Dear Dr Dick,
Firstly, thanks for seeing me, and being my fresh set of eyes/second opinion. I was really nervous and anxious about seeing you, as I’m worried what you may think and may have found.
But right away your blasé manner made my heart sink, and with that half firm handshake that was partly sloppy, things were evidently not going to go well from that moment on. You started by saying straight away “I have not read your notes as there’s quite a big history – so tell me your history and the problem”. What the actual f*ck was I doing there? I thought that at the very least you could have read my notes. This appointment was made a month ago – plenty time, to even read my “complex” history.
You scrawled/scribbled down notes and then asked to examine me. Sure, I was prepared for that. I was however NOT prepared, to be asked to strip to my underwear and put on a gown to be examined. After the lovely lady chaperone came in, you asked me to walk across the room, then tip toes, then heels. Bend forward – at which point the gown obviously split showing my underwear, which you then grabbed to close, to save me showing my backside in full focus to your view. Bend backwards. Then you poked and pressed at my lower back, so bloody hard I felt sick, but yet this wasn’t noticed. I was then told to lay on the bed, which means leg bending and reflex tests. Now any Yoga teacher would be suitably impressed at the range of flexibility my legs can be forced in to, me and my back, not so much.
Examination over, my dignity firmly left on the floor, I was allowed to get dressed with the help of the lovely lady chaperone, who praised me on how well I did. Full to the brim of tears, I sat down for the results.
You quickly ran through my last MRI scan showing me the “problem” areas. This is nothing new to me, but yet you treated me like I knew nothing. Then the words “there’s nothing more surgically I can do” came spewing from your mouth.
But your attitude sank to a new low, when I, who was desperately looking for some answers, asked “so what do I do now”. Your response “Well i suggest getting some exercise and loosing weight. I think that is your main problem, and I think it would help”.
Utterly dumbfounded I looked at you in the hope you would realise that your crappy comment has just made every hair on my body stand on end in protest. But you didn’t. You actually didn’t give a shit that what you had just said to me had hurt every bone in my body, that my heart was now lying next to my dignity on the floor.
Lost for words, and at a complete and utter loss, and looking at all the questions I had written down to ask you, there was nothing more I wanted to do than punch you in the face and walk out. But I think you got that message (without the physical abuse), when you offered your hand to shake mine. You noticed the glowering unimpressed look I gave you and your half firm hand, but this time it was me that gave the sloppy hand shake back.
So thank you Dr Dick, for letting me travel 2 and a half hours for this second review/fresh set of eyes. Thank you for wasting my time, energy and last shred of hope on you. Thank you for insulting me, yet again, and blaming all my problems on the fact I’m a lazy fat cow. Thank you for reading my notes, giving a crap about ME and coming to the conclusion that I sit and do nothing all day.
A seriously heart broken patient.