|I hate this bed! I hate this sight!|
After three weeks, the surgical glue began to loosen on the 7-inch incision and part of it--about 1.5 inches worth--gapped. I was afraid my entrails would tumble out or something else unappealing.
It was a Friday. The surgeon's office said to text a picture of my wound, which looked infected--white and green goop.
By the time, I got the picture to them, it was Saturday...and the receptionist (or whoever's phone number it was) said go to the ER.
When I hauled my sore, arthritic self over there, they kept saying why are you here? No tests, no IV--just why. I said because my doctor said to come.
The nurse assigned to me told me my guts were not going to spill out. Pretty much all I wanted to know.
We kept asking was a doctor from our group there to talk to me? No one seemed to know.
After three hours on their rock hard cot, my right knee was dislocated and screaming in pain.
Finally a young man showed up, introduced himself by first name only, and under questioning, indicated he was from our doctor's group--but was a Physician Asst, not a doctor.
He glanced at my gaping incision and said make an appt in the office for Monday.
What? We already had an appt for the following Friday.
All this cost me a $75 copay for the ER, plus money for Ubers there and back...$100. For nothing.
I will take it up with the surgeon today at the scheduled appt.
This young man also made it clear that he had much better things to do than look at some old gal coming apart at the seams...He could not wait to get away from me.