Eyeball Action

Yesterday was my annual appointment with the neuro-ophthalmologist. Most of the exam was done by his resident (AKA baby doc), Henry who seemed like a nice kid. King Neuro Op came in later to have a very quick look-see, pronounce that I’m fine and then spoke with Ten about details. He was out the door before I had time to say EXCUSE me, I’M the patient. TALK to ME!

I expected he’d only pop in for a quick, unengaged check—it’s his usual thing. I didn’t anticipate that he’d treat me as though I was a dimwitted child who couldn’t possibly understand what he was saying.

Fer fuck’s sake, I’m deaf, not stupid! Yes, the past five years of surgery after surgery, unending rehab, learning to walk again and being ever watchful for any new tumor symptoms and weird side effects (from surgery, meds and such) has, at times, been pretty damn overwhelming BUT the more informed I am, the less scary everything is. So, NOT stupid but occasionally overwhelmed.

What IS scary? Politics. Republican lies, gaslighting and other skullduggery is unnerving and just fucking frightful (mostly because so many citizens actually believe all the obvious rhino shit they spew). The difference is that when I get bad medical news, a plan is made. The more I learn and understand about the ins and outs of NF2 (and whatever specific bullshit I’m up against at the moment) the lower my anxiety levels. Sure, I’m still gambling but my roll of the dice is fed by science not vibes. With politics there are, seemingly, a lot more wickedly unpredictable moving parts.

I think what this all comes down to is that I just don’t trust King Neuro Op. It’s his, at best, cursory exams, the fact that he never seems to have done his homework (READ MY CHART, MAN!!!) and yesterday’s topper, talking to my partner instead of me, his motherfucking patient.

I’m curious, did he think, because I was focusing on my tablet with the voice to text app running instead of looking him in the eye, that I wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying? Did he think I was surfing the intertoobz for the latest celebrity gossip? This wasn’t my first time using the device in his office so I figured he knew. Also, I didn’t need to explain it the Henry, the baby doc.

I don’t know. I just don’t. Okay, I do know—it’s time to talk with Plotkin (my neurologist) about getting a neuro op who’s more engaged and knows how to communicate with deafies. This won’t be the first time I’ve fired a doc for poor performance. It still feels weird though. I mean, the doc has crazy amounts of education and experience under his belt. Me? I have a BA in fine arts with follow up courses in ceramic chemistry, medical illustration, and graphic design apps. Who am I to judge his ability and practices?

I’m an unsatisfied customer. THAT’S who I am.