Doctor

Perspective.

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It was a glorious Friday afternoon. I so badly wished I’d been able to get to the surgery earlier so that I could bask in that golden late afternoon autumn sun. I parked my car on the side of the road adjacent to the building, collected my belongings, locked up and made my way toward my doctor’s surgery.

I stepped inside the green waiting room, announced my name and appointment time to the receptionist before being gestured to take a seat. I made my way towards the corner of the room, taking a seat beside the ottoman stacked with dated magazines. I placed my trusty diabetes case, keys, pocket wifi and pocket tissue pack down beside me, and settled in for the long wait.

I had the flu. I had copped the brunt of it the day prior and was feeling somewhat better, but decided to take advantage of a sick day and pay my doctor a visit for another matter that I’d been putting off for a while.

I buried my head into my phone – something I’ve actually been making a conscious effort to do less of lately – and caught up on some of the news in my feeds.

I did a quick scan of the room. After grouping people together, I figured that there were five or six people waiting to see the doctor late on that Friday. I continuously glanced through the sliding glass door, watching the sunlight disappear from the street corner as the darkness set in.

As I watched the clock slowly move past six and closer to six thirty, the wait wasn’t even particularly bothering me. I wasn’t even thinking about how lousy I felt anymore. I was beginning to feel plagued with sympathy over this hour of day that I was demanding my doctor.

I thought about what I would normally be doing at this time on a Friday. I’d probably be well caffeinated, sweetened, showered and in clean clothes, capping off another working week. I’d probably be sitting down to a nice dinner with my family after grocery shop day. Yet here was my doctor, who had probably started his work day at the same time as me, still shouting out patients names from down the hall before appearing at the reception desk.

My doc could have made his last appointment at 5 instead of 5.30. He could have allocated longer appointment times so that he didn’t fall behind schedule and might get home on time. But he didn’t.

Although he was understandably hurrying things along, my doctor didn’t complain once as he called me in and prepared for me what I had asked for. I was in and out in less than five minutes. 

Our healthcare system is far from perfect. I’m the first person to complain about anything and everything. But this particular visit, at this particular hour of the day, came with a nice little lens that put things into a different perspective.

I’m certainly glad that there are people out there in the world, like my doctor, going above and beyond to help sick people get better.

(Although, as always some more resources to help people like my doc would always be greatly appreciated).

Where Is The Patient Centred Care?

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When are you seeing your doctor? the Pathologist asked me as I followed her into the demountable Caravan that doubled as the ‘D’ block at my local hospital.

It won’t be until he has the results and calls me in for an appointment I replied. I already signed the release form to receive my results when I came in, but with Australia Post and the Easter long weekend I’ll probably be waiting well over a week.

When did you come in to have your bloodwork done?

Yesterday morning.

Seemingly puzzled at why someone would want to know their own test results, she typed my surname followed by my first name into the computer to check the status of my results.

They haven’t all been done yet. They’re about 80% complete.

Is my hba1c there?

There it is. Don’t tell anyone I told you! She half joked, acting as though she had just committed a serious crime in telling someone their own test results.

Fantastic! I exclaimed, my eyes fixed at where the Pathologist had motioned on the computer display that looked like something out of the 1980s.

Five years ago, I wouldn’t have given a stuff about some stupid test results. I certainly wouldn’t have made a detour on my way home from work because I was that eager to know. I probably would have just let my doctor vaguely lecture me in 2 weeks time, rather than making my own evaluations about the condition I live and breathe 24 hours a day.

I feel like the system isn’t even designed with the patient in mind. Why aren’t we making it easier for patients to engage in their own health matters? Why aren’t we encouraging, and praising self management efforts? Why is lived experience not more highly regarded?

Where is the patient centred care here?

Now you can go home and enjoy your Easter long weekend! the Pathologist replied as I thanked her for her time.

But don’t eat too much chocolate! She exclaimed as I stepped outside into the crisp afternoon, the door slamming shut behind me.

