Poor Sue has caught my affliction. On June 08, fresh from surgery, I wrote The Invisible Man Syndrome for your delectation. I wrote about my surgery and how it was held up while they searched for bed for me. They never did find a bed, but I chose to proceed with the surgery, regardless. I just wanted to get it done and go home.
Being invisible is kind of the meme of my life. It has happened any number of times. For example, when I was transferred from one school to another after ten years of teaching, a desk was not prepared for me on the first parents night. Oddly enough, a fellow teacher reported that they did put out a desk for me at my former school. Apparently, one institution didn't know that invisible me had left while the other didn't know that invisible me had come.
While it sort of happened again recently when my appointment for radiology vanished into the ether, this post is meant to be more about Sue than it is about me.
Post-surgery, Sue has never been right. Eventually, lab results indicated that she had C. diff. After the ten-day course of treatment, her condition was unimproved. A follow-up lab test was ordered. Without going into details, for some arcane reason, the test could not be completed.
Eventually, after some cajoling for an answer, her doctor referred her to the Infectious Disease Clinic in the city hospital.
That is where we went yesterday, with Shauna, who was once again good enough to to drive the old folk.
As soon as we entered the edifice, Sue was directed to registration. This should only take two minutes, so I waited in the lobby.
After several two-minutes had passed. I peered into the registration room. The receptionist dealing with Sue had a phone glued to her ear.
Thought I, "This does not bode well. Something is sure to be amiss."
I waited, and peeked again: phone still glued to ear.
And again.
I decided to sit down, and it took another little while for Sue to emerge.
She told me they had no appointment for her; they didn't even have a record of the referral. Sue did not exist for this hospital.
Sue used her phone to prove that she had gotten a call. Then, they found her referral paperwork but they still had no record of an appointment being made.
"The secretary must have forgotten to enter it," they said.
"We cannot take you today," they said.
"You can come back Monday," they said.
Sue, the Newly Baptized Invisible Woman, left with physical proof that they had actually made an appointment for Monday.
We did go out for an early supper. We were not invisible then. We were served, and behold it was good. We even have a picture to prove that we exist — or at least that we existed for awhile on Friday afternoon.
Meanwhile, I trust that you are relieved to not be related to this invisible duo.
Oh you were patient. I think I would have kicked up a fuss.
ReplyDeleteI sure hope they figure out what's going on with Sue's ailment. You sure don't look invisible to me! :-)
ReplyDeleteHow aggravating and frustrating. I sure hope they can get their act together by Monday. That's very worrisome. I'm glad you weren't invisible at dinner -- that would be adding insult to injury.
ReplyDeleteQuel bummer! So annoying. And I hope Sue's problem is soon resolved. Re invisibility: As elderly, white-haired woman, I've gotten used to it.
ReplyDeleteI haven't been invisible but I have been mistaken for another old lady. To a youngster, I guess we're interchangeable.
ReplyDeleteI'd have kicked up the devil of a fuss. I've been known to refuse to leave in this situation until amazingly they've been able to see me after all. But I'm not Canadian!
I wish you could get Sue's health fixed once and for all. It sounds like misdiagnosis as well as clerical incompetence. No, this is not good health care. I'm angry, while you're patient!
That's really not a good thing to experience. Sue's daily experiences from whatever is wrong are certainly taking their toll. Yet there she is smiling for the selfie. Yesterday I returned to the clinic where I'd been finally seen last week...to get lab stuff for further tests. I waited a half hour, after driving into the city from my small town, and asked at least once when I'd get seen. Then the lab tech came out, and had me sign a form at the reception desk. All that time and trouble, and they're going to mail me the test, which I can mail back to them (Colaguard). ARGH!
ReplyDeleteSadly, this kind of screwup is not infrequent. The staff is overworked and, in a lot of cases, badly managed.
ReplyDeleteAnother facet of invisibility is the telephone appointment with your doctor.
I do so hope things improve for Sue. And for you.
Boy, why can't Canada get it right? Here in Hawaii, we don't have such morons running the hospital.
ReplyDeleteThat is annoying.
ReplyDeletePoor Sue. I think I would have gone ballistic. I hope they can sort something out for her on Monday.
ReplyDeleteThat is horrible. Did anyone even apologize?
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ReplyDeleteHorrible. Did anyone even apologize to Sue?
I can only wish you both better luck next time! Believe me, you are not alone with the Invisibility Cloak - or the ability to be in the wrong half of all life's 50/50 chances, to put it another way. :-)
ReplyDeleteI continue to share a similar fate, as did my Dad, and I've always blamed that on his Jinks surname (and my maiden name, of course) which is too close to being a 'jinx', and too strong to have been lost. even when I changed mine to common-or-garden Smith. But I do think we must have been given extra strength in order to be able to see the funny side, even while needing to rant!
