Bullied at the Hospital

covid after all – making this extremely likely to be long-covid-based – and getting help has been and remains nigh-on impossible; in good news, my kid (Ruby) has a girlfriend (for now long distance but hopefully she can move here to be with Ruby before long) and they are very much in love; the utility room/pantry floor fell out, all rotted underneath it turned out, and the landlord company replaced it but the contractor messed up an appointment so our furniture sat in the rain for a week and we lost quite a bit; Ruby has a serviceable electric wheelchair now courtesy of the municipality, and a stairs lift, for which I had to jump through hoops I had to find or make myself; my husband's ankle was out of commission for a solid year after he fell down the stairs; his best friend died; I came to an understanding of many of my symptoms in general and stopped drinking and also anything that affects gout (which I have), so I’m pretty grumpy because I miss my wine and my ham, my lamb (on the rare occasion I could afford it) and my cider, my smooth whiskeys and my chili peppers (those cause a widespread inflammation that involves everything from the colitis to the eczema); Ruby had a freaking KIDNEY STONE; Ruby suffered immense medical trauma from all the diagnostics and so on; we got Ruby a new young delightful cat and then sadly and unexpectedly lost our beloved elderly cat; aaaaaand I developed tachycardia, and that led to the shameful behaviors of three medical professionals which shall be discussed in this blog entry. So there you go, all caught up.

pressure problems, the new intolerable symptom of shooting, creeping, crawling nerve pains all over my legs and arms, a mouth tremor, just all kinds of things that yes, can be attributed to my chronic health issues, but which also were obviously easily explained by alcohol overuse... I mean especially. And anyway this is a time when we should gather our wits about us and hone our critical thinking skills as millions of people are getting more impulsive, less attentive, more aggressive, and less focused thanks to the stresses of modern times and repeat covid infections, which cause among other things brain cells to fuse.

     So I stopped. I figured, if nothing at all changed, I'd go back to the recommended unit or two a day instead of, you know, the vast amounts I had been drinking, but if after a few weeks my symptoms improved I would just stay stopped. Which is indeed what has happened. The nerve pains are mostly gone, the spider veins retreating, I have more energy, I'm sleeping better, thinking more clearly, and even my eyesight is better. Is it all positive though? Goodness no, I find that the level to which I had been using it to dampen anxiety and stress about my kid's health, the callousness with which marginalized people are being sacrificed to the economy during this pandemic, our financial woes, our ailing cat who has now sadly passed, all of it was too high and there was a period of flailing anxiety which was difficult to keep under control in times of actual crisis with my breathing exercises, mental exercises, coping tricks, etc. and I'm pretty sure this period is what led to the tachycardia. About which, here we go.

for hours like cigarette smoke, that quality filters vastly reduce the amount of virus released or inhaled by an individual, that one-way masking is inadequate (but better than nothing by FAR!), and that my kids lungs don't work well. Also because he is a polite and socially responsible young man, so he does that when he comes here same as we take our shoes off at some friends' houses.

     We all set off together for the pet stores, had a good time selecting some toys and an enormous bag of litter, and Ruby and I came home. I was feeling overheated, although it wasn't such a hot day, and seriously fatigued, but we'd planned to watch “Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania”, which sounded right up my alley under the circumstances, and watch it we did. But I kept feeling stranger.
     I was getting a crawling sensation like when the nerve damage in my shoulder and arm is acting up but it was all across my upper chest instead. My mouth went very dry. I felt short of breath and it was hard to concentrate on the movie. I wasn't experiencing anything that a lifetime of study, deliberate or accidental, said to me to call an ambulance though, and I didn't want to freak Ruby out on this of all days either, so I tried to keep my breathing even and I tried to watch the movie. We chatted when it was over and I saw them off to their room and then I sat down and realized I was feeling very bad indeed. I want to stress: not panicky. Not scared. Concerned, sure, but no irrational terror type stuff. At all.

