In the time since my last missive, some resolution has been achieved.
Much like an episode of Poirot, a long and baffling mystery has now come to an end.
Tangent time: I like Poirot – or at least, the version created by David Suchet. I’ve only read a few of the Poirot stories, but it’s hard to see anyone else pulling this character off.
Ever notice how when, he’s finally ready to unmask the killer, Poirot assembles everyone into the parlor and basically dumps their secrets out to the world . . . and then says, something like, “The only person who could have done this was Pauline!”
And everyone else, humiliated because now they know each other’s secrets, give him that collective look that says, “Why didn’t you just out Pauline, instead of all of us?”
Yeah, that cracks me up every time. That thoroughness, though – sometimes you have to look at everything and every one before you can figure out just how bad a situation has truly become.
I was finally called by my doctor’s office and it seems that I have a case of advanced arthritis in my lower back and pelvic region. That means the pains I have now in my back will only increase in time, and since we’re talking about good ole Uncle Arthur, that also means there’s not much anyone can do, but to try their best to make me comfortable.
This is akin to that scene in The Thin Red Line where a wounded soldier was given a handful of morphine by his sergeant, told to make the best of his situation, and wished “Good Luck,” as that’s about all Sarge could do. And if you think I’m put off by this, well, I am – but not for the reason you might think.
You see, apparently, I was initially diagnosed with this condition some six years ago. It was discovered during an X-ray session that I had, but I’d never been informed about the situation. When I learned this – in a casual line from my physician that the situation had advanced since my initial diagnosis (what?) – I had to stop for a minute to think: When did I last have an X-ray? I get them so rarely, you’d think that I’d have recalled something like that. So I pondered this . . . and then it hit me:
Remember my tale about the bad nurse practitioner? I’d link to it, but I can’t find it right now; I’d mentioned her a good while back. In summary, my regular physician was busy with a patient, and I’d been a last-minute addition to the schedule, so Bad NP was given my case. Apparently, she resented the added work (no complaint there), but she took it out on me, refusing to listen, laughing at my concerns about my familial history of cancer, and barking orders at me each time she opened her mouth. I’d wanted to file a complaint, but I didn’t know her name; I don’t think she ever told me, and I’ve not seen her since. I did complain to the physician, but truthfully, I wanted blood.
Bad NP ordered X-rays, and said with a smirk that she’d give me the results the next morning; I’d forgotten about it, and when a subsequent visit to the physician’s office didn’t address the issue, I thought only of the bad treatment I’d received. I never received those results, so any opportunity to stave off what is now inevitable, was wasted.
There’s a part of me that wants to declare that, “There’s a special place in Hell for someone like Bad NP!” But honestly, that’s a horrible thing to say. Despite my own situation, I feel sorry for her – to be in a field where you’re supposed to help and support others, yet only negativity and bile are within you – that’s a sad place to be. If nothing else, I hope she retired before she ended up hurting someone else.
Oh well, that die is cast; there’s little use in crying about it now. I just need to educate myself on arthritis care, and pray that it goes well.
As for everything else, seems like there’s no evidence of anything wrong, and that means the mystery as to what’s causing my other issues continues.
Where’s a medical Poirot when you need them?