"I owe you an apology."
Those were the first words out of the Doc's mouth. I had been in to see him in February and we had planned another RF Ablation. When I left that day, I figured the scheduling nurse would call in a day or so. When she didn't, I called Valerie who told me that these things just take time and to be patient.
Then spring happened, I got busy. The next time I called to ask about the procedure, I was told it had been too long, I needed to make another appointment. To ask when this might happen. So that was why I was in the House of Pain at 10:00 am on June 30th, to hear an apology from the Doc and not much of an explanation as to how my case fell through the cracks. I did get an assurance that I was now on the fast track and then the Doc said something to the effect, "Have a good holiday."
I was introduced to Molly, who handed me an empty cup and ushered me into the Day Spa at the House of Pain. I had no idea I would be asked to provide a urine sample, and I didn't have an issue with that, other than I had no urine to share. I didn't have any open prescriptions for narcotics and I wasn't asking for any, so I didn't see the point. I tried to beg off until Monday, Molly sentenced me to an hour in the waiting room.
I sat for a while, fidgeted a bit, then decided to stroll down the hall, maybe stimulate my urological process a bit. Molly appeared out of nowhere, "I need you to stay in this area."
Terrific, I thought, she has me on camera. So every fidget or stretch I make, she's probably making notes that I'm jonesing. I asked for a bottle of water and she told me I had already had enough. I made another attempt to pee, with nothing to give. Back to the Day Spa.
It was a sunny. 85 degree day when I came in, but with noon, a steady drizzle settled over the backlot pond. The irony of "water, water everywhere, but not a drop to pee" did not escape me. Nor did the fact that my particular flavor of scoliosis favors me moving around a bit, changing positions and posture, so sentencing me to spend four hours in fixed seating seems especially wicked. I walked in wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but after a couple hours of inactivity in the air conditioning, I had to beg for a blanket. More junkie-like behavior, I'm sure.
A Culture of Not Caring
There were an abundance of staff around the nursing station and some of them were very helpful, telling me I ought to be able to pee like a fountain any minute. I recalled my junior high cheerleading squad's enthusiasm, with about as much understanding of the event underway. When I pointed out to Molly that if I knew I had to give a urine sample, I wouldn't have taken the Tamsulosin that morning, she scolded me, "You need to come prepared."
Which suggests to me the she and maybe the rest of the nursing staff either don't know or don't care of that drug's efficacy. So the afternoon droned on, me unsuccessfully attempting to pee and pointing out the senselessness of the whole exercise. I wasn't requesting any prescriptions and I was more than willing to come back. I had just come in to ask when this procedure might happen. Molly insisting that I had signed an agreement and I had to leave a urine sample that day or my medical care would be suspended.
In the simplest terms, my spine is collapsing and as it does, it crushes certain nerves. Sometimes this manifests itself as a dull ache down my leg or, with a simple movement, it can turn into a white hot stab into my neck. The toilet in the inmate restroom is a low-profile model, meaning if it was designed by a man, he wasn't particularly endowed. On top of that, they dye the water blue, for whatever reason.
So around attempt four, I'm really desperate, I've tried standing, I've tried sitting, now I'm standing, hunched over with my butt to the toilet. I've got the empty cup in my left hand and with my right, I'm massaging the area above my prostrate, just hoping I can coax out a few drops. Which means I don't have a hand on the grab rail. I moved my foot a bit, one of those white hot numbers shot out, I sat down hard and, yup, I dyed my junk blue.
A Place Where Despair is Born
The Reverend Doctor and I once had a conversation, about how much of life is worth living if you're just going to spend it looking at ceiling tiles. I had more to look at, the staff as they went about... whatever it is they do. Patients came in and left, none looked like what I would hope to look like.
I worked for the old Lutheran Hospital when this campus was being planned and I marveled at what it had become. The current real estate utilization plan, how the place had adapted to selling things to boomers. That pain management was just a part time gig for the Doc and this was pretty much the same as a storefront in Southpark Mall.
I was sitting there because of somebody's idea of Risk Management. Check this box in case the patient checks out. That Risk Management transcended common-sense: no water for you until you're able to urinate! Risk Management transcended respect for me, my time or my health.
Without any water, I could stay there all week-end and not produce a drop. The crackers I took my meds with that morning were the only thing I had to eat that day and everybody else seemed to have had lunch. And now, everyone is leaving for the week-end, and if I stay, Molly will probably put in for overtime and I still won't be able to produce anything. I figured I better get out before security showed up.
In my truck, I chugged the remainder of a warm bottle of Gatorade and after a 20-minute ride home, was able to produce a beautiful, dark yellow stream of urine which contrasted sharply with my new blue penis. Then I shared the events of the day with the guests who were waiting for me. Most were appalled, although they all were amused when I pantomimed the genitalia colorization process, with the Comedian requesting permission to use it in his stand up act.
The next day I had to face the fact that I had signed something that apparently gave Molly the authority to detain me for an indefinite period of time and that I was further away from the relief I was seeking than I was in February. On Monday, I left a message for Molly, no return, then I left other messages for anybody... crickets. When the scheduling nurse called, I didn't know what to tell her, I was thinking my care was suspended and that she just hadn't gotten the newsletter.
I told one of my primary's nurses about the whole experience, she rolled her eyes and made a comment about how low the bar was set for health care workers these days. She told me some people get in a position of power, they see a target, somebody they can bully, and the opportunity to do it. She convinced me to call the scheduling nurse back.
The RF Ablation eventually happened, three years to the day after the first, interestingly. Post-op, I didn't feel any improvement, so I asked Dr. Cagle if maybe it was more of a hip problem? He sent me for an MRI and to Dr. Dolphin, who sent me to Dr. Pugely, who scheduled me for an MRI and Cat scan at the end of January.
In the meantime, he recommended aqua-therapy and that I see Dr. Maruti Kari in Bettendorf. When I called Katherine(sp) to schedule, she said I needed to first start at Moline Pain. So I called Valerie, got an appointment, and the next day, checked to see if the Doc could even write a prescription.
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