Talk to the hand
Excuse me for feeling discouraged with the medical system, but clearly, one hand knows not what the other is doing, and some medical professionals seem to be twiddling their thumbs when there’s real work to be done.
We arrived on time for our MRI follow-up appointment with Dr. Mohr today; 12:30 on the dot, (which really means five minutes early; I learned this from my parents. Gilly, on the other hand, tends to travel El Al style; for those unfamiliar with this reference, it stands for ‘every landing always late). At approximately 12:40, Dr. Mohr passed us by and waved, smiling politely. His neurosurgical nurse, Chantal, greeted us similarly a few moments later as she whizzed by.
By 1:00, I sensed the now too familiar churning feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was up. There were no other patients waiting to see Dr. Mohr. What was the hold up, I wondered? At 1:12, the secretary informed us that they are experiencing technical difficulties in receiving the results, so Dr. Mohr would like to apologize for the delay. This made little sense. The MRI was done on April 25th. Someone either forgot to do his / her homework, or procrastinated until the last minute. The results should be on hand for a follow-up appointment, I would think, and carefully perused beforehand.
When we were escorted into Dr. Mohr’s office he informed us that the MRI shows a change, and this needs to be interpreted by Dr. Sultanen. He asked if Gilly is finished his treatments yet (an alarming question, when the impression we were given is that they work as a team. How does he not know this information???).
The words he used, prompted, I’m sure, by my direct, disconcerted glare, were:
“We see the traces of the biopsy. It is in the right spot. There appears to be more enhancement. It is catching up a little bit of contrast.” What any of this means is beyond me, but I can tell you that his next line confirmed that it wasn’t good news: “He’s on the right treatment.” He went on to suggest that perhaps since the treatment is only at the beginning stages, the regime will be altered. This is not comforting to hear, especially without proper information.
Dr. Mohr is the fellow who suggested we wait 8 weeks and do nothing, and watch the pattern of growth (or lack thereof0. In a perfect world he’d admit his faulty judgment and confess, “I stand corrected. It’s a good thing you chose not to listen to my advice. At least he’s started treatment. If we had waited until after the bumbling antics of today, we’d still be weeks behind the start of treatment; no mask, no markings…” But of course, that would never happen, and to tell you the truth, it wouldn’t change the circumstances much. It would help us to feel cared for, though.
Dr. Mohr has a bad reputation when it comes to bedside manner. We never really had a problem, except that he admonished us for taking notes (which he now ignores completely). Today, we received a dose of it, and the taste we’re left with is putrid.
I asked, “Does this mean it is no longer a grade II astrocytoma?” He said, “I repeat, Dr. Sultanen will have to interpret the results.” At this point, he was standing, attempting to usher us out of his office after a 4 minute visit. He explained that it is no longer an issue related to neurosurgery. It is an oncology matter, and we’ll just have to wait and see Dr. Sultanen. Gilly then sheepishly, innocently and hopefully asked, “Is this good news?” Dr. Mohr impatiently reiterated the response, “I repeat…” The rest fell on deaf ears.
Why call us to a follow-up appointment of this nature? It seems cruel and unnecessary. Either have your facts in order, or cancel the appointment until you do. All this appointment did was stir up further anxiety due to a little bit of disturbing information that we are left to mull over until the ‘team’ (and I use this term in a loose sense) gets their game plan in order. Sheryl’s notes explain that Gilly is supposed to see Dr. Sultanen every Wednesday. I understand that last Wednesday, we were only 3 days into treatment, but will he see us tomorrow? If so, when? Do I dash over for the scheduled radiation session (4:30) in case he graces us with his presence? Jerry is scheduled to take Gilly because I have another Vanier commitment tomorrow evening, and I was hoping to remain in St. Laurent between 4:30 (when I finish teaching) and 6 (when the meeting takes place) to attend to some work, but I feel I must be there if and when Dr. Sultanen spills the beans. I guess I’ll try to contact his nurse tomorrow during the day and see if she can tell us more. That way I’ll know how to manage my time. Vigit is good about returning calls.
When I arrived home to serve Gilly lunch earlier, and to take him to Dr. Mohr at noon today, I found him sitting on the balcony wearing a sunhat, petting Liylah. It was such an unusual sight. I called out, “You look like you're the mayor now.” Debra, across the street, agreed. We decided that Phil (her husband) better look out for his job. He is our retired neighbour, forever outdoors. He keeps tabs on whatever’s happening on the block. He has held the title for all 14 years we’ve known him. Watch out, Phil. Gilly may plan a takeover from his new perch!!!
I appreciate all the wonderfully generous gestures I receive daily; too many to mention them all, but you know who you are! One shining example: Last night, Anita called to offer Gilly a lift home from Dr. Mohr’s to allow me to return directly to work. I thanked her, and agreed to keep her posted. We didn’t agree on any particular location to meet; in fact, I was to call her cell phone after the appointment, and we’d decide then, based on the time, if the favour would be necessary. As soon as we moved out of the building, there was Anita, waiting patiently in exactly the right spot, as if we'd planned it in detail. An angel in disguise, I tell you.
