I have had some pretty unforgettable encounters with the bad and the ugly. One of my earliest memories was being hit across my face by the dentist's open hand. Fast forward to the complete communication failure by most of the staff during my harrowing miscarriage. An insensitive shrink who told me my life wasn't as bad as I had nervously disclosed to him. An anaesthetist who discarded my suggestions, which resulted in my daughter's post operative distress and the anaesthetist unavailable to treat her. A doctor sticking a needle into my thirteen month old son in my absence. The arrogance and failure of a ward round of doctors to attend to their patients' needs by insisting parents vacated the premises. That created a rebellion by families on a paediatric cardiac unit. We won.
I think I had quite a reasonable run for many years. We had compassionate, knowledgeable and available GPS. Alex's specialists were, on the whole, good guys. Callum was so rarely unwell that I ceased to worry about his physical health. An exceptional psychologist picked up the pieces of him in primary school and counselled him so he could survive the horror of school bullying. Later, the same psych was responsible for diagnosing Vanessa with autism and supporting her through the early days. We also were lucky enough to have two outstanding speech pathologists, who became part of Alex's life right up until he finished high school.
Those who read my blog would remember my open hostility to a nasty, arrogant, respiratory specialist when Michael was very sick in April 2014. I am sure the feelings were mutual. We ended up under the "care" (I used that term loosely) of that man as Michael's original specialist was on leave. Unbeknown to us at that time, we could have been looked after by Scott's team at Joondalup, but neither us nor our GP was aware of that option.
Five days, three changes of IV antibiotics, a specialist "missing in action" as I pleaded for him to attend to Michael, lax nursing and unrecorded observations added to the nightmare. I became convinced on that final day that Michael was going to die. He was hallucinating, had stopped urinating, was too weak to sit up and was spiking horrendous fevers that the staff appeared unable to stabilise. My final plead became an ultimatum - that the specialist should come or I was removing Michael from that particular hospital.
He waltzed in with his entourage at half past five in the evening. Whilst I was protesting about leaving Michael on a drug that was damaging his liver, the specialist turned his back on me. And I saw red.
An hour later, we were in Emergency at Joondalup Hospital. After being treated in the waiting room, a bed became available for Michael in emergency ninety minutes later. Within another hour, he was stabilised, admitted under Scott and asleep in the respiratory ward. And Michael didn't die.
Since that last very Bad and very Ugly episode, I have become somewhat wary about new doctors in both of our lives. Our York GPs - check. Michael's gastroenterologist - check. Our shrink - check. Northam dentist - check.
Now we have to find a vascular surgeon for Michael. Our GP suggested we phone around to find out details such as - location, bulk billing (or not) and ancillary staff. I just wanted to find one who hadn't attended Arrogant Doctor School.
Last Thursday, at the Artists' Group, this quest was made easier. Mitch mentioned a vascular surgeon who had looked after her husband, bulk billed, was cordial and approachable and had done the job efficiently and well. And as Mitch is a no nonsense girl, I can't imagine her mincing words or exchanging pleasantries with any type of fool.
So, we are waiting with bated breath. We have the appointment. Now we will see if he is one of the Good Guys. For all our sakes, I certainly hope so.
How to recognise the bad and the ugly...
Then there are the good -
Mark Flynn
Luigi D'Orsogna
Scott Claxton
and Susie Stevenson.
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