The difference between a good doctor and an inept amateur

I judged the events yesterday prematurely; I’ll explain why, but you ought to read the other post first.

New Doctor
I judged the new doctor on the old one’s incompetence, I judged her on his lack of merits, his incompetence, ineptitudes, and lack of talent, skill and proficiency in his field as well as his complete lack of professionalism. I read what she wrote in my medical records too literally and figured she’d do the same as he, the previous one – abandon me.

In essence, I thought she’d be just as incompetent as he was when the plan didn’t work out the way he wanted it to. I thought she would have treated me as he did – namely sending me off to another clinic with the specific intent to have someone else take over the alprazolam treatment, so she could wash her hands  just like he wanted to previously with me. He sent three referrals, one of them to a unit at which I was already registered – why didn’t HE check that? Either way, I phoned them asking to confirm that I’m indeed still their patient; she said they’d get back with me then next day. I pleaded with her to check the same day if I’m still registered as this uncertainty was killing me – the difference in waiting time, and this is not hyperbolic, is either two or three weeks, or two or three months if you’re not already a patient. She explained to me that the only person who could tell is the person in charge and this individual was not reachable. She managed to get a hold of her though and I was still a patient at that unit and for a moment, I was not depressed or stressed.

My new physician understands me; she seems to be secure in herself and her ability to read people. I’m sure we’ll have conflicts, my new doctor and I; the difference is that she’s not afraid to get her hands a bit dirty and she don’t seem to feel like she’s above me which means we can reach an amicable . I am not your ordinary patient – and those from Ung Cancer, aren’t neither most likely. Late side effects is a new subject, afflicting few citizens but most child cancer survivors – when you get a patient like that, you don’t treat him/her/undecided like you would a healthy 30 year old adult.

Imagine how many medications I’ve taken – it must be in the hundreds, counting everything of course – chemotherapy in all its forms, anaesthetics and who knows what else. Is it strange if these substances makes you less susceptible to certain medications, accelerating faster than in others?

To get the facts straight, the old, male doctor wanted to leave me as soon as he realized I’m resistant to these medications and I always surpass the permitted dosage, despite me telling him, it is not going to work on a lower dose. He scrambled, he sent me to the emergency psychiatric ward claiming they’d take over, which they didn’t, he sent a referral to psychiatric clinics, one targeting people with affective disorders, and one was a drug clinic. All it did was to make me more anxious, requiring more medications because he assumed they’d take over and they never did. It was a joke. The simple fact is that the treatment was his responsibility. The only thing that could have happened is that he quit prescribing the medications, meaning I’d need to go through detox. A competent doctor would laugh at the old male doctor. He’s is simply clueless.

Still the psychiatrist at the emergency psychiatric clinic did note that I was already in the system from what she could see. I called them at the unit where I was supposedly registered and could get help within a couple of weeks. The old male doctor were proud that “he” sorted it out. My antidepressants were working relatively well and in the midst of adjusting these medications, like you have to do almost every time with antidepressants, he leaves for a two week vacation. I call a nurse asking for the old male doctor, she says “he’ll be back in just a week”. “Only” one week of suicidal thoughts (not hyperbolic sadly), extreme anxiety requiring more alprazolam – which the old male doctor wanted me to quit with – is this a joke? Time is relative, you’ll realize this when you’re in intense pain – seconds become minutes, minutes hours.

I’m not playing games though at this point, I’ve been sick for 14 years – doctors and patients are equal, if one doctor disagree, I’ll ask for many other’s opinion before I concede. If they don’t increase the dose from 150mg to 225, I’d use the one 75mg I had left then go to 300mg- Luckily they listened to my logic which is beyond flawless. I’m bragging again but it is – increasing the antidepressants as soon as possible so I can quit with alprazolam as soon as possible. I increased the dose by 75mg on the same day that I had an appointment with whom would soon become my primary physician. She agrees that upping the dose by 75mg is a good idea, but it’s late in the week so hard to evaluate. I tell her “you might get really mad, but I had one 75mg pill left that I took. She laughed and said it takes more than that to anger her. On top of this, I found this new doctor that I feel I can trust – but the old male doctor’s impeccable ineptitude made it difficult to trust anyone, including her, but I hope I’ll get over it. It’s a shame IVO takes six months to investigate these things – I want restitution and compensation for pain and suffering, but most of all I want to see it, black on white.

The old male doctor assumed (assumed, where did I hear that again) that since I had an appointment with my regular psychiatrist they’d take over treatment. I tell this to my psychiatrist and he responds “I decide that and I’m not taking over”.  At the clinic for drug addicts… Suffice to say that I didn’t fit in there. They wanted me to give urine samples. Never gonna happen, ever, unless it’s for my health or a crime, maybe. Because of my primary physician’s planning, they had to prescribe alprazolam at this place though, because he assumed (AGAIN?!) that someone would take over.

Nevertheless, I apologized to this new doctor because I transferred the old male doctor, my former primary doctor’s complete and utter incompetence on to her – I believe you’d call it transference in psychology but there may be some nuance I’m missing. The old male doctor wanted me to go to a clinic for rehab some time ago because he couldn’t handle it – the dose is now 50 % higher and this person as no qualms about doing it herself. That this man is a doctor is just sad.

I’ll sound egocentric here but few people see the flame burning inside of me that gives me strength when I need it. It’s the flame that kept me going to school despite being two weeks or so away from death, it’s the same flame that allowed me to turn the table on two muggers when I was 15 – I was short but I wasn’t weak. I’m not a violent person but it was two against one – they didn’t file charges and neither did I seeing how the police never got involved. I got some bloodied knuckles and a black eye, and a fat lip, a punch to the stomach though not the solar plexus luckily. When I sprinted away from there, just in case they had some friends nearby, the guys cried about their broken nose and broken wrist and his arm being out of its socket, they yelled something about their knees and wrists. It was this flame, and a lot of luck, good, amazing healthcare that I survived the pancreatitis. When I need it, I do have strength, even when I’m weak as I am now. Only I know when it’s time to use it though. And no, I could not take on those muggers today and “win”, though as I’m 29, I can see only losers in that brawl. I don’t have that kind of strength yet. I’m very fragile physically and mentally. But it’s in there – and before you say it; no, it is not my soul. It is me.

I don’t need alprazolam and I’m quitting. Sadly due to doctor’s error for the second time in a year, I can only hope the compensation from LÖF gives something but I would not be surprised if they gave me 5000 SEK for these months I’ve already suffered which is pathetic. I’m not holding my breath, suffice to say.

I’d usually say fuck cancer, but doctor’s making surreptitious errors making things even worse, I’ll change it.

Evidently, age does not equal wisdom, nor do a degree in medicine ensure you to be a good doctor – it simply makes you a doctor.


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