On the whole, the fatigue is gradually setting in. Today, his answer to, “How are you feeling?” is “tired.” It’s to be expected, we’re told.
We arrived on time for our MRI follow-up appointment with Dr. Mohr today; 12:30 on the dot, (which really means five minutes early; I learned this from my parents. Gilly, on the other hand, tends to travel El Al style; for those unfamiliar with this reference, it stands for ‘every landing always late). At approximately 12:40, Dr. Mohr passed us by and waved, smiling politely. His neurosurgical nurse, Chantal, greeted us similarly a few moments later as she whizzed by.
By 1:00, I sensed the now too familiar churning feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was up. There were no other patients waiting to see Dr. Mohr. What was the hold up, I wondered? At 1:12, the secretary informed us that they are experiencing technical difficulties in receiving the results, so Dr. Mohr would like to apologize for the delay. This made little sense. The MRI was done on April 25th. Someone either forgot to do his / her homework, or procrastinated until the last minute. The results should be on hand for a follow-up appointment, I would think, and carefully perused beforehand.
When we were escorted into Dr. Mohr’s office he informed us that the MRI shows a change, and this needs to be interpreted by Dr. Sultanen. He asked if Gilly is finished his treatments yet (an alarming question, when the impression we were given is that they work as a team. How does he not know this information???).
The words he used, prompted, I’m sure, by my direct, disconcerted glare, were:
“We see the traces of the biopsy. It is in the right spot. There appears to be more enhancement. It is catching up a little bit of contrast.” What any of this means is beyond me, but I can tell you that his next line confirmed that it wasn’t good news: “He’s on the right treatment.” He went on to suggest that perhaps since the treatment is only at the beginning stages, the regime will be altered. This is not comforting to hear, especially without proper information.
Dr. Mohr is the fellow who suggested we wait 8 weeks and do nothing, and watch the pattern of growth (or lack thereof0. In a perfect world he’d admit his faulty judgment and confess, “I stand corrected. It’s a good thing you chose not to listen to my advice. At least he’s started treatment. If we had waited until after the bumbling antics of today, we’d still be weeks behind the start of treatment; no mask, no markings…” But of course, that would never happen, and to tell you the truth, it wouldn’t change the circumstances much. It would help us to feel cared for, though.
Dr. Mohr has a bad reputation when it comes to bedside manner. We never really had a problem, except that he admonished us for taking notes (which he now ignores completely). Today, we received a dose of it, and the taste we’re left with is putrid.
I asked, “Does this mean it is no longer a grade II astrocytoma?” He said, “I repeat, Dr. Sultanen will have to interpret the results.” At this point, he was standing, attempting to usher us out of his office after a 4 minute visit. He explained that it is no longer an issue related to neurosurgery. It is an oncology matter, and we’ll just have to wait and see Dr. Sultanen. Gilly then sheepishly, innocently and hopefully asked, “Is this good news?” Dr. Mohr impatiently reiterated the response, “I repeat…” The rest fell on deaf ears.
Why call us to a follow-up appointment of this nature? It seems cruel and unnecessary. Either have your facts in order, or cancel the appointment until you do. All this appointment did was stir up further anxiety due to a little bit of disturbing information that we are left to mull over until the ‘team’ (and I use this term in a loose sense) gets their game plan in order. Sheryl’s notes explain that Gilly is supposed to see Dr. Sultanen every Wednesday. I understand that last Wednesday, we were only 3 days into treatment, but will he see us tomorrow? If so, when? Do I dash over for the scheduled radiation session (4:30) in case he graces us with his presence? Jerry is scheduled to take Gilly because I have another Vanier commitment tomorrow evening, and I was hoping to remain in St. Laurent between 4:30 (when I finish teaching) and 6 (when the meeting takes place) to attend to some work, but I feel I must be there if and when Dr. Sultanen spills the beans. I guess I’ll try to contact his nurse tomorrow during the day and see if she can tell us more. That way I’ll know how to manage my time. Vigit is good about returning calls.
When I arrived home to serve Gilly lunch earlier, and to take him to Dr. Mohr at noon today, I found him sitting on the balcony wearing a sunhat, petting Liylah. It was such an unusual sight. I called out, “You look like you're the mayor now.” Debra, across the street, agreed. We decided that Phil (her husband) better look out for his job. He is our retired neighbour, forever outdoors. He keeps tabs on whatever’s happening on the block. He has held the title for all 14 years we’ve known him. Watch out, Phil. Gilly may plan a takeover from his new perch!!!
I appreciate all the wonderfully generous gestures I receive daily; too many to mention them all, but you know who you are! One shining example: Last night, Anita called to offer Gilly a lift home from Dr. Mohr’s to allow me to return directly to work. I thanked her, and agreed to keep her posted. We didn’t agree on any particular location to meet; in fact, I was to call her cell phone after the appointment, and we’d decide then, based on the time, if the favour would be necessary. As soon as we moved out of the building, there was Anita, waiting patiently in exactly the right spot, as if we'd planned it in detail. An angel in disguise, I tell you.
On the whole, the fatigue is gradually setting in. Today, his answer to, “How are you feeling?” is “tired.” It’s to be expected, we’re told.
posted by Gilly at 7:30 PM
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