I originally set out in my blogging career to archive the growth of the family and to celebrate milestones etc.... That's great and all but sometimes you encounter something that has little to do with the family or our lives, but it still has to be blogged.
I was in the patient room at the Rheumatologist waiting for the doctor to show up and I spotted the single most horrible piece of office art I have ever seen. It. Was. Hideous. Voila...for your viewing pleasure...
And here's a closeup. I wondered if it was just paper crumpled up and sprayed with a few splats of metallic spray paint to get that special turd effect. I had to touch it to see if it was metal or plastic. Nope. Its EXACTLY what I expected ...just crumpled grocery bag paper with a little paint and as ugly as sin. A few questions spring to mind: First, who sold this to you, Dr. Nardella? This mystery salesman's skills are valuable. A salesman who can sell a decorative turd to a doctor as art is a man who could sell anything. Ice to an eskimo. We need him at Frespa. If for nothing else, just to give us tips on proper placement for wall turd art, because I don't even know where to begin. Also to Dr. Nardella: I have a bridge in San Francisco you might be interested in buying
Rob looked at it and said, "yes, I can see the corn." gross and hilarious.
I wouldn't be so harsh on Dr. Nardella's horrible taste in office decor except that so far it seems his skills as a Rhematologist are summed up by looking at the aforementioned art. Crap. I have made the 100 mile round trip to north Scottsdale twice now and each time he refused to speak about possible diagnosis because he hadn't see every bit of the lab work yet. I asked him for his best guess without seeing the rest of the labs (he did have one set and all of the x-rays, afterall). He totally refused and acted offended that I would ask him to "make a wild guess." Its not really a wild guess though is it, when I am standing here and telling you in plain English what my symptoms are? "Well its probably Fibromyalgia". "Uh, okay, but the sources I have researched have all said that fibromyalgia is marked by widespread pain that does not swell or get hot and infected. And lets not forget the horrible disfiguring sores. His answer: "you don't have swelling and sores". Me: "I do. Thats the whole point! The joint swelling is out of control!" Dr. Dumbass: "Well I have to either see it or it has to come up on the labs to prove that it exists." Then there was this awkward moment when I realized that he just doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm making it up. He thinks I like paying a 35 dollar copay twice a month and driving 100 miles round trip while someone watches my baby and he won't get a nap, making my life hell. He thinks I'm a drama queen hypochondriac . HE THINKS I'M CRAZY. He was in such a hurry to get me out of the office too. I was trying to shove in symptoms while he was walking me to the door. "Did I mention that I am losing weight with out trying at an alarming rate?" "Well I guess we'll weigh you. Oh my, you have lost 8 pounds since May 12." I thought, "Finally! a verifiable symptom that he can't blow off." but then he said, "Don't worry, I noted it in the chart." That's a relief. Those charts diagnose and treat people all the time. Thank goodness for the miracle of modern charts.
My favorite part of the visit by far was this little exchange: Warning: there are personal details about my health condition that are not for the faint of heart.
Dr.: "Have you developed any new symptoms since I saw you last?"
Me: "Yes, I have developed severe bleeding hemmorhoids. I don't like to talk about it but its very painful."
Dr. "Wow, sounds awful. maybe you should see a doctor about that."
I'm no health detective, but damn. Isn't that exactly what I am doing right now at this very mother loving second?
Okay, I could go on and on about this guy, but suffice it to say I got into the elevator and burst into tears and then cried the whole way home. Its one thing to be sick, its another thing for doctors to think you are making it up. I have pictures, I have a log, I have other doctors who saw my condition and pushed narcotics on me with pity in their faces. I have a bottle of chemotherapy with my name on it that is starting to look better and better every day. And of course within hours of leaving this guy's office my hand began swelling up and if I walked in there right now he would have his "proof".