I MISS MY DOCTOR

I miss my doctor. Whenever Charlie and I weren’t feeling well, we saw Dr. Wonderful — a woman who was kind, caring, wonderful, and seemed to know our personalities. She was an amazing doctor who showed a lot of compassion and understood our symptoms. She listened to us list our symptoms and offered amazing advice (and medication). I miss her. She was a resident at the local clinic, and apparently, when residents graduate or whatever, they leave the clinic. How unfair is that? I miss my doctor.

Charlie and I took a good look at the pictures of the new doctors, and all of them look like they still belong in junior high. When did I become so old? Blech. Anyway, last week I wasn’t feeling very well from the beginning of the week. I felt an ache in my lower right ab, and Charlie thought I needed to have my appendix. I wanted to wait until Friday (because it’s my day off) to see a doctor because I also heard that people still survive even after the appendix bursts or ruptures.

But Charlie pulled, “Baby, I’m serious. Go to the clinic.” How can I stomp my foot on the ground and say, “No,” to that? I can’t. So, I called in sick at work and went to the clinic, where the front desk staff paired me with a doctor who wasn’t that busy that day. Dr. Awful was terrible. I’d like to think that I have an open mind and give others a chance after first impressions, but after spending a few hours with Dr. Awful, I thought he was quack and just made me feel worse about myself (which is pretty easy to do anyway).

To make a long story short, I spent about five hours at the clinic and walked out with no diagnosis and no pain medication. Thank you, Dr. Awful, for making me feel better. I miss Dr. Wonderful. During the five hours, I provided a couple of blood samples and a urine sample to rule out pregnancy (I’m not pregnant). An x-ray and an ultrasound was performed — the ultrasound showed nothing and the x-ray showed some stool in the area I was having pain. Dr. Awful also completed a woman’s health exam, which didn’t make me too happy at all (but then again a woman’s health exam even with a female doctor doesn’t make me happy either).

Dr. Awful was too busy taking notes about all of my “symptoms” and reviewing my past medical history to answer any of my questions. According to him, I needed to come back the next day for more tests and follow up with a couple of different departments. I didn’t heed his advice and went to work the next day. The pain didn’t go away or increase (which was good), but unfortunately, I threw up a couple of times during the day. I attempted to work Wednesday, but the nauseousness was too overwhelming and my team lead told me to go home.

Charlie and I headed to urgent care, where we met some wonderful staff who took good care of us. Dr. Amazing was friendly, funny, outgoing, and attentive. I’m really sad that he works in ER. But Dr. Amazing figured out what was wrong with me — gave me some medication and a note excusing from work for two days. I can’t remember the first diagnosis but the second is called Fatty Liver Disease. Sounds a lot worse than it really is. Apparently, my liver is a teeny bit larger than what it should be — with diet and exercise, I can control the disease or it will go away. I can’t remember.

Fatty Liver Disease is pretty common for people who drink heavily — for the record, I am not an alcoholic. I am a social drinker. Having a six to eight drinks with friends a couple times a week does not make me an alcoholic nor drinking a couple bottle of wine (especially the wine that Becky bought for me because that stuff just tastes like Kool-aid) at home when Charlie is not around. And I do not fill the empty wine bottle with fruit juice or water (depending on the color of the bottle) to make it look like I didn’t drink anything. I’m just saying.

According to Wikipedia (which is a reputable source of information), Fatty Liver Disease is for non-alcoholics — I can’t remember everything I read on Wikipedia, but it’s nothing too serious. After spending three days away from work, sleeping, taking drugs, and cuddling with my cats, I feel so much better. I also have a doctor’s appointment with my sister-in-law’s doctor next month because Charlie and I don’t want to be stuck with Dr. Awful and refuse to have a 12-year-old treat us.

Categories: Jennifer Elliott

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