an update on the Icky Stuff, with Good News
I had my follow-up appointment with my gastroenterologist earlier this week.-- this was Young Dr. Young, the one whose colonoscopy put me in hospital.
I was told that none of the 24 polyps they biopsied showed any signs of being precancerous.
I do wish I could actually trust his medical judgement enough to take his word for it, but it's certainly hopeful. It would have helped if he hadn't talked down to me as if I couldn't hope to understand actual medical terminology. I was the one using words such as 'precancerous' while he used words like 'okay'. He said things such as "We put them [the polyps] under the microscope" instead of "We've received the results of the medical analysis on the biopsied material, and the results are . . . "
It's a damned good thing for him that I'm certain that he, himself, did not actually look at any of the biopsied polyps or make a medical decision about them. Because I don't trust his medical expertise. He's given me little reason to do so.
By the time I was 8, I remember my parents, particularly my mother, expecting my doctor to talk to me directly, to use basic medical terminolgy, and to define the terms that I didn't understand. They expected me, in turn, to pay attention and learn from the Nice Smart Doctor. I did.
Young Dr. Young is, at best, half my age. He's the one who didn't talk to me about after-effects and side effects. He still maintains that bleeding post-procedure was "a thousand to one chance".
He doesn't understand communicating with patients.
I may have to do my damndest to arrange for his ass to be Officially Kicked, because I'm still Officially Pissed.
But the most important thing is: at the end of the day, all my bits of Icky Stuff were apparently Innocent Icky Stuff, and I might not have to go through this again in a year, or even five years.
I was told that none of the 24 polyps they biopsied showed any signs of being precancerous.
I do wish I could actually trust his medical judgement enough to take his word for it, but it's certainly hopeful. It would have helped if he hadn't talked down to me as if I couldn't hope to understand actual medical terminology. I was the one using words such as 'precancerous' while he used words like 'okay'. He said things such as "We put them [the polyps] under the microscope" instead of "We've received the results of the medical analysis on the biopsied material, and the results are . . . "
It's a damned good thing for him that I'm certain that he, himself, did not actually look at any of the biopsied polyps or make a medical decision about them. Because I don't trust his medical expertise. He's given me little reason to do so.
By the time I was 8, I remember my parents, particularly my mother, expecting my doctor to talk to me directly, to use basic medical terminolgy, and to define the terms that I didn't understand. They expected me, in turn, to pay attention and learn from the Nice Smart Doctor. I did.
Young Dr. Young is, at best, half my age. He's the one who didn't talk to me about after-effects and side effects. He still maintains that bleeding post-procedure was "a thousand to one chance".
He doesn't understand communicating with patients.
I may have to do my damndest to arrange for his ass to be Officially Kicked, because I'm still Officially Pissed.
But the most important thing is: at the end of the day, all my bits of Icky Stuff were apparently Innocent Icky Stuff, and I might not have to go through this again in a year, or even five years.