Thursday, September 1, 2011

Shame on You, Part 2

Part 1 recap...I fell. Loss the use of both legs. I kept falling. Couldn't transfer to my wheelchair, toilet, bath, bed without undergoing immense pain from abdominal muscle spasms (the only area of my body that has working muscles). Peed everywhere BUT the toilet. Refused to go to ER. Decided to take a wait-and-see approach. And yes, Madame J is a saint.
By the end of the week-- 6 days after my original fall-- I had decided that, perhaps, it would be good to see a doctor. As I explained to Madame J, "It's just to make sure I didn't do anything stupid to myself, when I fell." I made a same day appointment with the minor injury clinic. I also sent an email to my PCP because I was peeing "white stuff" (this usually means high levels of protein, not good) and blood (no comment). At the very least, I knew I had a urinary track infection. I really suspected my kidneys, but I was not saying "kidney infection" to anyone-- that would be a guarantee trip by ambulance to the emergency room. The PCP ordered a urine culture and Madame J helped me cath the "good stuff" into a sterile container for lab tests. We were good-to-go for the injury clinic appointment.

I knew I was in serious hormonal trouble when the doctor walked into the room. He was a big man, easily over 6'5". Tall, dark and gorgeous. He could have given me a hug and completely surrounded my body with his chest, arms,, yeah. He was the kind of man that makes a short, fat girl feel like a delicate flower. When he left the room to order x-rays and I giggled for the hundredth time, Madame J and I had (yet another, sad-to-say) common exchange:

Madame J: Control yourself.
Me: What do you mean?
Madame J: If you could, you would have sex with that man right here, in front of everyone.
Me: So? What's the problem?
Madame J: You need sex.
Me: I know.
Madame J: NOT from the doctor.
Me: But he's hot.
Madame J: So?
Me: Look at you, missing your husband, needing some boom-boom-bang-bang yourself.
Madame J: We are not discussing my husband. You are the, what do you call it...?
Me: Slut?
Madame J: Yes. Just, stop the flirting.
Me: Why? He seems to like it.
Madame J: Because he thinks you are weird and funny. He does not take it seriously.
Me: So? Let me have some fun. You're just jealous.

Strange voice: Um, ladies?

Madame J and I look up. Oops. We forgot-- the nurse was still in the room.

Madame J: I apologize for her.
Me: You don't need to apologize. The damn doctors need to apologize for their "no sex or you'll die" rule. I mean, really, who forbids a young, healthy woman to not even have an orgasm? It's not right. I've gone over 18 months without an orgasm. I'm gonna EXPLODE.

Madame J rolls her eyes. She has heard this tirade many, many times. The nurse just laughs and shakes her head.

Nurse: Don't worry. We all flirt with him.
Me: (to Madame J) See? No harm, no foul. I take pride in my capacity to flirt like Scarlett O'Hara at the barbecue.

At this point, the doctor enters the room and we stop talking. He hands the paperwork to Madame J and gives us directions to radiology. Madame J asks him a question and I notice silence. Everyone is looking at me, but I have no idea why. I was too busy picturing the doctor naked.

Me: Um, what? Did I miss something?
Doctor: I understand you need to drop off urine for a culture?
Me: Yes. Why? Is there a problem?
Doctor: How long have you been fully incontinent?

I look at Madame J and she smiles. Damn it. She said something to the doctor. I should have been listening to the conversation instead of picturing him naked.

Me: About 6 days.
Doctor: Since the accident?
Me: Yeah, but I think it's from the abdominal muscle spasms, and it will get better. I always get UTIs when my bladder acts up.
Doctor: Well, this is a problem. You need to be seen in ER. You need an MRI.
Me: You can't give me an MRI?
Doctor: No, ER needs to schedule the MRI and do more tests. You know what urinary incontinence means and bladder infections and kidney--
Me: (interrupts) Yes, yes, I know, I know. Okay. We'll go to emergency.

The doctor looks at me. I'm distracted by his eyes. One eye has a speck of gold in the center, next to his pupil. Caramel mixed with chocolate. Yum.

Doctor: Will you go? Really? Or, do I need to find an escort for you, to make sure you arrive?
Madame J: She'll be there. I'll take her.
Doctor: (looks at Madame J) Good. I'll call them, so they know to expect you.

The doctor shakes his head and opens the door. He stops. He looks at me and raises his finger. For a moment, I think he's going to punish me for staring at his perfect ass.

Doctor: By the way? SHAME ON YOU.
Me: (trying not to look at his long, thick finger) Excuse me?
Doctor: You KNEW 6 days ago that you should have gone to the emergency room. You KNEW this was serious. You decided to IGNORE IT.
Madame J: (to the doctor) You are absolutely right. I've been telling her all week to go to ER.
Doctor: (still pointing the delicious finger) SHAME ON YOU.
Me: (finally ignoring the finger, his ass and his eyes, and deciding to focus on the conversation) I'm not a child. I understood the risks. I mean, seriously, do you know what ER would have done 6 days ago? Sent me home with pain meds and tell me to rest. They don't do anything for back pain. Nada. I even sent an email to my doctor and he said I should wait it out.
Doctor: You are not a normal back pain person. You are, well, you.
Me: I'm a cripple.
Doctor: Yes, you are in a wheelchair for a reason. They can't ignore you, especially when you have a fall and injure your back. I doubt anyone can ignore you, when you speak.
Me: They sure as hell can ignore me. How do you think I got into this wheelchair? They ignored me for 8 years.

Silence. Then, he walks over to me, takes my hand, and looks into my eyes.

Doctor: We made mistakes, and I can't change the past. Just promise me you will take better care of yourself. No more risks, no more chances with your health. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman.
Me: (really not listening because he is HOLDING MY HAND). Um, okay. You're right. Whatever.

The doctor looks at Madame J.

Madame J: I know. She's stubborn. But she has learned her lesson. She won't do this again.

The doctor squeezes my hand, shakes his head, and leaves the room. I look at Madame J and ask, "Did he just call me beautiful?"

Madame J: (pointing her finger) SHAME ON YOU.

Next...emergency, or "Don't give me morphine. Morphine means I'm dying."


  1. Dr. Hunka Hunka needs to be your PCP for sure. You would do anything he said.

    Dr. Hunk "Shame on you."
    You "Oh yes, I have been a bad, bad girl."


    Mango Momma

  2. SOY (that's acronym for Shame On You--it'll probably be a common theme on this blog so we might as well shorten it for convenience sake). Odd how you'll take a dog to the vet for every little thing but refuse to go the doctor for something you know is serious.

    And um, does that doctor accept Blue Cross?

  3. I'm so glad that doctor REALLY saw you. I want to jump through the computer and do whatever my version of yelling would be because you better take care of yourself a lot better and channel a little of that little girl drama queen you described back into the present day rather than ignoring anything that needs attention! You are still my superhero favorite person I've known in my life that is amazing and has done and can do everything. Take care of yourself darnit. I am an anxious basket case emotional mess these days and I don't need to imagine you not being taken care of properly or I will want to come out there myself and I seem to cry at the drop of a hat and everything else these days so trust me you do not want me around!! :)