When I arrived at 11:15 for my 11:15 appointment, the receptionist was on the phone instructing another patient to arrive on time for her appointment, and to call to reschedule if she was going to be late...
forty minutes later, I was still in the waiting room, and when I had the Gaul to say "excuse me, but, my appointment was for 11:15" the little blonde with the chart put her hand on her hip, rolled her eyes and indignantly said "We are running a few minutes behind."
"Three is a few my dear. That's expected. This however is unacceptable."
"This IS A Medical office." She said while rolling her eyes. "You can reschedule if you want."
(Add a piece of gum and some big ball earrings and she could have passed for Mrs. ZWhiggins on the Carol Burnett Show.)
"I will wait five more minutes, then I am leaving. I have a schedule to keep too."
So they take me in a room. The snippy blonde wants to get my pulse, weight, and blood pressure.
"I thought I was here to consult with the doctor about the results of my sleep study?"
"Im supposed to do this to everybody. And I have to ask some questions too." She said with a big case of attitude.
The questions were repeats of the ones that I had answered on a form I filled out the last time I was there. This was to be my last visit to this office, as the sleep study was complete, so I can not imagine how my current pulse had any revelance other than to show this woman just exactly how irate I was.
"Wait here the doctor will be in to see you in a moment."
I recalled that the Doctors office was in another building on the other side of town, and that I had never seen him here at the sleep clinic. I also recalled my phone call with the receptionist:
"The study results are in. Can you come in Monday so we can order your [stupid acme sleep contraption?]
"shouldn't I discuss the results with my Doctor before you purchase this machine? How do we know that I need it?"
"Oh....(sigh) you want to see the doctor?"
Then there is a knock on the door. In walks a man in a white coat, stethoscope around his neck, medical chart in hand.
"Im here to go over your results."
He starts in telling me what's in the file, and getting me all buttered up to think I need his silly air machine.
He also wants to prescribe Parkinson medications to me for restless leg syndrome.
"How exactly does this medication react in the body."
"Well, we not sure, but it stops restless leg."
"What causes restless leg?"
"We're not sure."
"So you are just treating the symptoms without any knowledge of the cause or any data on the long term effects of this drug?"
"It seems to work."
He wants to tell me about how all people stop breating for certain amounts of time while they sleep, and where I fall within the range, and how this "Forced Air Breating Machine" will make me feel rested and young and wealthy and even popular!
I on the other hand, simply wanted to know about my heart condition...you know, the reason my doctor sent me there in the first place.
He didn't know nothin bout that Scarlet.
I then notice the name tag hes wearing: Physicians Assistant.
O.K. Now, I'm Postal.
I got up to leave.
"Please forward the results to my primary physician."
"wait, don't you want your machine?"
"No thank you. I've wasted enough of my time today."
"O.K we'll send it to him."
"Her." I corrected, with a forced burst of hot air.