“How Are You” Makes a World of Difference

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“How are you?” These are the three words which I absolutely hate to hear, but can’t seem to get away from. Almost every person who I pass during the day utters those words, and I hate it. I know they’re not doing it on purpose. I know that they’re just trying to be nice. But I never feel that question is a sincere one.

Do they really want to hear about my lousy diabetes day as we pass each other in the hallway? I think not. Is it fair for me to dump all of my problems onto them when they’re just being polite? Absolutely not. Most of the time, I give my enthusiastic-sounding “yeah, good” response and go on my way. I feel like a robot with no personality when I give the same stock standard response every day. I feel guilty for not saying “how are you” back. But I’m not going to say those words unless I really mean them. And I’m not going to give a genuine response unless the situation allows for it.

In the diabetes world, however, this couldn’t be further from the truth. In the diabetes world, I don’t feel that get asked “how are you” enough. I yearn for my doctor to ask me how I am. And I don’t mean how my diabetes management is going. I don’t mean how my blood sugar levels are. I don’t mean how my latest hba1c result stacks up from last time. And I don’t mean how was that blood test that he ordered last time I was here.

I want to be asked about how I am coping with having diabetes day in, day out. I want to be asked how I feel when I wake up in the morning ridiculously high, despite feeling that I did everything right the day before. I want to be asked how I feel when I wake up in the middle of the night sweating and shaking because I’m terrifyingly low despite all my efforts to avoid it from happening. I want to be asked how I feel when my mind is plagued with thoughts of nasty complications that could affect the quality of my life. And I want to be asked about my small diabetes victory that feels like a massive achievement.

Don’t get me wrong, I am happy with my health care professionals for the better part. And I am happy with my diabetes management, for the better part.

But when I’m in the diabetes world, hearing those three words “how are you” is enough to turn my day around for the better. And while it may seem like nothing to my doctor, hearing the words “I get it” can make a world of difference.

More how-are-you’s from healthcare professionals, please.

I Don’t Feel Like I’m Doing Enough

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I’ve been stuck in a rut for a while. My hba1c levels are okay, I guess, but they’re not great either. And they’ve been stuck in that good, but not great phase for a long time. And right now, I just can’t stop thinking about this tweet from last week.

I have a love hate relationship with my doctor. I love how he can quickly dismiss my concerns when I’m not feeling well. But I hate that I don’t feel that anything constructive comes from seeing him. Every single visit usually goes the same way. He’ll tell me that my illness is “just a virus,” send me for a blood test and then tell me “you need to get your sugar levels down.” I’ll nod my head. I might even manage to mumble an “okay.” He’s usually running an hour behind, and I’ll be lucky to get five minutes in there before I’m pushed out the door. I know he’s not a diabetes expert, but it’s not like he even tries to offer any sort of genuine help.

Then there’s the endocrinologist. An endocrinologist appointment really does motivate me to do better with my diabetes. And I can talk to the endo, if its someone I’m comfortable with. But I don’t get to see them as often as I probably need to right now. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see them twice a year. And if I’m extremely lucky, I’ll get to see the same endo both times. I’m due for an appointment right about now. In fact, I could really use an endocrinologist appointment right about now. And out of the whole six months that my appointment could have been scheduled for, it just had to be in the two weeks that I was on holidays. And now, the earliest I can reschedule for is January. January, for heaven’s sake. Being in the public health system can be so frustrating sometimes. 

And I just can’t stop thinking about that tweet. I think there’s a good reason I wrote it. I need to try harder to find the support I was calling for in that Tweet. It’s well and truly time for me to get back on track. I’ve had my break. Perhaps too long of a break. I’ve had a lot of fun and enjoyed a lot of good food. And now, it’s time for me to hit that reset button that comes after a good break.

Normally, I would have accepted that wait until January for an endocrinologist appointment. Normally, I would make those excuses about work and life and being busy. But today, I’m going to give my Diabetes Clinic a call and see if there are any cancellations that have come up. And I’m going to make more time for diabetes. Because right now, I don’t feel like I’m doing enough. And right now, I want to feel better about myself.