#1 ·
So... I am not entirely sure if I should even be posting this here, but my nerves are absolutely frayed—I honestly don't know how I'll react if this ever happens again—so I find myself wondering: is there such a thing as a formal grievance book or some sort of complaint procedure kept in hospitals and specialist clinics?
I finally made it into an endocrinology clinic—after years of being somewhat dysfunctional and months of waiting, mind you—only to find three women inside. Before I could even open my mouth, before they had even glanced at a single one of my medical records, one of them starts prattling on about Barbies, beauty standards, and how she gets a constant stream of young girls coming in to compare themselves to others... well... let's just say the woman basically categorized me, by default, as some self-conscious airhead who waited two hours in a claustrophobic room packed with a hundred people just because of her own... insecurities?!!! I feel completely discriminated against based on my gender and age (since, frankly, 99% of their patients seem to be semi-literate old men who look like they're 150 years old)—but without even looking at me properly, she totally trivialized my condition. I mean... I don't *want* to be sick, I didn't come to see her just to seek attention or anything, and while I realize she’s seen it all before, it feels like if you aren't exhausted, then your problems simply don't matter.
Furthermore, during the eternity I spent sitting in that clinic, those three women spent half their time giggling and chatting about headaches, dreams, you name it. And there I was, patiently listening to their private conversations while waiting for my paperwork to be processed. Meanwhile, outside, the waiting room is overflowing with people who are likely going to get screwed over that day and told, "just come back tomorrow."
And then (the absolute peak of it all) after they had finished writing everything down—completely distracted and clearly more interested in fooling around than working—and doing so with a mountain of errors and oversights, they realized the printout looked catastrophic. So, they decided to toss it and print another one. However, this one woman (who apparently knows someone with the same last name as mine, and judging by her comments, he’s quite the idiot... excuse my politically incorrect phrasing, by the way) takes that paper and, with a grin from ear to ear, stuffs it right into her pocket. It was... well, out of pure mockery, she compromised my privacy. And she did it right in front of me! If you are going to be such an incompetent doctor that you laugh at patient data, surely you wait until the patient has actually left the room, right?
I had so much on my plate that day, and on top of that, I was feeling nauseous, so I just didn't have the energy to say anything to them; however, now I really regret staying silent. And...
Please, tell me, how on earth am I supposed to go back to that absolute pandemonium of a clinic? How? I have encountered doctors who were incredibly strict and arrogant, but at least they were professional at their jobs. This... this is a cocktail of arrogance and sheer stupidity.
Ugh!
I finally made it into an endocrinology clinic—after years of being somewhat dysfunctional and months of waiting, mind you—only to find three women inside. Before I could even open my mouth, before they had even glanced at a single one of my medical records, one of them starts prattling on about Barbies, beauty standards, and how she gets a constant stream of young girls coming in to compare themselves to others... well... let's just say the woman basically categorized me, by default, as some self-conscious airhead who waited two hours in a claustrophobic room packed with a hundred people just because of her own... insecurities?!!! I feel completely discriminated against based on my gender and age (since, frankly, 99% of their patients seem to be semi-literate old men who look like they're 150 years old)—but without even looking at me properly, she totally trivialized my condition. I mean... I don't *want* to be sick, I didn't come to see her just to seek attention or anything, and while I realize she’s seen it all before, it feels like if you aren't exhausted, then your problems simply don't matter.
Furthermore, during the eternity I spent sitting in that clinic, those three women spent half their time giggling and chatting about headaches, dreams, you name it. And there I was, patiently listening to their private conversations while waiting for my paperwork to be processed. Meanwhile, outside, the waiting room is overflowing with people who are likely going to get screwed over that day and told, "just come back tomorrow."
And then (the absolute peak of it all) after they had finished writing everything down—completely distracted and clearly more interested in fooling around than working—and doing so with a mountain of errors and oversights, they realized the printout looked catastrophic. So, they decided to toss it and print another one. However, this one woman (who apparently knows someone with the same last name as mine, and judging by her comments, he’s quite the idiot... excuse my politically incorrect phrasing, by the way) takes that paper and, with a grin from ear to ear, stuffs it right into her pocket. It was... well, out of pure mockery, she compromised my privacy. And she did it right in front of me! If you are going to be such an incompetent doctor that you laugh at patient data, surely you wait until the patient has actually left the room, right?
I had so much on my plate that day, and on top of that, I was feeling nauseous, so I just didn't have the energy to say anything to them; however, now I really regret staying silent. And...
Please, tell me, how on earth am I supposed to go back to that absolute pandemonium of a clinic? How? I have encountered doctors who were incredibly strict and arrogant, but at least they were professional at their jobs. This... this is a cocktail of arrogance and sheer stupidity.
Ugh!