Archive for doctors

Retardidment: The Medical Shit

Posted in Army, Humor, Rant with tags , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2015 by BrainRants

Yes, I’m still alive.  Some of you lame songwriter hopefuls might be disappointed in this news, but there you go.  I’ve given you two posts Continue reading

My Sleep Issues – The Final Chapter

Posted in Afghanistan, Awesome, Humor, Random, Rant with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 17, 2012 by BrainRants

I have to admit that I really must have milked my snoring problem for about all that it’s worth… almost. I think I get – and you deserve (awesome gold-star winners that you are, my Rants Army!) – to know the dénouement Continue reading

Pre-Deployment Fun: PDHA

Posted in Afghanistan, Army, Humor, Rant with tags , , , , , , on January 4, 2012 by BrainRants

Okay, troops, sit down and listen up. Here’s the next installment of my ongoing adventures in getting my ass into Afghanistan. This one focuses on the process of me proving I’m healthy enough to go to war. Continue reading

Doctor Management

Posted in Army, Humor with tags , , , , , on October 19, 2011 by BrainRants

I’m pretty sure all doctors pre-screen patients with each visit. You know, the height, weight, blood-pressure routine. Army medicine follows this with some cool added features. I’ve ranted here about the fact that in the past year or more more management…

Major Medical

Posted in Army, Family, Humor with tags , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2011 by BrainRants

Since the epic two-part screed on Di’s adventures in the Army medical system was so well-received, I thought it would be entertaining to add a page from my own medical mishap book. Now, my book is much, much thinner than Di’s, so this is probably the only event that is moderately humorous. Also unlike Di’s book, thus far none of the chapters contain near-death experiences such as failed cartwheels. Continue reading

A Healthy Rant, Part Two: Is There A Doctor In The House?

Posted in Army, Family, Rant, Worst with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 15, 2011 by BrainRants

I Salute You, Dr. FailWagon

The undoubtedly highly-anticipated follow-up to Part One of the Grand Rant on doctors is here. One thing I failed to mention in Part 1 was the fact that through all this silliness, my only medical issues involved routine preventative checkups and an abortive investigation of my snoring, which was elective. To me the ominous implication here is this: God forbid something bad happen to me and cause both of us have to deal with this bullshit we’re shoveling.

One over-arching aspect of this ineptitude that really feels like wiping my ass with four-ought steel wool is the notion that military medicine – Tricare – basically treats spouses as second-tier efforts. While I can see the business logic behind that, I’m pissed nonetheless. In truth, Army Spouses (in general) and my Army Wife (in particular) do so much to facilitate my ongoing excuse for a career that without them, we’d have to get out of the Service. Therefore, by my logic, their medical treatment ought to be Priority One.

And so, without further delay, please enjoy the rest of the list of DocTard Greatest Hits:

Later, with other leg pain different than described in Part 1, we explored sciatica and other notions. After months of tests and referrals, we finally get an MRI we were asking for and discover bulging discs and an associated degenerative condition. The proposed solution? “Let them be until they get really, really bad and at that point probably have a few months of consults to decide to fix. In the meantime we’ll give you medieval shots in your spine and medicate you with this Motrin.” Jury still out on this issue.

Five months of increasingly severe and embarrassing gastrointestinal problems pass before discovering gallstones. However, the kickoff event was a trip to the civilian emergency room because the military hospital couldn’t treat her. This occurring while I was on the road no less. Di gets left in a corner for hours, in pain, only to be told that she would get no free drugs and should take her junkie ass home. An x-ray, I.V., and insult later, she’s standing outside the ER miles from home with no ride and me 500 miles farther away. We didn’t even bother trying to put in a claim for the taxi fare.

Following this circus of error and fail, I draft two pointed letters of complaint. One went to the hospital and named names. The other went to Tricare and named the hospital. The hospital did an investigation and reprimanded the doctor. Tricare ignored me, other than the letter I got acknowledging reciept of my complaint. The doctor never apologized in person as I asked… ok, fine, demanded would be a better word.

