Enough, Already?

Barb Polan
Barb's Recovery

October 29 / 2013

Stroke survivors go to hundreds of medical appointments: physiatrist (to “manage” our rehab), PT, OT, seizure clinic, blood tests, MRI’s, speech therapists, psychotherapists, alternative medical treatments, ad nauseam.

The last thing we need is more appointments.

But my PCP is conscientious. His attitude is that I and my physiatrist are responsible for my stroke-related issues, but HE’s responsible for the rest of me, so his office harasses me about other health issues. In fact, Sally called me last week and “reminded” me that my mammogram was overdue.

“Have you had it yet?”
“No.”
“Have you scheduled it?”
“No.”
“Is there a reason why not?”
“I’m lazy.”
Laugh. “But you will schedule it, right?”
“But I will.” 

When I got off the phone, my husband chided me,

“why didn’t you tell her the real reason?” 

I have TWO “real” reasons:

1. I have too many medical appointments already; and 
2. At my last mammogram, the radiologist who looked at it right then found something odd and wanted an immediate ultrasound. That entailed the technician tying my johnny (because it’s impossible to do properly one-handed) and leading me to the ultrasound room, which meant I had to walk through the waiting room. The tech hadn’t tied the johnny ribbons tight enough, so approaching the waiting room, I grabbed the opening to hide my body, which meant I couldn’t use my walking stick; so, I was lumbering by some waiting patients with a boob hanging out, and asked the tech to retie the johnny; of course, she opened the sides to close it properly. 

“Tighter, please?” 

After the radiologist looked at the ultrasound, she wanted another mammogram view, so there was another trek in reverse. After that mammogram went to the radiologist, I waited a million years, expecting to hear that I had to return for an ultrasound. But no, eventually the radiologist told me it was probably nothing, and I should return in six months to check on it.

That is the appointment I didn’t bother to make; I know I really should, so it’s on my to-do list, which is more than it was before.

Just as I know I should be conscientious about mammograms – my best friend from college died from it when we were 40 – I know I need regular colonoscopies. My mother and her mother both died of colon cancer, so pre-stroke I was diligent, and two polyps had been found and removed already. Post-stroke, I put off a colonoscopy until my PCP’s office called and Tom insisted on me scheduling it; in fact, he argued with me about my previous one being 5 years ago even though the doctor’s office said it had been only 4 and I was on the 5-year schedule.

Bottom line: I scheduled it. As it is for everyone, the prep was hell. But unlike everyone else, I couldn’t rush to the bathroom when I needed to, even sitting on a chair in the adjacent room, cane in hand, I couldn’t make it quickly enough. I gave up and – don’t laugh – no, go ahead and laugh – sat on the toilet instead of a chair. To pass the time as I sat, I watched “30 Rock” on my iPad and thought how funny Tina Fey would think my situation was. Driving to the hospital the next morning for the procedure involved an adult diaper because I couldn’t hold back all that fluid. Disgusting? Yes. Humiliating? Yes. Out of my control? Like everything else, yes.

BTW, colonoscopy procedures require that the patient lies on his/her left side. It is difficult for me to lie on my left, affected side; my shoulder scrunches forward and, when I had it, my left leg didn’t bend well enough to brace my body in place, so I always tipped. Not to worry, they said, when I asked if I could lie on my right side because of my problems lying on my left. “Not to worry” because they’d have a couple of spare aides, a couple of spectators, to hold me in place during the procedure. Afterward, I couldn’t remember whether the aides were there, but I guess I don’t really care. NEXT time, I’ll be able to lie comfortably on my left side – although, really, how comfortable can anyone be on a colonoscopy table?

In addition, post-stroke I've seen my ophthalmologist twice, once for a malingering stye and yesterday for a hematoma, plus an orthopedic surgeon about the torn meniscus, bone spurs and arthritis in my "good" knee. That added a dozen visits: X-ray, an MRI, cortisone shots, draining fluid, and three injections of lubricant.

I can't imagine what my medical appointment schedule would look like if I were to have a real health problem.

I've definitely used more than my fair share of medical resources this year. And I've had enough, enough already.

But I will schedule that mammogram.

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Enough, Already?

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