within the realm of "fine", but my heart was beating at 130 BPM! That was new. I got out the oxymeter and made sure I wasn't hyperventilating: nope, a nice steady 98. Occasionally 97. Long story short, my heart rate kept going up and I called the urgent care line because of course it was a Saturday night. The triage lady on the phone spoke with a doctor and said I had to get in there within one hour. The neighbors weren't home, and I had to take a taxi for our entire food budget for the week to get to the urgent care center and back (don't worry, we could still GET food).
     When I got there, I found a not-too-crowded waiting room it shares with the ER. One lady was also wearing a mask, a very nice black N95/FFP2, and we nodded to each other. Nobody else was masked, including the small child coughing and coughing in huge wracking spasms while he wandered around the room putting his hands in his mouth and touching everything. I waited, and when it was my turn the doctor introduced himself and I did too and then I asked, in Dutch, "Would you be so kind as to wear a mask?" I have long ago learned not to go so far as to ask that it not be a flimsy surgical one, but those at least stop droplets so are better than nothing.

     Normally this isn't a problem, even if the practitioner has to go find one. It's not like it's a completely off-the-wall request like, "Could you please take your tie and belt off?" But this time the doctor drew himself up and gave me a strange little smile, looked off somewhere over my head, and said firmly, "No, I will not be doing that."
     Now, where I grew up, if you have a medical problem and you are in the hands of a specialist, if they aren't outright molesting you or committing bodily harm or gross malpractice, you shut up and take it because getting labeled a problem patient – even a "whiner" - can dramatically reduce the quality and availability of medical care. And I was, you know, having heart problems which I very urgently wanted this man to investigate. And it was within his rights to refuse to wear a mask, however bizarre this choice is in a hospital setting. So I took it. I shut up, I went in, I prayed it could be fast, and I planned the extra measures I'd need to take at home to make sure that if I had picked ANY virus up, it wouldn't make its way to my kid's lungs.

pressed there on my chest" I was, he explained, "just having a different kind of panic attack". I pointed out my 97/98 oxygen and he said, "It doesn't always show up on there." I asked about the palpitations being so widespread and he shrugged and said, “That happens.” He gave me beta blockers without instructions, just said to "take them to bring it down if you want" and to call my own doctor on Monday. There was no heart film, so there was no record made of what was actually happening in my heart during this episode. I went home, wrung out and hungry, at around midnight and crawled into bed. The next day I was incredibly fatigued, mostly from the beta blockers I assume, and still concerned (but not that I was actually dying or anything, just that I might have a heart condition, that it might happen again, that it might not stop going UP next time...). Monday I called my doctor and he said stop the med, and if it happened again to come to the practice for a heart film right away or call an ambulance (faster than trying to go in again) if it was outside office hours. Also suggested was to get a Holter monitor fitted to see if we could catch it in action if it happened again, and I agreed enthusiastically, and an appointment was made at a heart clinic in another town for that to be fitted a week later. And life went on.
     Six days later, on a Sunday, the day before I was to be fitted with the Holter monitor, it happened again, late in the evening. No fool I, this time I called an ambulance, as instructed. Unfortunately, although my heart rate was 152 five minutes before they rolled up, it was down to 130 and dropping by the time they arrived, so they concluded we had “just missed" the event itself. The two EMT guys were great. I’d asked the dispatcher to ask them to mask and they went all the way to N95/ffP2's on their own, even though the narrative here is still "if you're vaccinated you're fine" (wrong and simplistic on SO many levels). They took me out to the van and ran a full diagnostic: heart film, blood sugar, oxygen, the works. They asked me if I wanted to go in to be checked out in a hospital bed (nope). They talked about my symptoms in depth with me. They told me I was "absolutely not having a panic attack". They went off to help other people.

     The next day I went intercity, enjoyed a nice 40-minute walk through a lovely beach-side town, and got the Holter monitor fitted for 48 hours. There was no cardiac event during this time. It and the heart film did confirm I have a PAC arrhythmia, but I already knew that (for decades now) and it's harmless and rarely so much as annoying.

     At this point I and my doctor were sure this was a benign arrhythmia but we both really like being certain about stuff, especially when there's enough to worry about as it is, and anyway I have been wanting a cardiac ultrasound since I had three (yes, three) bouts of carbon monoxide poisoning around 20 years ago, so he gave me a referral to a cardiologist to get and discuss that. Yay! Spoiler alert: my heart is fine.

