Some days, you finally get an appointment for the tonsillectomy you’ve been waiting for. You’re cheeks hurt from smiling when you add the date, that you’ve been waiting almost a year for, to your calendar.
Other days, like the day after receiving that joyous date, you’re then informed that there’s a high likelihood that your long-awaited surgery will be cancelled and you do a horrible job at hiding your annoyance.
Some days, you drive two hours one way to see yet another Ear/Nose/Throat specialist because your family doctor (who you love) is advocating for you to be bumped up the priority list because she knows how much your ever-growing tonsils are affecting your quality of life.
On those days, after your long drive, and racing to three different parking lots because the first two didn’t have working meters so that you could pay and not get towed, you won’t feel bad for walking into the new-to-you office ten minutes late for your scheduled appointment because there are fluorescent pink signs posted on the glass separating the patients from the staff that claim “wait times could be up to 90 minutes.”
On this day, you’ll sit and try your best to ignore the waiting room TV that’s blaring a press conference with a politician you didn’t vote for but a lot of your neighbours did. You’ll be grateful when your expected 90-minute wait ends up being only 30.
And yet, what little excitement you feel leaving that noise in the waiting room won’t last long.
Because, on this day, you’ll meet with a doctor whose name doesn’t match the one in your referral but you’re the only one who seems to care. He’ll say his name so fast that you won’t catch it, and he leaves no space for you to ask him to repeat it. You know it starts with a P, not a C, like you were expecting. However, you won’t really care about his name, or that you were supposed to meet with a woman. You won’t bother to tell him how his mask would work better if it were pulled it up over his nose.
You just want him to tell you he absolutely agrees with your family doctor and that he can take your tonsils out ASAP.
But he won’t.
On this day, this specialist of ears, and noses and throats will tell you, before he even asks you to remove your mask so he can look at your tonsils, that you don’t meet the requirements for a tonsillectomy. When you try to tell him your history as to why you don’t meet the “standard” criteria and explain all the issues your tonsils are causing, he’ll cut you off to say something along the lines that your ears, nose, and throat “aren’t connected” and therefore one isn’t affecting the others. (WTF?!)
On this day, you’ll remember that you’ve already had three doctors, two of which are specialists like him, who disagree with him, so you already know that he’s not the doctor for you.
However, you’re desperate for relief, and you’ve driven two hours and fought parking meters for this appointment, so you let him examine you.
You’ll notice the surprise in his eyes when he sees your tonsils for the first time. If you hadn’t already lost all respect for him, now would be the time that you’d ask if he’s watched The Last of Us so you can explain the similarities you see between your tonsils and bloaters.1
On this day, when he finally takes a moment to look at your tonsils, he’ll call them “exceptionally large” more than once and you can tell he’s changed his tune about you needing surgery. But first, he’ll make assumptions about how you’re managing your chronic autoimmune disease (and he’s showing zero interest in knowing you’re handling it like a fucking boss even though you’re exhausted and know retirement isn’t an option). He’ll tell you how his other “unhealthy” patients have ended up back in the hospital after their initial surgery because of “bad bleeds”.
You’ll remember that this isn’t the first doctor who tried to scare-sway you into doing, or not doing, something instead of just sharing the facts, even when they’re gruesome. You won’t get the chance to let him know that your other doctors have already shared these risks with you. The others doctors that you’ve seen have all given you similar warnings but without any shame and blame. However his behaviour will make you wonder what kinds of patients have wandered into his office begging for the most painful surgery, not because it would make any improvements to their life, but because they’ve got nothing better to do. It also makes you wonder how many people may have left his office not being able to get the care that they need.
On a day like this day, you’ll whisper supportive mantras to yourself to prevent the putrid shit he’s spewing from getting stuck inside your head. You might say to yourself, “I don’t think so” when he makes assumptions about you. It’s simple but effective.
Or “I’m going to act as if this goes well for me. I’m aware of the risks and I’ve done my best to consider them.”
You may even remind yourself how often you’ve gotten through pain you never thought you would survive, but here you. You survived. In fact, you’ll remember that you’ve done it so often that you know, like the you-know-in-your-bones kind of know, that you can do it again
You won’t waste time arguing with him. You’ll whisper these reminders to yourself, not to ignore everything that this doctor is saying, but as a way to help you focus on any beneficial nuggets of wisdom he might share that could help your healing.
And on a day like this, he’ll looked surprised for a second time because after all his fearmongering, you still say “Yes! I want the surgery!”
He’ll hit you with a few more gut punches of info and tell you to expect a six month wait.
It’s not the first time an ENT has given you a sixth month timeline so you’ll walk out of his office feeling like Selma Hayek and Antonio Banderas walking away from an explosion behind them in the movie Desperado.
And on days like these, to distract yourself from overanalyzing the entire infuriating interaction over and over in your head (no matter how triumphantly you walked away from it) you’ll queue up a few of your favourite songs and play them on repeat.
Dancing and singing are great ways to expend some energy and help you process a stressful situation so you’ll turn the volume up to the point where the music feels like it’s flowing through you.
Maybe you feel the bass bouncing through your chair and into your chest. Maybe the rhythm is making you want to move your body in ways to match it. Maybe you scream along with a chorus on your drive home which makes you choke because you’ve angered your bloaters tonsils.
But because the music has shifted your mood for the better, instead of replaying the unfortunate event over and over again, you remember you can put your focus on something else.
Like holding on to the hope that my first tonsillectomy date becomes my one and only!!!
Because it has not been cancelled yet!!!
(It’s still a few weeks away so keep your fingers crossed! And I’ll keep acting as if this will all go well for me… WE do not want this two-hour away specialist anywhere near my bloaters.)
If you want to shake, shimmy, or sing your way through processing an experience that’s nagging at you, may I suggest you check out the songs below? They’re basically the soundtrack behind today’s note:
Naatu Naatu from the movie RRR
Piñata by Maria Del Pilar
Pankobabaunka by Orange
Je’Nwi Teni (Don’t Gag Me) by Fela Kuti
Sugar on My Tongue by Talking Heads
Virgo by Meshell Ndegeocello
What about you? Do you turn to music when you need to shake up your energy or shake off some ick?
Got a song that gets you gyrating? Or one that leaves you feeling better after listening?
Share it with me here.
Thank you for reading.
Enjoy the rest of your day.
PS. Another way to deal with a day like this is to get yourself a cat who will hook her claws into your shoulder so she can do a little heart-to-heart healing while she clings to you and you write about your experience.
Mainly in appearance and their “you can’t kill me” attitude
I'm so sorry you're having to deal with the worst of the medical field. I am also still holding good thoughts for you to get your surgery!
My favorite music to get me through my toughest days are emo hits of the 80s like psychedelic furs, Echo and the Bunnymen, Siouxsie and the Banshees. (Also love Talking Heads and Meshell Ndegeocello - the rest of your list is going on my "to listen to" list.