothing to worry about. I continued to contradict them and kept explaining that I was obviously NOT FINE. They eventually got me off the phone by saying that they would submit the request for a specialist for insurance approval.

    In the meantime the end of the year was approaching and we had elected to switch insurance during the last open enrollment period because I was suspecting that this would go poorly. The first doctor never did get back to me, but in January, with the new insurance rules, I self-referred to a specialist. I went in with all my notes and papers because there had been suspicious things about my thyroid for over a decade, but there were always other medical things that were more pressing to deal with, so doctors would put it off to look at more closely later. I told him my story, and he kept shaking his head and asking me to clarify things about the most recent doctor. He couldn’t believe that she had tried to run tests themselves instead of referring me to a specialist immediately. My thyroid at this point was so enlarged that it was interfering significantly with my breathing and swallowing. It was physically uncomfortable. Shirts had to be loose, necklaces were not an option. My neck felt claustrophobic and I walked around always feeling like I was right on the verge of a complete panic attack.

    He sent me in for an ultrasound, which was inconclusive. We discussed my options and eventually decided that I should just have it removed, that going in to do a biopsy first did not make sense. Sure we might find out it was cancer, but we could find out after it was removed too. It wasn’t going to get any smaller, and I was having trouble breathing.

    He referred me to a surgeon. I called to make an appointment and they wouldn’t see me for TWO MONTHS for the consultation. I tried to explain how bad I was feeling but they told me it was the first available appointment. I asked repeatedly to be called if there were cancellations and I called the specialist back to ask them to nudge the surgeons office. Two months passed with me feeling worse each day. On the day before my scheduled consultation, the surgeon’s office called to tell me that they had to cancel. They did not know when the doctor would be available to see me again, so they suggested I find a different surgeon. They didn’t even apologize.

    I called the specialist back and he gave me another surgeon’s name, but that surgeon wasn’t on my insurance. My specialist did not know of another surgeon that he felt he could personally recommend. I was on my own for finding a surgeon. Don’t forget I am ill, having panic attacks because I cannot breathe properly, and I have a serious distrust of doctors. Life was fun.

    Honestly, I got horribly depressed and did nothing for a while. In the meantime we were out for Chinese food and I got a fortune cookie that said “Any arrangements you make are likely to be your final.” I felt horrible. I wasn’t getting enough sleep, because I was never comfortable. I wasn’t getting my work done. I was miserable and felt hopeless.

    Finally when support wasn’t working, my husband and my mother moved on to harassment and bribes. I eventually managed to find three surgeons who specialized in the kind of surgery I needed and were covered by my insurance. One I ruled out because he was in his 70s, and while it was impressive that he was still operating, I decided that I didn’t want him to operate on me. Of the other two, one was actually willing to see me within 2 weeks. We went for a consultation and didn’t hate him, so we scheduled the surgery. He looked like Stanley Tucci. More like a Murder One Stanley Tucci than A Midsummer Night’s Dream Stanley Tucci, which is too bad, because Puck, The Surgeon would have been a lot more entertaining.

    The surgery went well enough. Being in the hospital is horrible, but there are definitely worse hospitals to be stuck in than Cedars. Stanley Tucci removed my gigantic thyroid. My pathology report was the single most disgusting thing I have ever read. The results of which were that they found cancer. The malignancy was encapsulated in other disgustingly described abnormal tissue. It had not spread.

    After a lot of discussion we decided against doing radiation treatment. We are able to monitor the growth of any new thyroid tissue (which might indicate a return of the cancer) through blood tests. I have to take (right now 3) pills everyday to make up for the missing thyroid. However it doesn’t just stay the same forever. Over time my levels change and I have go have blood tests and change my meds. Symptoms when things are going wrong one way or another, include depression, memory loss, hair loss (head and eyebrows), inability to handle stress, inability to focus, exhaustion, heart palpitations, being too cold, being too hot, having insomnia, having high blood pressure, having elevated cholesterol, getting muscle cramps. Of course all of these symptoms can be from other things too. It gets aggravating.

    When it comes down to it, I had cancer. It is something I think about often, even though I don’t talk about it that much. My body was making new cells to replace old cells, like it usually does, and as happens now and then, it created a mistake. Then instead of realizing it and getting rid of it, my body just decided it would make more. The cells nearby harbored it and kept it safe. I didn’t catch a disease from somebody. I didn’t have an accident. My body just decided to play a very nasty, very personal, joke on ME. “If you have to get cancer, thyroid cancer is the best kind to get.” You have no idea how many people, especially doctors, have said that to me. Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on. That doesn’t make me feel any better. I get it. I’m lucky. It could be worse. Things usually can be.

    The thing is, I know now that my body can make cancer, and that isn’t something I seem to be able to just forget about. What if next time the cells that mutiny aren’t in “one of the best places to get cancer”? I’m not talking about science, or statistics. I am talking about how I feel.

    In August of 2005 I started having a lot of unpleasant symptoms. I felt horrible. I was tired, depressed and having seriously horrific leg cramps in one leg. It was bad. The muscles would cramp and lock up so my foot and leg were deformed and it wouldn’t let go and I’d be screaming in pain. In a pretty short stretch of time I developed a very large mass in my thigh. I called my thyroid guy, because he was the only doctor I had spoken to in years, and he told me I really needed to have it looked at, sooner rather than later. I was afraid he was going to say that.

    He set me up with a guy in his building and that guy spent about 2 minutes with me before telling me he thought I should have it removed. Soon. A couple days soon.

    So, I did. It was big. Five inches diameter. Yuck. Turned out to be benign. I still have some numbness from the pressure it was putting on a nerve. I also have, yet another, fancy scar.

    So yeah, the fact I had cancer, it sticks with me. It runs through my brain every now and then.

    And don’t think that the idea I might have passed some foul little ticking time bomb on to my daughter hasn’t crossed my mind. Yeah, that thought runs through my brain too.

    Main Entry: canïcer
    Pronunciation: ‘kan(t)-s&r
    Function: noun
    Etymology: Middle English, from Latin (genitive Cancri), literally, crab; akin to Greek karkinos crab, cancer
    1 capitalized a : a northern zodiacal constellation between Gemini and Leo b (1) : the 4th sign of the zodiac in astrology — see ZODIAC table (2) : one born under the sign of Cancer
    2 [Latin, crab, cancer] a : a malignant tumor of potentially unlimited growth that expands locally by invasion and systemically by metastasis b : an abnormal bodily state marked by such tumors
    3 : something evil or malignant that spreads destructively
    4 a : an enlarged tumorlike plant growth (as that of crown gall) b : a plant disease marked by such growths
    – canïcerïous /’kan(t)s-r&s, ‘kan(t)-s&-/ adjective
    – canïcerïousïly adverb