<<<time they tortured me for hours. It ended when I got MAD.>>>
A few years ago, I told a friend who was going into the hospital for abdominal surgery that the best advice I could give her was, if the nurses were uncooperative when she was in agonizing pain after the surgery, to tell the nurse in a quiet but serious voice that the pain was driving her mad and that in two minutes she was going to begin screaming at the top of her lungs, so they had better call her doctor (they hate to do that) and get stronger pain meds authorized. It worked perfectly. The thing is, they don't care about your pain; they do care about not having scenes, though.
I was left on a bedpan in the hospital for a long, long time after giving birth-- the night nurses liked to leave the bedpans for the day shift. I was weak, and begged the nurse to remove it. She replied, "Hold your horses, sis." I said, "I am counting to five; then it goes on the floor." It was removed instanter.
A friend of mine was rushed to the hospital one New Year's Eve. He had been admitted with chest pain. He was informed that his doctor had, over the phone, prescribed pain meds and rest until the next afternoon, at which time the doctor would come and examine him. My friend is an attorney, but is sufficiently hypochondriacal to have learned a good deal about medicine, and had diagnosed his condition as a serious, heart-related one requiring immediate treatment. He demanded to speak to his doctor, and was sufficiently forceful in his demands that the doctor did agree to speak to him. He told the doctor that as soon as he hung up, he was going to call his attorney and instruct him, in the event of his death, to use his entire estate, if necessary, to sue the doctor for malpractice.
The doctor appeared in minutes, wearing a dinner jacket. My friend had diagnosed himself correctly, and his threats probably saved his life.
When you deal with the caring professions, it's war. |
