Yes folks I’m the first to admit that my grammar sucks and without my gorgoeus main squeeze, who is not only hot but educated, the scary thoughts in my head and the anger in my heart would never make it to the page in any legible form. However, the title is intended. In the childrens classic Dr. Dolittle had the gift of talking to the animals and they to him. We the disabled are lucky on any day ending in y to gain the presence of a doctor who sees us as anything other than a lab experiment to be pittied, forget about one who can talk our language and hear our cries. There are a few exceptions..my childhood neurologist James Manson and the wonderful GP of my youth the ever amazing B.J. Cormie.
The problem is the great doctors of yesteryear committed a terrible offence for which we will suffer the rest of our lives. They cared! They were professional and they listened. Once when I was 12 in a ward at the Adelaide Childrens Hospital the short but powerful Dr Manson swept in with a gaggle of interns and asked them if you’re in a room with a patient who has sufferred and survived their entire life to this point, who is the expert in that room? Murmurs filled the room and he curtly silenced them with “they are you mumbling cerebral dwarfs. They are. If you are ever to creep more than 3 inches from my learned coattails it will be because you realize that the greatest text book on any illness is the patient in front of you.”
Today when I am in a doctors room I’m talked about, talked over and around, but very little, if ever actually to. I’m treated more like their poor disabled pet than a human being that they swore an oath to help. Speaking of which, can someone let me know when the hypocratic oath became the hip pocket oath and the first rule changed from “first do no harm” to “first do nothing without proof of payment?”
When this writer arrived back from New York to her native Australia the first thing she who must be obeyed did was arrange a GP who then made a Neuro appointment for a overnight EEG. The doctor stuffed up the booking after 4 months of abuse, sharp tongued secretaries and being treated like the village idiot the doctor was finally shown the error of his ways. Did he apologise? Did he immediately arrange the correct test? Hell no! He spat the dummy & cancelled all treatment and once again I’m on a line so long you’d think it was being sniffed through a hundred dollar bill.
Here’s the problem doc, appointments used to be about us now they’re about your mortgages. They used to be as long as needed, now they’re about as long as it takes to sign the medicare slip for your payment. We used to get blood pressure and temperature taken now its just our money. If the government is whining about the ever growing bill to care for Australia’s disabled perhaps spend a little time on the ever growing membership of medicos to golf clubs and send them back to work. Maybe then some of us, in a millenium yet to come on a day not ending in y, might stand a chance of recovery but until that day I’m off to get a dozen scripts filled so the drug rep can send my docotor to Fiji with the profits.
We’re humans, we’re your patients, the car in the driveway and the house on the hill wouldn’t be there without us. Start thinking of us as people who need you rather than the funds for the second story and the money for your retirement.
Respect our Existence or Expect our Resistence!