I Fought The Law and The Law Won

Fucking Barnsy. Stubborn motherfucker.

He would not budge one inch on the important stuff. Nor would he provide any explanation.

The follow-up appointment to surgery is still 4/20. I had knee surgery on 4/8. No physical therapy scheduled before that. The only small victory I racked up was to get Barnsy to sign off for physical therapy in Henniker. A very small victory indeed.

Fucker never even talked to me. I spoke to his office 3 times, every time through a go-between. Because, of course, he's a surgeon - he sits on a throne at the right hand of god. He cannot deign to speak to a commoner - it might taint his saintly patina. Even though he took a fucking knife to my knee. The last time I spoke to this son of a bitch was weeks before surgery.

When you question a fucking doctor in this great land of ours they dig in their heels. "How dare you question me?" Fucking ego-bloated poseurs.

Treating a medical problem should be a conversation. I'm sure it is in civilized countries. america is not civilized. america allows the medical system to rape patients financially, charging them 10 times what a procedure is worth. And decisions are made on the basis of insurance coverage, not considerations of health.

In a related story, when I was diagnosed with prostate cancer and Dr. Feelgood was reviewing options with me, my brain shut down. I asked questions, but as he deluged me with information and options it became clear to me that I could not absorb it all right then and there. I was a bit shaky.

So I asked him more than once "You're going to write this down or give me a handout, right? Because I won't remember everything you are saying." Finally he went out to see an administrator in his office and came back in with a book on prostate cancer - his departmental book, the one they use internally. He was visibly irritated.

Now dig, this is a guy I like. A lot. Straight shooter. No condescenion. But I pushed him about as far as he was gonna go. Why? Because I was asking questions.

Great Side Story: Leading up to the prostate cancer diagnosis, over a period of a year or two, it felt like I was in his office once a week. And every fucking time, he performed the classic digital evaluation. One time in particular I was back in his office, close on the heels of a previous appointment. I was positive he would not stick his finger up my ass. When he told me to drop my pants I rolled my eyes. And he said "You know, this is not fun for me either." I loved it.

Back to Barnsy. When I see him on 4/20 I am bringing a 2x4, hammer, and nails. When I get into his office I'm going to nail the fucking door shut. He doesn't leave until I have all the information I need. And I'm going to call him Sean. Not Dr. Burns. That should reduce him to a quivering, mass of gelatinous goo.

Medical Scorecard in 2022:

So far, I had an old crown that had popped off, re-glued by Dr. Dentist. I went in the very next day to have it re-glued again because it popped off overnight - again. I had a root canal. I had knee surgery. I am having another crown installed tomorrow. Monday I get another hormone shot in the fight against prostate cancer.

The second half of 2022 will be spectacular.