Rheumatology rant incoming. I didn’t sleep last night, and there are going to be f-bombs in the paragraphs that follow. If you stick around for this post, welcome. If you’re not in the mood, you might want to look up cat videos or something on another site, because I’m having a PTSD bout, and I am pissed. 100%. From concentrate.

First, a refresher. I was referred to a rheumatologist by my oncologist over this whole swollen lymph node thing. I have had a second (after some years) positive, speckled ANA, and a host of unexplained symptoms. I’ve been through three biopsies, had a fuckton of imaging done, and am medically bankrupt AGAIN.

I can’t drive. I can barely walk. And I am in all-over pain every second of every day. I spend my extremely limited muscle energy going to medical appointments, eating, and making sure I get to the toilet before the magic happens. Yet daily I try to maintain my humor and give people the benefit of the doubt.

Not today, though. Today I unleash my last couple of fucks on this blog. Those bitches want OUT.

Because I was a new patient to the referred rheumatologist, two appointments were scheduled at the outset: one for the initial consult and one a couple of weeks later to go over lab results.

You may recall that I wasn’t thrilled about going to Missouri for the appointments, was discouraged that I’d pay out the ass for more unhelpful shoulder shrugging, and also my insurance was changing. Nightmares all the way around.

When no one was available to take me to suburban St. Louis and then the car broke down, I wasn’t exactly upset about having to cancel those two appointments. That much is true. But I didn’t dawdle about letting the office know I couldn’t make it.

I went back to my oncologist for my routine follow-up in May. He asked me why I didn’t go to rheumatology (or infectious disease, but that’s not relevant to this rant). I didn’t have energy to go over the sordid details with him, so I went with an honest summation: I needed a break.

Dr. Oncologist understood but urged me to at least see a rheumatologist because of the ANA test results. I was reluctant because fucking Missouri, man. But I agreed.

I called rheumatology to reschedule, didn’t get an answer, listened to the “you will be charged $50 for cancelling without giving 24-hours notice message” and didn’t leave a smart-ass “even if I’m in the ER?” voicemail. I did, however, leave my name and number.

Crickets from them for over a week.

I called again and got through today, and the woman who scheduled me said “You’ve cancelled twice. One more cancellation and we won’t reschedule.”

I held my tongue. I’m sure she didn’t make the policy, and I don’t swear at messengers.

But I’m going to guess she doesn’t read this blog and ask: What the FUCKING fuck kind of fucking policy is that for any fucking doctor to have?

I’m triggered over this because I’ve never had a positive or medically enlightening experience with a rheumatologist. First, there was the Rheumatologist from Hell who misdiagnosed me with fibromyalgia. Then there was the rheumatologist after him who “didn’t treat fibromyalgia patients.”

And now this fucking guy.

I had brain cancer the whole time rheumatologists 1 and 2 billed me for nothing and did nothing, respectively. I still have it now.

So, yeah, not in a terribly accommodating mood at the moment. And I could explain that I have fucking brain cancer. That I can’t drive. That I was recovering from a surgical biopsy with a host of other miserable symptoms. But I shouldn’t fucking have to. I should be treated like a human being and so should anyone else, cancer or not.

Fuck these assholes and their assumption that everyone cancels because they don’t appreciate a doctor’s time.

There are certainly things I don’t appreciate, but that isn’t fucking one of them.

Am I potentially making a bad situation worse by blogging about this publicly with a unique last name and rare diagnosis? Yes.

Do I care? Fuck no I don’t.

End rheumatology rant.

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