Being a patient sucks.

Being a patient sucks.

This is probably not news to most non-doctors, but since I’m a doctor, and as such, tend to avoid medical care at all costs, I rarely see it from the other side. There are many reasons that we avoid going to the doctor: pride, feelings of invincibility, lack of time, to name a few. But by not experiencing it firsthand, we can forget the fact that being a patient really sucks.

I’m not even talking about the doctor’s appointment. I found aspects of my recent trip to the gynecologist to be pleasantly regressive; it was comforting to be cared for, and to not have to make the decisions, even if parts of the interaction were disturbing. Like the Native-American-inspired semi-abstract 3-D wall sculpture of a vagina from which a baby’s head was emerging in his consulting room. And there was the off-handed mention that he had once had a patient just like me who turned out to have cancer. Not that he thought that I had cancer, no, no, that case was so unusual, and he probably would see only a couple more cases like that in his career. Cancer? That wasn’t even in the top 10 things I thought could be causing my problems. Not something that had showed up in my literature searches, and certainly among the possibilities that I had stayed up worrying about. Did he mention this to all of his patients? Or was he nervous because I’m a resident? Come to think of it, he did seem nervous. Maybe it was because there was a vagina on the wall?

No, it’s wasn’t the doctor’s visit. And, cancer-talk not-withstanding, I wouldn’t even call myself sick, so I can’t speak to the obviously suck-y aspects of illness. What has driven me to tears of frustration is dealing with getting the studies that the doctor ordered. I showed up for an ultrasound after 3 hours of sleep to find that the requisition hadn’t been faxed in, delaying the study for another month. I tried to get my blood drawn during a break but was unable to because the doctor had used a prohibited abbreviation, even though it was clear to everyone what he meant. Always, always, the doctor’s office is closed. The office staff is patronizing, instructions are vague, and the bureaucracy is inflexible. And I am doing this at the hospital where I work, all the time wearing my ID badge that says C, MD. I can’t imagine what it is like for my patients, whose parents sometimes have marginal literacy, who have real illnesses, who don’t have the resources that I have. And so, I vow to be more understanding. After I finish fuming.