Three more months and a new specialist DocTard later we now have esophigeal erosion and Crohn’s… we think. Confirming that would require surgery. One painful night after an invasive procedure I personally hope to never endure, I find Di in a fetal pain-ball on the bed. Bloated and near tears, she looks pregnant (which at this point would not surprise me one bit though I know the OBGYN on that would likely ask us how that happened). Having the cell number to this gastro “doctor” on hand, I call. Conversation ensues:

    • ME: [Describes symptoms, notes extreme pain and bloating] “So is this a typical reaction to a (the procedure’s name)?”
    • DOCTARD: “No, not typical at all.”
    • SILENCE DURING LONG, AWKWARD PAUSE
    • ME: “Ok, so what should we do?”
    • DOCTARD: “Well you can either wait until morning to see what happens, or possibly go to an emergency room.”
    • ME: “Look, I’m a tanker, not a doctor. That’s what you do. That’s why I called you.”
    • DOCTARD: “Well, what do you want to do?”
    • ME: [Supremely pissed because you can’t slam a cell phone down for a soul-jarring hang-up effect] * click *

The latest, greatest, and scariest episode was part of the Great Cartwheel Incident that I have related here. Once again at the terminus of an ambulance ride into Kansas City, and yet again while I am on the road, this time 1500 miles distant, Di gets admitted and then has a full-body x-ray. Sounding familiar here? So this time, she can’t move her leg or arms, and rates her pain as a “15” on the one to ten scale. The piece-of-shit excuse for a doctor that night in the ER decides to let her hang out until morning, when they do an MRI and discover the crushed disk that of course wouldn’t show up on an x-ray. At least they avoided accidentally facilitating some addict’s problem.  Recurring theme here and recurring fail.  That’s what tests are for, jackwagon.

Ok, so that rant complete, I will now go update my “People To Kill in a Dark Alley” list.

A Healthy Rant, Part One: Is There A Doctor In The House?

Posted in Army, Family, Humor, Rant, Worst with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 8, 2011 by BrainRants

I Salute You, FailPuppet!

I swear to God if we don’t start getting some good help here by way of doctors soon I’m going to go on a six state killing spree.  By now regular readers know of Di’s recent gymnastic fail (The Cartwheel Incident), but what you don’t probably realize (unless you’re related) is that 2011 has been a mighty sucky year for her health-wise.  Suffice it to say there has been ongoing healthcare (their term) since I returned from Afghanistan last July.  Ok, technically that’s also 2010.  Let’s ignore that technicality.  This issue has enough history and I have enough rage to necessitate pouring this dose of Hateorade into two cups.  Stay tuned because sometime in the next week I’ll empty my spleen into a warm mug of Part 2.

This isn’t a political rant, but I can’t not take a free poke at Obamacare.  If you’re in the military, you’re under a thing called Tricare (use air quotes when pronouncing the “care” syllable), and it is probably the equivalent of whatever this retarded experiment toward expanded Socialism we had to pass to find out what it was about.  Tricare and its regional Inquisition Board, TriWest, flat out suck.  Period.  If I had a nickel for all the administrivial, amateur-hour, B-team bullshit mistakes they’ve made, I could retire to my dream woodshop.  They’ll approve an MRI but spent a week deliberating – and ultimately denying – a $50 shower chair.

As if this piss-poor version of Socialist Heathcare isn’t bad enough to deal with, layer incompetent, distracted, and risk-averse doctors on that cake and serve it up a la mode with a steaming turd on the side.  To be clear here up front, the studs and studettes overseas saving lives are awesome and get a personal “rock on” from me.  I’ve seen them in action.  My complaint is with the backwater Army hospital guys still here, mainly civilians, who generally fail miserably at holding up this end of the system.  I also include the nonmilitary doctors Di has been referred to off post who have all the personality and warmth of a doorknob.  For military spouses, this is a routine occurrence since apparently the system is set up to get the spouse out of the hospital as soon as possible at least cost to the government.  Note: Josh, you are an exception and thank you.

Here are some gems from past experiences in the ongoing drama of Di’s medical adventures.  Keep in mind there are more catalogued in reality than I have room to put up here:

When suffering from persistent pain in her legs, mainly calves, we explored shin splints, stress fractures, gout, and a couple other possibilities.  Each dead end had a unique medication, and nobody was checking the drug interactions.  A pain specialist finally did and was shocked because some of the interacting chemicals were causing the pain.  Effin’ genius.

After religiously completing annual checkups for the usual suspects in, you know, the feminine-issue category, Di gets increasingly depressed and distraught while I’m 8700 miles away in Afghanistan.  This was not due to either my absence or Daughter Unit The Second’s amazingly self-absorbed and entitled attitude.  We find out later she’s post-menopausal.  Emphasis on the “post” here.  Isn’t that something you’d think to check in a forty-something woman in between the boob-smash Polaroid and the junk spelunking?  Menopause, as I understand it, isn’t some kind of earthquake or tornado event that can’t be planned for.  It’s more like a hurricane, but worse.

Tune in later for Part Two and more exciting tales of failure and ineptitude…