After putting off getting my teeth checked for about two years and finding out I had two cavities, I was motivated to get this pain in my heel checked out. And my throat too -- I was gurgling some mouthwash and when I choked it out of my mouth I think I strained my throat muscles. So I didn't wait and erred on the side of caution; I decided to take the $3 co-pay hit and go to the doctor to get these fixed.
I requested the same guy who checked me out for my physical around the New Year. Didn't think he was as good as the one I had two doctors ago, who seemed to be thorough while making me feel like he cared for me. But the guy I had is already familiar with my history, so I thought it'd be best for me to go back to him again. Well, maybe that was the wrong decision.
First off the nurse really wasn't pleasant to me. She wasn't rude either, but she was aloof, like she had other things she needed to do. And that was reflected in the doctor, who, in a refreshing change, dropped in a minute after the nurse was done with me. I remember being in Dr. Stenzel's office with my mom for huge periods of time. This is better, a whole lot better. I got up to get a cup of water after the nurse gagged me by sticking a swab down the back of my tongue for a strep throat test, and the next thing I know the doctor barges through the door ... and telling me to sit down. Doc, I'm just getting some water, thank you.
Again, he wasn't the greatest, and yet during this visit he didn't just seem distracted, he seemed uncaring. Not actively contemptible of my presence, but processing me through, like I was waiting in line to get my tabs at the DMV. They upgraded to total electronic records at my clinic (a good thing -- thank you, progress!) and the whole time he was just staring at the screen, typing away. The only times he looked at me were when he was examining my foot (plantar fascitis seems to be the diagnosis -- and by the way, he never did say anything about my throat, although he gave me something for my allergies) and telling me to sit down at the other chair in the room. He actually barked at me twice to go from sitting at the operating table to sitting on the chair. And that was the point where I thought to myself, "Um, don't talk to me like that."
So he gave me a lot of drugs (two bottles of ibuprofen? Really??? I'm not my Father!). I'm not saying he doesn't know what he's doing, I just don't believe in better living through chemistry. Maybe my big beef in all this is his lack of a bedside manner, which I should guard against. According to Freakonomics, patients who sue for medical malpractice against their primary care physicians disproportionately claim that their doctors didn't really care for them or listened to them. However, it turns out that the errors are made regardless of whether the doctors were good or terrible at communicating. So I will take it on faith that this doc knows that the pills and the spray and these heels and the easing of exercise for a month (!) will cure all my ills.
So why do I find him still wanting? Doesn't matter if he's a dick; if he solves my problems, who cares, right? Ah, the Gregory House way of treating patients. No, it doesn't matter, and the only reason I didn't lose my temper is that maybe he is trying to heal my ailments. I doubt, however, that he truly gave a shit. I found him wanting. And I have to admit, the next time I have something wrong with me, I might not go see him, nor another doctor, to fix it.
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