Baby Bird Breaths, Part III
Besides being extremely challenging medically, I am also a hospital snob. I despise small-town hospitals -- I only go to them when I need a minor prescription or flu shot -- and am only comfortable in big-city, tersiary-care institutions. In addition, I prefer that the center be a teaching hospital, as I possess a fondness for residents dating back to before I even knew what ER was. It's amusing to be a unique part of their residency, although, it is not as fun when I'm admitted with pneumonia only to have med-school tourists visiting the side-show act, "A Girl and Her Iron Lung."
I also prefer male doctors. They do a better job and are often more confident. These sexist opinions, I feel, are justified, because I base them on 23 years of personal experience. Admittedly, I have encountered a few female doctors that I enjoy and trust; my current PCP is a woman. However, the ratio of positive, successful female experiences to negative fuck-ups is one in three, and usually their errors need to be corrected by men. For years, I had this doctor who always performed a specific procedure on me, and she had to call her male colleague for help almost every time. He would fix in 10 minutes what she had been working on for 50. Are the majority of female doctors equal in skill to male doctors? Probably, and much of this depends on education as well. But I still feel more comfortable about being examined by you if you have a penis.
Male doctors tend to possess the attributes I like, too -- confidence (at times giving way to arrogance), brevity, coldness. Come in, assess, diagnose correctly, treat correctly, get out; that's what I want. Like Hugh Laurie on House, M.D., but without the 45 minutes of life-threatening misdiagnoses. Sometimes I hate their opinions. When I was nine, my doctor sent me to Children's Hospital in Pittsburgh to be admitted, and I screamed at him and told him how much I hated him, even though I needed the care. Then in May 2005, after the most severe pneumonia I've ever had, Dr. Jonathan Finder forced me to start using The Emerson Cough Assist, which requires that a mask be held firmly over my mouth and nose for roughly a minute. And we all know about mask drama.
All that said, yesterday, a mere six days after having both of my wrists unsuccessfully pricked at Excela Health Latrobe Hospital, which in many ways is a fine facility for less high-maintenance patients with normal-size blood vessels, I ventured into Pittsburgh to Allegheny General Hospital for a second try at blood gases. To my great joy, I was quickly escorted to the pulmonary lab, where Mr. Freeze, so named because of his complete frigidity, seemingly effortlessly drew a syringe of blood within 30 seconds. That includes prepping the site with alcohol and answering, in single-word replies, my mother's one-sided attempts at friendly small talk.
Once he had tested the sample, Mr. Freeze admitted to initial feelings of doubt about successfully hitting the artery. I appreciate that he showed no apprehension, though. Cold and confident. Mr. Freeze, you just earned yourself spot number two on the list, right under Tamika (No. 1), who somehow drew three vials of blood from between my spidery fingers in April.
I also prefer male doctors. They do a better job and are often more confident. These sexist opinions, I feel, are justified, because I base them on 23 years of personal experience. Admittedly, I have encountered a few female doctors that I enjoy and trust; my current PCP is a woman. However, the ratio of positive, successful female experiences to negative fuck-ups is one in three, and usually their errors need to be corrected by men. For years, I had this doctor who always performed a specific procedure on me, and she had to call her male colleague for help almost every time. He would fix in 10 minutes what she had been working on for 50. Are the majority of female doctors equal in skill to male doctors? Probably, and much of this depends on education as well. But I still feel more comfortable about being examined by you if you have a penis.
Male doctors tend to possess the attributes I like, too -- confidence (at times giving way to arrogance), brevity, coldness. Come in, assess, diagnose correctly, treat correctly, get out; that's what I want. Like Hugh Laurie on House, M.D., but without the 45 minutes of life-threatening misdiagnoses. Sometimes I hate their opinions. When I was nine, my doctor sent me to Children's Hospital in Pittsburgh to be admitted, and I screamed at him and told him how much I hated him, even though I needed the care. Then in May 2005, after the most severe pneumonia I've ever had, Dr. Jonathan Finder forced me to start using The Emerson Cough Assist, which requires that a mask be held firmly over my mouth and nose for roughly a minute. And we all know about mask drama.
All that said, yesterday, a mere six days after having both of my wrists unsuccessfully pricked at Excela Health Latrobe Hospital, which in many ways is a fine facility for less high-maintenance patients with normal-size blood vessels, I ventured into Pittsburgh to Allegheny General Hospital for a second try at blood gases. To my great joy, I was quickly escorted to the pulmonary lab, where Mr. Freeze, so named because of his complete frigidity, seemingly effortlessly drew a syringe of blood within 30 seconds. That includes prepping the site with alcohol and answering, in single-word replies, my mother's one-sided attempts at friendly small talk.
Once he had tested the sample, Mr. Freeze admitted to initial feelings of doubt about successfully hitting the artery. I appreciate that he showed no apprehension, though. Cold and confident. Mr. Freeze, you just earned yourself spot number two on the list, right under Tamika (No. 1), who somehow drew three vials of blood from between my spidery fingers in April.
posted by Claire C. Cake at 8:06 AM
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