Relief? Maybe...

I have been so lucky up until now, in my dealings with medical practices. For the most part, I've found competent and caring doctors and staff, everywhere I've been in the past 18 months of the medical carousel. Yesterday, however, was an interesting departure from the usual warm-and-fuzzy, overly solicitous, cancer and post-cancer caregivers I've encountered in the past.

It started with the reminder call from the office on Thursday. The girl rattled through the appointment date and time.

"Wait a minute," I said, "I thought my appointment was at 8:30."
"It's been changed to 9:30," she announced, airily. It was the first I had heard of a change.
"You need to bring all your medications, x-rays, CT or MRI scans and your paperwork. Be prepared to pay your co-pay."
"I have a detailed list of all my meds," I replied.
"Well, isn't that nice," she said sarcastically. "You still have to bring the actual bottles. If you don't bring them, your appointment will be cancelled and you'll be charged $25. Suit yourself." Click.

What a snippy receptionist!

Bill and I trekked out to Kingsport, dutifully lugging a basket of bottles and paperwork. The front office receptionist was smile-less. We waited 20 minutes in the outer office. We were escorted in to take my weight and blood pressure. I handed the nurse my med list and she declined to rummage through my bottles. We then sat in an examining room for another 40 minutes, listening to the staff laughing loudly and hysterically outside the door. I mean, these women were in paroxysms of mirth. Hyena-like guffaws. Snorting. It made us smile and want to open the door to ask "what's the joke?" We had to amuse ourselves by reading the deadly serious signs about medication refills and all the instances where prescriptions would not be given.

At 10:30, the nurse practitioner finally arrived. Her demeanor was professional and kind, although I found myself correcting her English occasionally (I need to STOP doing that, it's a bad reflex). My self-diagnosis of Post-traumatic Neuropathy is correct. And there are all sorts of medieval torture-like procedures to try to alleviate the pain. Steroid injections up under the ribs. Surgery to cauterize or freeze the offending nerves.

I decided to go with the least invasive option to start--lidocaine patches for 12 hours a day and an NSAID topical gel to reduce inflammation for the other 12 hours. I'll just try it and see if it calms everything down in there.

The checkout receptionist was just as clueless and grim as everyone else. I left in a huff.

Bill and I had a nice lunch, but the experience had unnerved me. We decided that contrary to what one might think--that a Pain Clinic might be more attuned to patient needs than other facilities--these people seemed almost contemptuous of their patients. Almost certainly, they must deal with a lot of drug-dependent patients. Perhaps their interaction with those patients affects their manners. (Bill also noted that there was a sign prohibiting firearms in the building--what's up with that?)

Or maybe I've just been spoiled by East Tennessee friendly chattiness and people in other facilities who have gone out of their way to make my medical experience pleasant and comfortable.

So now, armed with my patches and gel, I will hopefully get some relief from the pain. And hopefully, I won't have to deal with these people in any meaningful way in the future.