Yesterday ended at Johnny Rockets.
Because I was blue.
Because onion rings seemed a good way to cope.
Because the doctor did not give me good news.
Because I'm blessed with a good man who kept hugging me and wanted to make me smile.
I have moderate-to-severe lung inflammation. Apparently, because of the Wegener's, a springtime cold morphed into a hairy beast with fangs.
The doctor is new to me, as my regular is out on maternity leave. He's highly educated, I know, but he was almost silent the whole time. Not comfortable. He read my records while I sat quietly.
Then he asked a few questions and started typing while I answered. He was typing my report!! Are you kidding me? He was editing an old report and putting in the new info with yee ole Hunt-n-Peck method. I saw him pause under the heading, Social History, where it says I'm a medical transcriptionist. I broke the silence with, "Yep, I type faster than you." He did chuckle, so I decided not to completely hate him.
Then he blew it. "Have you ever been on a corticosteroid?" (prednisone)
Umm, how's your reading comprehension, doc? It's in every report.
To my shame, I then became an emotional female who doesn't want to gain another 10 lbs. Which I said. To a young, skinny Asian male physician. He just looked at me. Could the gulf between us get any wider?
He then left the room after a brief examination. When he came back, he spoke more than 10 words, all about what I suspected. The above diagnosis, concerns that it's WG related, prescriptions for antibiotics and prednisone, and orders for labs and x-rays. But he softened for a minute and said we'd just try a blast of prednisone for two weeks, not six months, and hopefully it won't cause weight gain. And he tried a faint smile!!
When he demanded that I return in one week, I meekly agreed.