I have been turning this one over for hours in my head, though I had not realized it until five minutes ago as I was brushing my teeth, preparing to go to bed. I am absolutely exhausted. Tonight it has been a struggle simply to stay awake until midnight so that I could take my birth control pill on time. Any deviation within an hour causes me to start to bleed again the next day. (There is something wrong with my reproductive system.) I am switching to the patch next month when I see my gynecologist again.
I spoke with my gynecologist\’s office last Thursday, the 3rd. My blood had been draw for my STD tests that Monday, and I wanted to make sure all my blood work was okay. Anxiously, I called in, stated my name and purpose for calling, and was put on hold for about fifteen seconds. A friendly female voice picked the line back up and told me everything had come back negative. \”Really? Even this week\’s tests?\” I queried her. \”Yes, everything is fine. You\’re completely clean.\”
I was so ecstatically happy; I could not believe my good luck, especially after the weird symptoms I had been having for the past month. When I had my blood work done, I had two separate HSV tests requested — one from my gynecologist and one from my primary care physician. Because I had received a full screening for my gynecologist, that was the one I called to confirm my health. When that office gave me the A-Okay, I did not bother to call my PCP.
This past Tuesday, the 15th, I received a letter from my PCP dated the 12th. The letter said that my lab results had come in and that I should call my doctor to discuss the results. \”Oh, shit,\” I thought, \”this cannot be good.\” I called immediately that afternoon and was told that I would have to make an appointment to come in and discuss my results. \”This must really not be good,\” I told myself. Why would I have to make an appointment to discuss my results unless it was something bad and treatment would need to be discussed? Even then, why could the doctor not actually call me and break the news to me myself? The earliest appointment I could get was for the 16th — seven days away and two weeks after my results had arrived at my doctor\’s from the lab.
When I related all this to my therapist later that afternoon, he told me that my physician was, without a doubt, in the wrong on two counts. One, in sending me a letter telling me I had to call for results, and two for the office then forcing me to set up an appointment to discuss the results. According to my therapist, my doctor should have called me directly to tell me what the results were. Annoyed, I agreed with him. I was incensed at getting yet more runaround about my health. Did my doctor not understand that I have a lover with an incredibly voracious sex drive that I need to satisfy, never mind my own constant cravings for sexual fulfillment? What was I supposed to do, continue to abstain? Expose him even more than I already had?
My therapist encouraged me to call my doctor back and demand to speak with her. My eager lover supported this idea; having just received all his test results back himself — on all accounts, negative — he was understandably curious as to what the hell was going on with me. We had unscheduled plans for a hot shower boinking, something that could not take place until we both came back negative, even though if I was ill I had already been exposing him for months.
I called back yesterday and explained the situation to the receptionist again. My doctor has a solo practice with only a medical student and several office assistants to help her out; she does not have a nurse, or an internist. No call from my doctor\’s office came in yesterday. My lover had now become slightly angry at the situation. When I saw my therapist today, he was also perturbed. I waited around for my doctor to call today. Office hours end at four on Thursdays. At five, I gave up and got in the shower. While I was drying off, I thought I heard the sound of my phone ringing in the distance, but I was not sure as I had the radio turned up and the bathroom fan going. A minute or so later I heard the unmistakable noise of my answering machine beeping. \”Shit.\”
Sure enough, the doctor\’s office had called. I listened to the message anxiously, knowing they would not leave the outcome of my test results on my machine, but praying that they would, anyway. The message, it turned out, was not from my doctor but from the doctor\’s receptionist, who had questions about instructions for some of my prescriptions. At the end of the message she added, \”And Dr. _____ will be calling you with the results of your blood work soon.\”
\”Yeah, fucking right,\” I thought. \”When, on Monday? They don\’t have office hours on Friday. There goes my weekend fuckfest. Shit!\” All I could think about, as per my usual, were my (okay, and my lover\’s) sexual needs. I crawled into bed with some entertainment and languished the state of affairs, convinced that I was to lead a life of chastity from there on out. But at seven thirty-two, my phone rang. \”Probably [my lover] wanting to know if I received my results yet,\” I thought. I did not want to have to give him the bad news.
\”Hello?\”
\”Yes, is this Cassandra?\” A female voice, distant, rushed, somewhat distracted answered me. It took me a moment to place it.
\”Yes, this is she.\”
\”Your results from your test came back negative.\”
\”Oh, okay, great! Thank you!\”
And then the line went dead. That was it, that was the end of my weeks of tortured waiting — a five second phone call where my doctor did not even identify herself. For a moment, I was briefly outraged: how dare she lead me on like this, causing me to worry and fret? How dare she not have taken the initiative and told me outright that I was negative? All this fuss for nothing! I was furious for about twice the time the phone call had taken, and then relief kicked in — I was clean. Time to boogie.
After alerting my lover and letting my mind and body relax from the hyper tense state it had been in for half a month, I started to settle back into a state of annoyance at the ropes I had been made to jump over in order to receive a simple \”all clear\” from the doc. Was my health not important? Even a \”negative\” response must be relayed as soon as possible. What if I was a pornography actress? I would have to know my results as soon as possible because otherwise I would not be able to work. Selfish reasoning filtered through out my head for hours.
Finally, while brushing my teeth, it hit me: this was not her fault. My doctor has a solo practice. I, like most of her patients, rely on the county\’s medical assistance program to pay my medical bills, and the system does not pay much to its doctors. She called me three and a half hours after the office had closed; she was working far beyond the needed time period. Obviously, she is a dedicated doctor. I am always upset that it takes so long to get an appointment, that she hurries on to the next patient before I even have my legs closed after a visual exam, that there is sometimes an hour wait in a cramped and noisy waiting room. Up until this year, I was mostly used to seeing doctors in private practices where I had to pay upwards of $100 for a comprehensive ten minute session. Now I no longer have those funds, and as such, I no longer receive that sort of care.
My doctor is doing the best she can do, I realized. Who am I but an impatient, spoiled suburban white girl on Medicaid, worried about an unhazardous if treated STD that might put a damper on my already overactive sex life with my lover? My results came back negative — hardly urgent. What is that compared to all the other patients I compete with a few minutes of her precious time for? The ones with cancer, AIDS, pneumonia, liver failure, or even something as deceptively simple as strep throat? I am nobody, that is who. I am a tiny wart on an overly cauliflowered phallus (look up pictures of HPV if you want to know what I am talking about) that is struggling to find a roll of duct tape while my neighbors are in dire need of cryogenic laser removal.
Every day I am thankful I managed to get this far, to get on public assistance. I know it is the only way I will ever get back on my feet. I do not always remember, though, how inadequate those funds and services are for the vast amount of people who need them. Every day I am thankful that I am as healthy as I am, and that it is not as bad as it could be, though sometimes I feel it is or has already started down that road. I do not always remember, though, that there are people who need state supported health care much more than I do. Every day, I am thankful for my friends, family, and the strangers who are not tax evaders, because they are making it possible for me to get better, and to live. I do not always remember, though, that I was once one of those tax payers who could barely afford to buy a loaf of bread, and yet I was being forced by the government to finance people who were more capable of working than I was when I was confined to bed with double lung pneumonia two years ago. Every day, I am thankful for my blessings and try to think of ways to get beyond this stage in my life, to get off public assistance, and to do something to \”pay the people back.\” Every day I try. Some days, I do not fail. Today was one of those days.
