by Lady V.
A good 10 years ago, I had surgery. Without divulging too much information, let’s just say I was particularly nervous about the procedure I was undertaking. So as I was being prepped to be put under, I asked my Doctor an earnest question.
“Could I die from this today?”
Very casually, he replied, “Oh yes. It is absolutely possible you could die in surgery today.”
I waited for a moment for him to say ‘But it’s not likely’ or ‘But we’re going to take really good care of you’ or anything remotely resembling a somewhat comforting statement, but he said nothing else. If they had not put me under shortly after, I probably would have run screaming from the operating room. I was terrified.
About 8 hours later, I woke up convulsing. My boyfriend was in the room and he called for a nurse who came in and checked on me. She fretted over me for a few minutes and let me know I could go home soon. I wanted to see my Doctor and ask him how my surgery went but apparently, he had gone home for the day.Eventually, they loaded me up with painkillers and sent me on my merry way. I was ordered to keep my bandage in place for a few days, but the curiosity was killing me. Finally, I peeled back a corner and took a peek. It looked fucking horrible. Not to be overly dramatic or anything, but I sobbed when I saw it. Believe me, I am a woman with more scars than the average hockey player, so for me to react this way, you know it had to be bad.
Even though I was upset about the wound, I remembered what a prick my Doctor had been right before my surgery, so I was leery to ask him about it. Finally, I just flipped through a phone book until I found a regular Doctor and made an appointment with him. I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to make my scar less Frankenstein-like.
I met Dr. B for the first time the following morning. He was a bit younger, as far as Doctors go, but immensely skilled at his job. Instead of breezing into the room and breezing out 5 minute later while notifying me of a prescription waiting for me at the front desk, he actually sat down and talked to me about my surgery. He expressed honest-to-goodness concern during our conversation which is something I had never seen in a Doctor before. When I told him who my surgeon was and about my experience right before I was put under, Dr. B laughed and said my surgeon’s bedside manners sucked.
Finally, I showed him my scar. He squinted a little and said, “That does look bad. But honestly? It’s probably because this area is such a tender place.”
My eyes welled a little. “What can I do about it?”
“You can stop worrying,” he said, “I really think this will heal nicely. Give it about 8 weeks and you’ll see. It’ll be nice and flat by then.”
“Really?”
“Really. If you want, you can get some vitamin E caplets, squeeze the ointment out and rub it on the scar. It likely won’t make much of a difference, but it might make you feel a little better.”
From that moment on, Dr. B become my regular family practitioner. He was easily the best Doctor I ever had. For one thing, he always sat down and talked to me about any problems I was having. I’ve noticed with most Doctors they are in and out of the room within minutes. For another thing, Dr. B actually took the time to treat me. In the past, I’ve had Doctors who wouldn’t even look closely at a rash before pawning me off on a dermatologist. Dr. B was different; he wasn’t a referral machine. He never sent me anywhere else unless he was absolutely sure he wasn’t equipped to handle whatever I was experiencing. I was dog loyal to that man for years.
http://www.violentacres.com/archives/213/frivolous-lawsuits-are-scaring-away-good-doctors