Dear Doctor (you can insert name here),
I promised that this year I was going to be the kinder, gentler version of myself.
Until I sat in your office.
My appointment was at 8. You sent the resident to subdue us at 9:15.
Said resident obviously doesn’t know the ABC’s of nursing/medicine (Always Bring the Chart).
Also, it was very clear that when she finally did retrieve it, that she was either unable to read, or just didn’t take the time to do so. Why? Because, the poor darling was taken aback to find that my son has a g-tube.
Yet even better than that—she made a HUGE fuss over the fact that he’s adopted. As if that makes a big deal? He’s my child. Help him. His genetics play very little role in your assessment of him at this very moment.
When you arrived, you were in a big hurry to leave. Was it something I said?
I pay you approximately a gillion dollars a year to take care of my son. The least you can do is be respectful of my time—which you wasted nearly 2 hours of before you offered to see us. And by the way, next time…how about you just be honest? I mean, is it that hard to have a nurse say, “Gee, he’s caught up on rounds and is running a bit late? He should be here shortly. Why don’t y’all go down and find a cup of coffee and then come back?”
Finally, dear Doctor (insert name here)…stop it. Just stop. It is completely obvious that my kid is an enigma to you. Admit it. Don’t keep messing with him (and consequently me) just because you have MD after your name. I have a string of credentials after my name too…and when I don’t know an answer, I’m not afraid to admit it.
So, thanks for nothing– except for making my day a complete hot mess.
Oh, one more thing…the scruffy man-beard you’re trying to grow isn’t working. You look like a bit homeless.
See you in 3 months.
Grrr,
Heather