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Curmudgeonly Doctors Get a Bad Rap
If you want a doctor who has an excellent bedside manner, don’t go to my doctor. I know two women who are aghast that he’s my doctor, yet I’ve been going to him for about 10 years. And I wouldn’t go to anyone else.
Now I can explain why these women don’t like Dr. G. He’s business-like and rarely makes small talk. He wants to know exactly why you’re visiting him, and if you’re there to make small talk, he’s not usually interested.
He’s just my kind of doctor.
I feel the same way when I go to my workout facility. I do exchange smiles and greetings with people, but my mission is clear: work out and get out. If you want to take more of my time, let’s do lunch. I’m all business.
For people who don’t understand subtle or understated humor, they probably won’t like Dr G, either. I once went in on a scheduled six-month visit because he wanted to see patients before renewing prescriptions, and I had no complaints (ah, the good ol’ days) and he looked at me with consternation and said, “So why are you here anyway!” I retorted, “because you made me!” We both laughed.
That’s Dr. G.
But over the years I became fond of him and appreciated his serious demeanor; his warmth is less obvious to detect, but it’s definitely there. More and more we kid around and he tells personal stories. A year ago with Covid winding down, he split off his practice and became part of a 65+ wellness group with Advent Health; when I consulted him about my chemotherapy, he told me at that time about the change in practice, and I could just feel the stress leave his body. He’s about 70, and I think he was more than ready to take it easier. With the practice split, I had a choice of which to visit and I chose 65+. I now know I made the best choice for me. The last couple of days have been proof.
My recovery from cancer surgery and chemo has had its ups and downs, but on the whole, I’ve been very fortunate and am in good shape. Imagine my alarm, however, when I woke up Saturday morning with more pain running through my body than I’d ever experienced. I nearly had to roll out of bed; my upper body was in agony, and my legs felt like they wouldn’t support me. I managed to get up, take some Extra Strength Tylenol, and started to feel a little better.
But I could feel the pain settling in during the night, ready to strike first thing Sunday morning. And it did. Down more Tylenol with a commitment to call the doctor on Monday.
Sunday night and Monday morning were just as excruciating. I was going to wait to call the doctor’s office until afternoon, since many practices have voice mails that warn patients that we might have to leave our number, or we can contact the doctor on the patient portal, or call later. Imagine my surprise when a staff person picked up on the first ring!
I explained that I was desperate with pain, and hoped I’d be able to get in to see the doctor in the next few days. Another surprise: she worked me in for 1 p.m! I counted the hours, grateful again to get some relief from ES Tylenol. When we entered the office, the staff person greeted me warmly, and even though we were early (I asked Jerry to drive me because I didn’t feel able to pay attention to the road), I was put into an exam room within a couple of minutes. The nurse proceeded to take my vitals and even joined me in teasing Jerry; we girls can’t miss those rare opportunities. They have a chair that is a scale (very cool) which is ideal for a 65+ clientele and a person who can barely stand up from a sitting position. She left shortly, and Dr. G came within moments.
We got right to business: timelines, precisely where my pain was located (upper body in neck, shoulders, jaw, arms, hands, fingers (although the fingers might have been my early symptoms of arthritis—yeah, that, too), hips and upper legs. He asked more questions to clarify; I’d made out a list of information in case I forgot anything and he studied it. When I mentioned some issues with a different kind of pain last summer, he brusquely assured me that wasn’t the same. I was good with that.
Then he told me I probably had PMR — what? — polymyalgia rheumatica. It comes on suddenly without an obvious cause, is worst in the mornings, and there is technically no cure but the treatment is a low dose of prednisone, gradually tapering off over time if I have good results. But I had to have a blood test. Dr. G said he’d put a rush on it (although it turns out the rush wasn’t as rushed as I’d hoped) and if the diagnosis was correct, he’d order the prednisone.
So Jerry and I went over to the hospital lab across the street. They drew blood. We went home. And I waited. Went to bed. Woke up in pain and rolled out of bed.
And Dr. G called at 8 a.m. The diagnosis was correct. He called in the prescription and assured me that I should have relief within 24 hours. I took my first pill at lunch. Time will tell; I’m counting the hours.
Curmudgeonly doctors are the best.
Published in Healthcare
Praying for your quick relief. And keep smiling.
I worry about the future. When I look around at people my age and how well they are and how active and happy they are today and I compare that with my parents’ and grandparents’ generation when they were my age, I am impressed with the medical care the boomer generation had. We had the best medical care that has ever existed in human history. If they are well today, they are that way because of treatments and care they received forty, thirty, and twenty years ago.
The world seems to always notice and then punish success. Today’s doctors are not as independent as ours were. For one thing, they always work in groups. My kids had one (exhausted) pediatrician at a time. My grandson has six. And there are now so many people in the room–insurance, liability, the doctors’ very domineering and controlling professional groups that have become very political in recent years, hospital or medical practice administrators, the government.
I wish I could get my fellow retirees off the golf course and into Congress to stop the ruination of medical care.
That is hysterical! I love when a doctor figures you out!! Thanks, Marci.
Your thoughts remind me of discussions with my husband. He’d periodically say, you know, we’re taking care of ourselves and getting exercise, eating right, and then one of us will get hit by a car. I kind of feel that way. Intellectually I know my body is going to continue falling apart, and I will deal with stuff as it comes along. But emotionally, I feel a sense of betrayal, like my body is letting me down. It’s weird.
Things change, for sure. But you have to just go with it. Don’t think too much about it. Just make whatever adjustments you need to make and keep going.
It’s just like driving a car. You are constantly making tiny changes as you go, responding to whatever comes along on the road.
You just have to stay focused on the people who are counting on you for one thing or another. :-)
Well said.
You better watch this soon before the PC Police toss it into the memory hole.
Well, here’s an interesting turn to my medical condition. The prescription for 5mg tablets I picked up for prednisone said this:
“Take 3 tablets by mouth every day with meals.”
H.mm.m.m…..
So instead of clarifying the ambiguity with my doc, I decided it must mean, “Take one tablet with every meal (all meals)” Notice the plural in the prescription. I assumed I wasn’t supposed to take three pills at each meal (nine total)
Guess what? I’ve been undermedicated since Tuesday. Today I finally called my doc and he asked me more about my medication. As soon as I said what I was doing, he said no-no-no! You want to take three pills at one meal (like breakfast).
Sheesh. I don’t know who messed up: the doc, his nurse, the pharmacy, or just me. But the doc immediately told me to down three more pills with food to follow the one from this morning, and take four pills at breakfast for the next three days. He and I will talk on Monday.
I feel better already. . . .
Illiteracy kills. That’s remarkably poorly-written.
I was thinking that too, BDB. I could have overdosed . . . well, maybe. I just don’t know who messed it up, but I sure will check it out next time . . .
Clear communication is a must in prescriptions and air-traffic control.