     A week or so before the cardiology appointment it happened again, but this time it only lasted 20 minutes and my heart rate didn't go over 140. I called the urgent care center, not to go in but to make sure the event was logged in my official medical dossier.
     Fast forward to the cardiologist. I had a couple of copies of my cartoon book along because I like to spread awareness and also to say thank you to medical staff so I intended to give them away. And did so. The walk there was absolutely beautiful, but with a specific time to arrive I took it at a get-there pace, not a loitering one. On the way back I had all the time in the world and, using a walking trail threading its way between the hospital area and the freeway, I was beyond lucky, and got these shots of a mother woodpecker feeding her offspring.

     In addition to the nice receptionist, I interacted with three people at the cardiology clinic and it's almost comical how they ranged from just lovely to somewhat objectionable to narcissistic crusader. Holy wow.
     First was the ultrasound. The tech was a really nice lady, already masked (albeit in a surgical), and good at her job. While she was running the test, we chatted about my photography and my fancy powered mask and my cartoons, and I gave her a book. She complimented me on the style and said she looked forward to checking it out. Then she put me in another room.
     A woman came in to do a heart film. She said, with a slight air of condescension, "I hear you have a problem with covid or something." But she was already putting a mask on. I replied that actually we need to protect my seriously disabled kid, with reduced lung capacity, from just any dang sickness. She allowed as to how that was an acceptable goal, but then I made the mistake of saying that Ruby's serious ill health is assumed to be long-covid-related. For some reason this woman thought it appropriate to immediately start talking about how long covid doesn't exist, that anyway only people with underlying conditions get it, that "all it is is underlying conditions laid bare; you know: if someone gets long covid, that just means they have a condition they didn't know about yet", and so on.

     Again, I know better than to actually argue with someone holding medical authority over one’s future, so I didn't tell her how offensive this was to say to someone whose healthy 15-year-old's entire life was quite literally destroyed by a virus over a period of three years, presumably this virus. I just kept my mouth shut and my head down and raged quietly to myself, as so often. To think this was coming from someone with MEDICAL training. Someone who supposedly took an oath to protect people, someone one would HOPE would have a shred of empathy, compassion, decorum, something. But oh well. Some people will be comfortable being crass, it's a fact of life. And my heart was fine on that test too.

     But no! Not this time. No handshake; in fact he put his hands behind his back. No smile; he looked sternly at my forehead. No introduction; instead of telling me his name, he said, "I won't put a mask on."

     You know how it feels, when someone in a position of power over you makes it clear that they have no intention of trying to make you feel comfortable. That sinking feeling when you wonder how far this one will go, whether they're acting out of some kind of prejudice or sociopathy or misconception, that sudden dread that comes from wondering why they so immediately have a problem with you and what they're going to do about it. Yeah, that feeling.
     This guy was the one who could tell me whether anything was wrong with my heart.

     I grew up in an abusive home. I grew up bullied in school, at work, even into my late 40's. I don't take it anymore in a lot of situations but this one? Medical person who could make my life very difficult going forward by just noting down a word or two like "uncooperative" or "combative" or even "doesn't listen"? Nope, that's not one you want to strike up an antagonism with. Not one bit. This one's a low profile yes sir, no sir, thank you doctor scenario and get out. So I just nodded like it was all fine and walked into the room. But he wasn't done.

     "I'm not going to wear a mask," he said again, so I nodded again. "It's a matter of personal choice," he said. I nodded again. "So I am not going to do it." Once more I nod. "But you do want to wear one."
     I tried to break some ice. I said, "Yes, well, as you said, personal choice. In fact here's a book of cartoons I drew about being one of the only people who still does, ha ha." He actually looked through it with what seemed like interest for a few moments and then tossed it onto his desk and said, "Well I am not going to put one on."

believed that an additional 40 centimeters distance in a small enclosed space was going to make a difference there was nothing I could say that would change that). I just waited, hoping we could get on with why I was there. But then he went on to repeat that masking is a personal choice and added, "The reason I will not be putting one on is that there are currently no covid patients hospitalized here."

