A New Song Just Past the Horizon Part II

Sissy sat in my living room on a Friday afternoon last fall; we both knew she was not doing well. She was starting to spiral downward, and having taken herself off of all her medicine, she was having trouble sleeping as well.

Her current doctor was almost out of ideas. Sometimes when patients don’t respond to the usual treatment modalities that a physician tries, they mentally give up; I believe her doctor had reached that point. She had tried ordering a few different drugs, and had tweaked dosages and combinations. Getting refills each month was a headache, and her office staff treated Sissy as if she were a drug addict seeking illicit drugs, rather than a paying patient just trying to get refills on the medicines her doctor had ordered. They made me ashamed to be in the same profession with them.

There was a new physician in town, closer to where Sissy lives, and she wanted to try him; I made her promise to call him on Monday for an appointment. When Monday morning came, I got a text from her saying his office was not accepting new patients. "Pick another doctor," I texted back to her. "I don’t know who to pick," was her reply. I was starting to become irritated with her, so I called Summer.

"Will you please call your Aunt Sis?" I asked her. "I am losing patience with her. Please just get her insurance information and get her in to see someone, anyone. Today if possible."  "Sure," she told me.

Minutes later Summer was calling me back. "Mom, she’s a mess," she told me. She said Sissy was crying so hard she could hardly understand her. She hadn’t slept in three days, but had paced the floor and cried all weekend. "She’s barely able to put words together," she told me. But she had her insurance information and would try to get her in to see a doctor today.

A short time later Summer called me back; there were lots of doctors taking new patients, but none of them could see her today. We had to either take her to the emergency room OR try to get her in to see her regular doctor, the one she didn’t want to see anymore. We really had no choice; Summer would call her regular doctor.

"Well," she said when she called me back a little while later, "I had to pull the RN card. I hate doing that." That is nurse talk. It’s what nurses do as a last resort when we’re talking to other nurses on the phone and not making any headway. We work it into the conversation that we are an RN; that trumps the office nurse, because they are usually LPN’s. In the hierarchy of nursing, that’s like a First Sergeant vs a Private. It just levels the playing field, and it worked.

They did not want to see Sissy today, and listed reason after reason why. But my beautiful daughter persisted, until they finally and reluctantly told her they would work Sissy in at 2:50, but she needed to be prepared to wait, because they were SO VERY BUSY.  She thanked them very nicely, this brilliant daughter of mine, and passed the ball back to me. I would make sure to have her there on time.

I hardly recognized Sissy’s voice when I called to tell her; three days with no sleep had taken a huge toll on her already fragile body.  Although she assured me she was able to drive to my house and meet me, she later called back and said she just couldn’t do it; could I please come get her? And so I did.

We were actually in the waiting room by 2:00; two other patients were there ahead of us in this OH SO VERY BUSY office. While we waited, other patients straggled in, one at a time, and every single one of them were called back ahead of us. Finally at 4:15, when every other patient had been seen and taken care of, we were finally called back. They were making a point; I got it.

Her physician was nice enough, and wearing her professionally concerned face as I outlined what had happened while Sissy sat there and wept. I knew this doctor was not happy. After all, Sissy had taken herself off her medicines cold turkey and now we were expecting this doctor to fix things. I got it, I really did. I wanted to climb up in a chair and shout "I GET IT!  I KNOW YOU ARE SO VERY BUSY!" But my sister was sitting there in absolute agony, and needed help, so I restrained myself.

Doctor Concerned never told us she was out of ideas, but what she did say was that sometimes when you’ve tried a number of different medicines and none of them are exactly right, sometimes we need someone else to help decide what would be best. Translated, that means "I am out of ideas and I am referring you to a mental health professional because I am way out of my league here." And I got that too. Sissy just needed something to get her through the next few days or weeks until we could get another appointment.

She wrote her a prescription for something mild to help her sleep, and gave me a list of mental health professionals to call. I thanked her, and as we left I sincerely hoped we never had to go back again. As we passed the desk, I wanted to say something unkind to her INCREDIBLY BUSY STAFF, but once again I restrained myself. I could mentally see my Heavenly Father shaking His head and saying, "Gina, Gina, Gina. How long before you really get it?" Days like that usually land me back on the Potter’s wheel, making one more trip around, getting those cracks and rough places re-worked.

(…to be continued…)