Wednesday, March 4, 2009

White Coat Syndrome

There was this stupid ass song that we were forced to sing for some music program around 4th grade or so that I loathed: "My heart is palpitatin' from all this syncopation when I hear a baaa-aaand..." Even with the large collection of crappy shit I was forced to sing in a jolly, jovial way completely against my will throughout elementary school, this piece of shit song definitely tops the list and has forever caused me to avoid saying the word "palpitations."

However, since my heart is doing just that (and not from all the mofoing syncopation)I can no longer avoid it and that pisses me off. My heart has been skittering around so to speak and pounding off and on since Sunday night and it feels as though a fat toddler has planted its chunky ass right in the middle of my chest making it
painful and difficult to breathe. Everything is magnified by about 10 at night which has caused a handful of panic attacks and sleeplessness making me a huge scary bitch with a skittery heart and chest pains.

This has happened before, which I assume was brought on by the stress of deadlines and contacting sources and getting photos and blah, blah, blah, the life of a full-time journalist, but now that I have a new job I'm not sure what the hell is going on and why the hell it has decided to last for three fucking days.

I'm not a hypochondriac. In fact I'm pretty much the opposite. I'll probably be one of those people that walks around with cancer and pain for years, but insists I'm fine when someone suggests I go to the doctor. I hate hospitals and emergency rooms and doctors offices and DOCTORS and their white coats and gloved hands. Nothing good happens in these places. It's full of disease and death and blood and needles and all things creepy and gross that I hate. I want nothing to do with this. The only reason I go to the doctor regularly is to get my birth control refilled because I figure having a baby is far worse than getting poked in the vag with a giant Q-Tip once a year. So, the fact that I felt the need to go to a doctor says quite a bit.

Except getting in to see a doctor within a reasonable amount of time is apparently equivalent to me spontaneously growing six inches and becoming a goddamn supermodel. Yeah, never. going. to. happen.

The first doc recommended by mom was no longer taking new patients. This was a family care physician, not a specialist mind you. The second one only took one new patient a week at 10 a.m. on Tuesdays and could get me in on April 28th. I'm pretty sure I will have had a heart attack by then. Feeling sorry for me, I guess, the lady sent me to the triage nurse station to leave a message in hopes I could get into the doctor sooner since it was a special situation.

I got a call back a few hours later from a nurse in regards to my message who asked, "Is it because of a cough?"

"No...(goddammit I'm not a fucking idiot.)"

Then she asked how old I was, scoffed at my answer of 25, told me it was probably a pulled muscle, all the doctors were booked up and I should go to the walk-in clinic.

You know how sometimes you wish it was possible to pop your head and arms through the phone and choke a bitch? Yeah, I can't remember the last time I wanted to shove my pointy-toed stiletto boot up someone's ass so badly. Yes, because every time I pull a muscle it's normal for my heart to grow a tiny sledge hammer and try to bust its way out of my chest. It's not a fucking pulled muscle, BIIIIIIIIITCH.

I called one other doctor with the same results along with my "primary care" doctor, who I don't like and haven't seen for probably 10 years who also couldn't get me in until the very end of March. This sent me into a rage and it probably didn't help that the appointment lady was a flaming dipshit who kept asking me about labs and paps and blah and blah. Then she condescendingly asked how old I was and I about lost it completely. I had to hang up the phone to avoid saying, 'look, lady, I don't fucking know and the fact that you said 'March 28th' instead of 'tomorrow' automatically means I hate you and no longer want to hear your irritating voice.'

I realize that it's close to impossible for me to have an actual heart attack or anything horribly serious at my age, but nothing is completely impossible. Why do you think they have those freaky ass shows about mystery diagnosis and shit on the Discovery Channel? Apparently these people are trained to deny prompt medical care if the patient complains of chest pains, but is under the age of 65. Um, excuse me, but that's how people DIE. I might be young, but this IS NOT NORMAL! I'm going to be so fucking pissed if I die...

So now I'm sitting here waiting for this day to be over so I can prance my ass on over to the lovely walk-in clinic full of illegals and their snot nosed children. Yes, the walk-in clinic where they treat bee stings and sprained ankles. They're going to listen to me for about 0.5 seconds then send me to the goddamn E.R., a.k.a the scariest place on Earth. Shit, I really just hate my life right now.

2 comments:

Kate said...

Woah, dude...you didn't die last night, did you?

thatsilverlining said...

I hope you are still alive!

 

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