Embracing moments with my new fur baby. She is adorable and loves cuddling after long hours of play prowling the floorboards for bare feet to attack and chasing ribbons. I love this spunky Siamese mix kitten who has brought me such joy since she was gifted to me on Mother’s Day this year! I call her Baby, the brat of my pride.
My last therapy visit at the Cancer Clinic was terrible, to say the least. I’d been suffering from a fingernail infection for nearly 2 months for which the antibiotics I’d been prescribed hadn’t worked. I had mentioned this issue to the Doctor’s assistant on two prior visits between a three-week span. She would look at my swelling finger with a scowl, let out a few perturbed sighs while comparing it to my other fingers and say, “I’ll let Dr. Lim know what’s going on,” then leave. I told her that I felt I needed a prescription of Keflex which is what the E.R. physician said I could take for it when I chose the Doxycycline. She simply nodded and said that she would speak to the doctor.
Well, after much prodding on my nurses part to steal the attentions of my oncologist to see me, he finally walks in. “What is it, Laila?” he asks in an annoyed breath.
I show him my fingernail, tell him I’ve been soaking it and pushing puss out for weeks to no relief and he interrupts. “Alyssa has been giving you antibiotic after antibiotic and we’re not going to give you anymore,” he states, staring at me coldly.
I looked up at him astonished. “No, I’ve not been given anything, ever,” I said, watching him blink back at me in dispute. He said he would get her and returned a few minutes later without apologizing and told me that I needed to see a dermatologist for which I replied that I’d be happy to if he gave me a referral. They both stood there staring at me like a pair of conniving professionals too narcissistic to admit they’d been wrong and should have helped me much sooner. Then, Dr.Lim says in a very annoyed tone, “Or if you want, Laila go to the Emergency room and tell them to give you Keflex.”
Was this physician the same man who in the parking lot months ago embraced me with the affectionate words, “Come here baby,” suddenly speaking to me in a tone of disdain? It was and before I could say anything he asked, “What else?” as in, is there anything else I needed to bother him with for which I answered there was nothing. He turned and stalked out with his sidekick scurrying behind his coat tail.
URGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! I am disgusted, disrespected and repulsed. It’s so difficult when you are the patient with stage four metastatic lung cancer and the only place you can go for treatment is festering with these patronizing, demi-god personalities who have absolutely no moral manners, let alone chair-side manners. I seriously wanted to rip my IV line from my port and tell them to F OFF and then where would I be? Right? My husband said the doctor was probably having a bad day and was embarrassed that his right-hand assistant had lied about giving me antibiotics. I replied, “Doctors shouldn’t take out their “bad days” on patients with DOOMED DAYS!”
I really want to say F it all and never return there, but there is nowhere else for me to go within reason. I don’t want to jeopardize my health and recovery by leaving because I cannot stand the treatment of the staff of the oncologist. I wonder how many other patients feel the same way at the cancer center. It’s not even the treatment itself that bothers me, it’s encounters like this one that make me feel horrible as if the medicine is coming out of their home medicine cabinets and I should be lucky they are willing to share it with the likes of me.
I could carry on and on about this subject and the bitter treatment I’ve experienced and seen, heard, but my recourse is telling God, my Father on those who have treated me so disrespectfully rude and pray that he will HEAL ME completely that I would never have to return to the Center of Pestilence where kindness is sparse among those paid to peddle the toxic chemotherapy that keep them vacationing throughout the year.
Any matter, I’ve not been given anything for my finger other than antifungal cream which seems to be working thus far. Already, I am dreading the days nearing my next appointment…like a rape victim trying to hold my head high. OMG! I can’t believe how awful that sounds, I feel. I truly hope writing this blog helps me and perhaps others in some way. I will say that I know Christ is with me everywhere I go and that God in his infinite mercy has heard me, my cries and will in his own way, time, deal with those who have need of chastisement.
“I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me” — Philippians 4:13