     I don't respond all that well to wildly misinformed opinions being used to control my behavior, so I felt compelled to start replying at this point, and I mentioned that people not sick enough to be hospitalized can still transmit viruses and that anyway 40% of contagious covid cases are asymptomatic.
     That's when he started getting angry. Oops. He frowned at me and snapped, "Well it's a personal choice and I will not put one on." I again said, "OK."
     Still not enough for this man; he was on a roll! He leaned forward (so much for "leaning way back to protect me") and started in on MY choices. "Masking is", he said again, you guessed it, "a personal choice. You choosing to wear one is an over-reaction." He used the Dutch word "overdrevend", which comes from "overdrijven", which means "exaggerate; blow out of proportion; overdo; over-act; overplay; shoot one's mouth off".
     I was surprised that a doctor would feel comfortable saying that to me, but I tried to deal with it; I responded that it wasn't just about covid, that my kid at home is seriously vulnerable with reduced lung function. He interrupted me to ask what has to be the most outrageous question a medical professional has ever asked me: "Well what do you think a mask will even DO, anyway?"
     I was stunned. I literally couldn't think of anything to say except what I would say to a five-year-old, and I said it: "Masks filter stuff out of the air so that people don't breathe it in, this is a very simple concept." And he SNEERED. Yes, this doctor got a look on his face like I had just told him bubblegum traps cancer cells or something. He waved his hand in the air as though dismissing a cloud of files, put on the face of the self-absorbed lecturer, and started, "There are studies that show that masks don't really make any difference."

however flawed, which appears to support their point of view, especially if it's easy to reduce to a simplistic approximation, in order to avoid having to take responsibility for the consequences of their own actions. Really sad to see it in a doctor though.

   I had to respond to that, so I started, "There was ONE study that..." He waved his hand at me again, his face crumpling with severe irritation that I was still speaking, and daring to not be swayed by his pompous assertion. I couldn't take it anymore. I interrupted him and said in my parenting "we are DONE with this" voice: "Doctor, YOU brought this up. YOU started this conversation, YOU are the one still talking about it. This is YOUR discussion. Masking is a personal choice. YOU will not wear one, I WILL wear one. Done. Finished. Can we talk about my HEART now?"
     He was surprised but at least he shut up about it and we were finally able to discuss my actual reason for being there.
     I don't appreciate using my legal right to choose to protect myself by wearing a simple filtering device, in accordance with national guidelines ("If you're vulnerable, just wear a mask!"), and being treated like a "hysteric" about it. I don't appreciate being harassed about something that is literally not affecting anyone but myself. I don't appreciate having a formal medical appointment hijacked into someone's personal crusade. I don't appreciate being treated with dripping condescension. None of this was OK.

country where personal medical details are supposed to be one's own private business, where even employers and outside practitioners cannot legally ask about one's own personal health situation, this man feels it's just great to force people to defend their reasons for asking him to mask so that he can "consider" doing so. Far from good enough, but obviously I have to let it go anyway as nothing more will ever come of it at all.
     That's more than I expect I'll get from this guy. The best I can hope for is some platitudes about his attitude (it's "unfortunate", it’s “not the atmosphere the hospital strives for for its patients”), about his trying to dissuade me from my own personal choice, but there will be no action, no redress, no attempt to educate staff about airborne transmission, basic courtesy toward patients, professionalism. He will resent my complaint and will get to gripe smugly about hysterical patients with his colleagues and family and nothing will be learned by anyone and I will go on, doing my best to not have to see this particular doctor ever again. But something has to be said. To be logged. Silence is complicity, and I will not be complicit.
     If we all just always roll over and take it, the narcissist convenience-worshipers win, the louder and more bullying types feel validated and run everything, the rest of us become continually more marginalized, no untruths go uncorrected, no truths are learned, opinion and self-congratulatory hyperbole overrun and bury facts and real answers. Suffering increases while the callous think they're on top of the world, looking down on all us sad regular types.
     A lone voice in the wilderness, crying out truth and hope and compassion and trying to make a change for good, is overwhelmingly better than no voice at all.
     Perhaps someday, in some way, history will listen.

     But meanwhile, for shame. For shame. These are indeed terrible times.