INTIMIDATION ALERT!
The other night (probably Thursday, February 2, 2012), while watching the evening TV-news on delay, we managed to catch a snippet of “Grey’s Anatomy” while fast-forwarding ads.
We never watch “Grey’s Anatomy.” It seems to be an evening hospital soap-opera, torrid and boring, full of vapid hunks and lithesome lassies.
The snippet had an older man, probably in his 60s, sick in a hospital-bed, his doting wife at his side.
Suddenly a lady-doctor strode in. “Hi, I’m Doctor (whatever). I’ll be doing your (whatever)!”
Older man and his wife were utterly cowed, sheepish.
Not this kid!
“You’re gonna do what?” I snapped.
This is how I am with medical elitists; “Get off your high-horse!
“Wait a minute,” I’d say. “You’re not doing anything unless I know what you’re doing.
You can’t just stride in and push me around.”
Intimidation Alert!
I drove city transit bus, so have lots of experience parrying strident blowhards.
“It’s my body, so you can just cool your jets, honey.”
That’s not what I’d say, of course.
What I’d say is “What brought that on?” a comment I used driving bus that always worked.
My father always badmouthed me — told me I was reprehensible and of-the-Devil.
Until one day, after starting bus-driving, I used that comment on him.
It stopped him in his tracks; first time in 35 years.
It always worked driving bus because I had a valid point.
I was indicating my opponent was being a jerk.
We get this at Wilmot Cancer Center (“will-MOTT;” as in “Mott’s applesauce”).
But they know; they’re not bad at all.
They know I won’t take any crap, and my wife looks up their intended treatments on the Internet.
I guess that makes us involved patients, not some utterly buffaloed geezers that humbly bow to the self-declared wisdom of medical elitists.
We question things (Gasp — awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity).
• My wife has cancer, but supposedly it’s not fatal, at least not yet. It’s supposedly treatable. Actually, she has two cancers: -a) Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, and -b) metastatic breast-cancer. The Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma appeared about four years ago as a hard tumor in her abdomen. That was poofed with C-H-O-P chemotherapy, which we can no longer use. The metastatic breast-cancer did not have a primary site; it never appeared in her breasts. It was first noticed in her bones, where breast-cancer metastasizes. We knocked that back with Femara®, the trade-name for Letrozole. Femara is an estrogen inhibitor. Her breast-cancer was estrogen-positive. Her breast-cancer just about disappeared. But both cancers have since reappeared, but mainly the Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, which we are now treating with radiation. The Letrozole is now generic.
• “CHOP” chemotherapy is Cyclophosphamide, Hydroxydaunorubicin (also called doxorubicin or Adriamycin), Oncovin (vincristine), and Prednisone or prednisolone.
We never watch “Grey’s Anatomy.” It seems to be an evening hospital soap-opera, torrid and boring, full of vapid hunks and lithesome lassies.
The snippet had an older man, probably in his 60s, sick in a hospital-bed, his doting wife at his side.
Suddenly a lady-doctor strode in. “Hi, I’m Doctor (whatever). I’ll be doing your (whatever)!”
Older man and his wife were utterly cowed, sheepish.
Not this kid!
“You’re gonna do what?” I snapped.
This is how I am with medical elitists; “Get off your high-horse!
“Wait a minute,” I’d say. “You’re not doing anything unless I know what you’re doing.
You can’t just stride in and push me around.”
Intimidation Alert!
I drove city transit bus, so have lots of experience parrying strident blowhards.
“It’s my body, so you can just cool your jets, honey.”
That’s not what I’d say, of course.
What I’d say is “What brought that on?” a comment I used driving bus that always worked.
My father always badmouthed me — told me I was reprehensible and of-the-Devil.
Until one day, after starting bus-driving, I used that comment on him.
It stopped him in his tracks; first time in 35 years.
It always worked driving bus because I had a valid point.
I was indicating my opponent was being a jerk.
We get this at Wilmot Cancer Center (“will-MOTT;” as in “Mott’s applesauce”).
But they know; they’re not bad at all.
They know I won’t take any crap, and my wife looks up their intended treatments on the Internet.
I guess that makes us involved patients, not some utterly buffaloed geezers that humbly bow to the self-declared wisdom of medical elitists.
We question things (Gasp — awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity).
• My wife has cancer, but supposedly it’s not fatal, at least not yet. It’s supposedly treatable. Actually, she has two cancers: -a) Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, and -b) metastatic breast-cancer. The Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma appeared about four years ago as a hard tumor in her abdomen. That was poofed with C-H-O-P chemotherapy, which we can no longer use. The metastatic breast-cancer did not have a primary site; it never appeared in her breasts. It was first noticed in her bones, where breast-cancer metastasizes. We knocked that back with Femara®, the trade-name for Letrozole. Femara is an estrogen inhibitor. Her breast-cancer was estrogen-positive. Her breast-cancer just about disappeared. But both cancers have since reappeared, but mainly the Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, which we are now treating with radiation. The Letrozole is now generic.
• “CHOP” chemotherapy is Cyclophosphamide, Hydroxydaunorubicin (also called doxorubicin or Adriamycin), Oncovin (vincristine), and Prednisone or prednisolone.
posted by BobbaLew at 11:36 AM
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