I hope the invisible woman has a real appointment Monday and that they find successful treatment.
ReplyDeleteWell… You are a very good looking invisible duo, I must say.
ReplyDeleteHmmm… this is sounding like our military hospital system. Just this past week I signed up for my Prolia shot because my doctor told me at our last visit that I should note that when I make my next appointment to see him. Well… since I had to do this online, I did. When we got to the hospital at 7:00 AM, they told me I would not see my doctor. I would ONLY get my shot. BUT because whoever ordered the shot did not check to see if I needed a calcium or Vitamin D blood test, I would have to now get my blood test and wait a couple of hours for the results. And so on and so forth….. I wish I could be as calm and at peace about all this as you are. Sigh… It was a very exhausting day.
The hospital wrote me yesterday that the doctor would do a phone appointment with me on Tuesday.
You are such a wonderful couple that I can't believe that you have some kind invisibility cloak! That is frustrating about the appointment. It happened to me twice at a podiatrist's office, so I finally told them that I was finished with them. Now I make sure to get physical proof of any appointments also! Hope they can figure out Sue's ailment. Ugh, sounds miserable.
ReplyDeleteHeavens! You both have had such a rough bout the last number of months. Let’s hope Sue gets some answers on Monday!
ReplyDeleteGood luck. Your dry humour is great.
ReplyDeleteBut I don't see you. 😎 🤣
ReplyDeletePoor Sue. I'm sorry to hear the antibiotic/treatment prescribed for her hasn't led to an improvement. Sometimes lab tests aren't completed because the sample isn't collected or stored properly by the patient, and sometimes the lab fails to properly store or process the sample correctly. Frustrating.
ReplyDeleteI had a bout of C. diff (caused by the antibiotic clindamycin), and my primary care provider prescribed Dificid (fidaxomicin) to knockout the C. diff. Dificid coupled with a fairly bland diet & probiotics for a bit returned my gut to a normal state. Dificid is fairly expensive, and thankfully my insurance covered the cost. To be sure, I'll never take clindamycin again.
Hoping Sue feels better soon, and the source of her problem is found & treated easily.
That's crazy! And how frustrating that you have to make the trip again when Sue isn't feeling well anyway. Seems like wevare at the mercy of inefficient robots these days.
ReplyDeleteGood luck to Sue on Monday. It's been too long.
ReplyDeleteI also hope they figure things out. Not knowing must be hard.
ReplyDeleteCoffee is on.
What a shame. There sure are glitches these days. Good luck!
ReplyDeleteIt seems that you and Sue have been having the same type of misfortunes as far as hospital scheduling. What a total waste of your time and now a return trip. I do hope that the cause of Sue's discomfort will be resolved soon.
ReplyDeleteSorry, I can't help myself. I just have to say something along the lines of you get what you pay for sometimes. But I hope Sue isn't invisible come Monday. I can't imagine having to deal with an illness all weekend because of a problem that wasn't your fault.
ReplyDeleteI think a dropped phone call or a clerical/human error has little to do with the system. We have had approximately 4 million appointments that have been kept well enough. In fact, in all these years, these are a first.
ReplyDeleteOh dear. Your poignant tone nearly brought a tear to my eye and I am not kidding. When I was a kid we moved a couple of times a year. I never went to the same school for two years in a row until my junior year of college. As a result, I was often invisible. All cliques had formed long before I got anywhere. I was the perennial new girl. No one was ever quite sure of my name, or who I was, or where I'd come from. As useful connections went, I had zero. One year -- I must have been about eight -- I told my mother I wanted something I'd heard other kids had, that being a birthday party. I'd never had one in my honor so I was intrigued by the novel idea. I took invitations to school and distributed them to all of my classmates. Mama made a sheet cake before she went to her waitressing job that day. There was a half-gallon of neopolitan ice cream in the freezer. My stepfather (in name only) was home to supervise the event. It had rained hard and all I remember is standing at the end of our dirt road peering down it at the puddle-ruts, for any cars that might approach with my guests. None did. It was a total bust and I had to conclude (much later in life) that those in my class simply didn't know who I was, and the other moms did not know my mom. I was invisible. But what happened to Sue at the clinic is unforgivable. I am so sorry she went through that. YAY for Shauna, though, taking you to the appointment, and I'm glad you had a nice dinner and wow, what a lovely couple are you and your Sue. Not invisible at all, today or any day. But you know AC, as we age, truly no one sees us. They look right through us. Such is life. xoxo
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