Earlier this week, I had a bit of a medical issue. Painful urination, high blood sugars, and the constant need to pee. (Ladies, I know you already know what’s up.) Urinary tract infection looming large. I was livid, because it was the day before I was scheduled to travel for this week’s business.
I haven’t got time for the pain, so I called my primary care physician, Dr. CT. “Hi Nurse of Dr. CT! It’s Kerri Sparling. Listen, I’m pretty sure I either have a kidney stone or a urinary tract infection, and I need to rule it out before I leave for a week-long business trip.”
Dr. CT was on jury duty. Damnit. So I had to call a local walk-in clinic, instead.
The clinic was a hole in the wall. Part of a strip mall structure. My confidence wasn’t high, but my blood sugars were and my whole body was screaming for attention, so I knew I had to follow through.
The receptionist was very nice. The nurse was even nicer. They took my blood pressure (110/74), my temperature (98.8) and a urine sample (ew).
I should have known from the moment the sample cup was given to me that it wasn’t going to be a fun visit. The very kind nurse handed me this —>
That is not a urine sample cup. That’s like a party cup that you use for lemonade on a hot summer day. Not for pee. Oh God.
And then the doctor came in. For the sake of anonymity, we’ll call him Dr. Idiot.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Idiot.”
“Hi, I’m Kerri.”
“Kerri, I see you are here for pain when urinating. Are you urinating frequently? You see, you are spilling a significant amount of urine. I believe we may have found the source of your troubles.”
He closed his file, proud of himself.
“Dr. Idiot? On my chart there I wrote that I have type 1 diabetes. I know my blood sugar is elevated right now, which sucks but at least it’s not a surprise. But that’s not why I’m here. I actually suspect that …”
He cut me off.
“I think we need to address this first problem. You are aware of your diabetes, you say? How many times a month do you check your sugar? You know, with the glucose machine and the finger pricker?”
If I wore bifocals, it’s at this point that I would have slid them down my nose and given him a hard, Sam Eagle-type stare.
“I test about 12 – 15 times a day. But the real reason …”
“You mean a month,” he corrected me.
“No, I mean a day. I have type 1 diabetes. I wear a continuous glucose sensor. And also an insulin pump. I’m very aware of my condition, and I’m also very aware that it’s slipping out of control today because of this other issue, the pain issue. Can we talk about that?”
He looked at my chart again. “So you don’t use a meter?”
“Sir, I use a meter. And a machine that reads the glucose levels of my interstitial fluid. This is in addition to my insulin pump. I don’t mean to be rude but …”
Now he gave me a hard look. “Why the interstitial fluid? Why not the blood directly? I mean, you could have more precise readings with the blood.” He picked up my Dexcom from the chair next to me and pressed a few buttons to light up the screen. (Mind you, he did not have permission to touch it, but I’m again not saying anything.)
“You mean like a pick line? I don’t know. I’m sorry. Ask them?”
“Yes, but it would make much more sense and …”
I just about lost it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to talk about that. I want to talk about the issue I’m here for. Which is not diabetes. Or your ambitions to know more about CGMs. Please can we address what I’m here for?”
“The sugar in your urine.” With finality, he says this.
“NO. The fact that I think I have a UTI or a kidney stone. Please. Help. Me?”
I kid you not – we went ’round and ’round about this for another ten minutes. He didn’t believe me that I was at least sort of familiar with diabetes. His ignorance included, but wasn’t limited to, the following statements:
- “High sugar causes frequent urination. Maybe that’s why you are peeing often?” (Not because I was drinking a liter of water per hour to flush my system? Nooo, couldn’t be that.)
- “Did you have weight loss surgery?”
- “Grape juice also causes high blood sugar.”
- “That thing should really be pulling blood samples. Pointless otherwise.” (Meaning my Dexcom.)
- “The urinalysis won’t be back until Friday, and in the meantime you should start on a regimen of insulin immediately.”
- And also: “I didn’t peg you for a pink girl.” (Are. You. Serious??)
The end result, after an escalating argument that involved me yelling, “Stop. Talking about my diabetes and PLEASE focus why I’m here!” was a prescription for Macrobid that I could elect to take if my symptoms didn’t alleviate, and the instructions to call back on Friday for official lab results.
“Thank you. Really. Can I go now?”
He at least had the decency to look ashamed.
I’ve had some wonderful doctors over the last 30 years, and my health is better for it. But this guy? Complete disappointment.
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*