Soft Tissue Infections and Idiot Doctors
I don’t really know what day it is, honestly, I never do anymore. The day’s just kind of mesh together like the city nights of my early 20s. It started one day about two months ago, I couldn’t see straight, and my heart was racing so fast that I couldn’t breathe; seems like that day was yesterday, and not two entire months ago.
The idiot doctor, the first one:
It’s true; I picked him because he was sharp looking. I seem to trust people who are good-looking, and charming; maybe because when they lie the package is always prettier; ergo, easier to take the devastation of deception, or even the candor of a misdiagnoses. You look fine… he would say, your heart is abnormal, do this this and this. He hears blah blah blah when I talk, and I hear I’m not listening to a damn word you say when he talks.
The heart ticks and it tocks, and it wants what it wants. It dreams of fields, and sunshine. It dreams of a world outside of the confines of my house; a prisoner to nausea, dizziness, weakness, pressure in my face, fevers, racing heart, and a swarm of random sores that riddle my once flawless skin.
Why is it, when you tell a doctor you feel weak, he will say explain. You tell a friend, and they will say, I understand, I feel you, or that is the worst feeling ever. A doctor will make you feel that you need his friend, the psychiatrist, or specialist number 1,2, and 3. Of course you are hopeless; they throw a pill at you, with no formal diagnosis, spin the wheel, and hope it lands on your number. It usually doesn’t.
The idiot doctor, the second one:
It’s sinusitis, that’s why your nose is the size of a baseball. It’s normal that we wouldn’t catch it. I explain that the room is spinning, I can’t see, I go limp, and must lie down. Do they think I enjoy the lush décor of their emergency room; more expensive than a museum, and less informative than a tour guide? Take this, again another pill, again another fail.
Meanwhile, I continue to be trapped in my routine of misery, I beg them with tears to help me. They don’t.
The idiot doctor, the third one:
It’s a soft tissue infection, probably MRSA. Long story short, it’s not.
I will argue that doctors are human, but at this point I find them to be relatively soulless beings, a subspecies of human.
I am now taking multiple natural homeopathies, and supplements. I switched to organic foods, lotions, face wash, soaps, and deodorant. I know my body better than a doctor who barely gives me 15 minutes of his day.
My face has changed; this infection is fighting to live. I will do everything in my power to see it die.
To the doctors, I am just another number, and paycheck. I am the only one who wants to see me survive in that office. Honestly, I look at them the same way they look at me. Idiot doctors 1, 2, and 3. A number not a face, but at least they get paid to be a number. I pay with my health, my time, and my sanity.