Turned on the radio in the car today. Thought I was on the CBC FM and was half listening as I drove. Heard a host say, “So, uh, we know that drugs and alcohol play a part in making us, uh, happy. But what are some things that would make you happy?”
There was a pause and then a woman said,
“Well if my drugs were stronger, I’d be happier.”
Everyone laughed. The man who had posed the question rushed in to clarify but someone else said, “No, let her finish.”
So the woman went on. “These days on the street, like the stuff I buy? Half the time it isn’t as strong as it used to be. And they’re cutting the drugs with other stuff. And the price is the same.”
“That means you should go to another dealer,” someone interjected, “boycott the bad dealers. It’s the only way they’ll learn.”
OK, the CBC, you have my attention.
Except of course it wasn’t, it was co-op radio. A show called From a Whisper to a Song, presented by the Western Aboriginal Harm Reduction Society.
I love co-op radio.
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The other day I fed Fresco some banana. He has had banana before but I guess not this much banana because he didn’t poop for 2 days. And then? Today? He pooped so hard it shot up his back and over his shoulder . And he was sitting up at the time! (because if he had been lying down, it would not have been such a feat, you see.) I did not know that this could be done. I keep thinking it must be some kind of skill I can exploit but all my thoughts return to “No. Seriously. No one cares but you.”
And you guys, right?
Right?
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I went to the doctor today, for a smear of the pap variety and to get a referral for massage therapy because of my tingling shoulder. I also asked her if she does IUD insertions.
She said, “No. I would have to refer you for that.”
So I said, “OK. Or I could go to Planned Parenthood. I used to volunteer there. I know they do them.”
Then she frowned at me. She FROWNED at me!
“You don’t REALLY want an IUD, do you?”
“Uh, yes, I think I do.”
“They’re not very effective.”
“Well, 99%, give or take.” (I’m pretty sure. The training I took was a long time and 2 babies ago)
“No, no, the only thing that’s 99% is the Pill. IUDs are closer to 70%. I have had lots of people in here who got pregnant with an IUD.”
I debated arguing but decided against it. Now it is true, the only (2) people I know who have had IUDs inserted did have bad experiences. But those two bad experiences don’t refute everything else I know about this method of birth control.
“I have this tingling shoulder? Chiropractor or masage?”
“Massage.”
“Can you write me a referral please.”
“Here you go.”
I have said it so many times my lips are chapped but I will say it again. Where are the doctors who became doctors because they like people? Are there any? Shouldn’t it be on an exam or something? “Do you actually like people?
A) Yes
B) No
C) Not always but if it becomes my job to help them I promise to SUCK IT UP AND NOT BE AN ASSHOLE.”
Bitch, please:
1. You are wrong about the effectiveness of IUDs. You have obviously not been keeping up on your reading.
2. Your job is to either help me or, if you don’t know how, to find me the help I need. It is not your job to tell me what kind of contraception I want.
3. 1 (ignorance) and 2 (unwillingness to admit ignorance) make me not so confident in your ability to be a doctor. Combined with the fact that you didn’t even look at me while you wrote me a referral for my tingling shoulder, didn’t even look at my shoulder, asked me twice whether it was back pain, in my lower back? while I said Shoulder, Shoulder blade, I am sensing you are already on vacation in your mind. Of the permanent variety. In other words, I think you might be an idiot.
4. And then there’s the dimwit you had replace you when you were on vacation for real last year.
(Also, I have had more friendly service from people who make an eighth as much money. If the Starbucks barista can ask me how I’m doing, then the person poking my cervix can do it too.
That’s just a nice-to-have, though. Really, all I want from a doctor is that she not be stupider than me and that she listen when I talk.)
Here’s a conversation I had at my last appointment with my maternity doctor, a few days after I birthed Fresco. This is the dream doctor, whose office is 45 minutes away by car, otherwise I would add myself to his patient roster in a heartbeat. This man is how I know that there are good doctors out there. Or, at least one.
Him: “Thought about birth control?”
Me: “Yes I think I want an IUD.”
Him: “Cool. If your GP doesn’t insert it and tells you to go to an OB / GYN, you come to me. Anyone who knows their way around a cervix can insert an IUD, you don’t need a specialist. I’d be happy to do it for you.”
Me: Great, thanks!
So I know it is possible. The good doctor. He or she is out there. In the meantime, I continue to be grateful for my good health, that my doctor’s visits are preventative ones. I continue to be grateful for my intelligence and my experience; that I know about alternatives to my dissatisfying medical care and that I will never believe wholesale what I am told simply because the person telling me is better schooled. And I will continue to hope that a giant, silent tumour does not grow in any part of my body until I have found The Good Doctor because I have absolutely no faith that my current doctor would suspect a thing until the giant, silent tumour reached out with its sticky hands and pinched her bum.
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Trombone with one of his many telephones: Brrring! brrrring!
Trombone: Hello? Yes? You will remember it? Goodbye.
Me: Who were you talking to?
Trombone: Mr. Sir Coco. He is bringing the ice cream. Don’t worry.