The latter I can understand and with a smidgen of curmudgeonly reluctance, even accept. Health, once disrupted, can become a fragile thing, subject to the whims and fancy of a cold, unfeeling universe. So be it. This is the hand I’ve been dealt, and it’s a lot better than many. But…
My health – specifically, the workings of my until recently taken-for-granted pituitary gland – is no longer to be relied upon. My surgeries in the spring of this year saved me from an expanding tumour at the base of my brain (cozying up, as it was, to my pituitary), but placed in jeopardy the long-term viability of that important little lump of flesh. Sigh. OK. That exchange seemed a fair gamble to make. No complaints about the nature of the treatment; there was no realistic choice.
But now. NOW…almost twelve months after first meeting with an allegedly esteemed endocrinologist, we have learned that he has failed to inform us of some extremely pertinent issues which not infrequently rear their heads after such an illness and treatment. These issues – I’m ragingly angry to discover – constitute a real and present danger to my health (even, in extremis, to my life) if left unrecognized and untreated. The fact that he has mentioned nothing of them is little short of negligent, and yet it follows in a series of similarly egregious disappointments which have left me bewildered and divested of my previous confidence in the medical profession.
My confidence in doctors is severely dented. Dented, but – amazingly, in retrospect – not yet shattered. My surgeon was obviously a skilled person, and he was open and honest about what he was going to be doing, and the risks of doing it. In other words, he was what I hoped for and expected. The after-care has been what’s shocked and disappointed me. Not only held against what I think should be the very highest standards reserved for health care, but frankly held against any reasonable standards of competence. If I had ever dropped the ball so badly in any of the jobs that I’ve had, I’d have expected to be fired. This, however, is messing around with my life and not just the quality of it, but the extent of it.
I can’t – and won’t – forgive this.