Tags

, ,

I scheduled the pulsing tooth extraction earlier this week. Today is Friday; I should be on my way to recovery with initial swelling and discomfort subsiding but those factors are not happening.

My appointment was bumped by another patient’s emergency. I knew something was up when I was kept waiting nearly an hour before being escorted back to the oral surgeon’s chair. The handsome dental tech offered me water and left the room stating “Dr XX will be in shortly.”

The bottled water was my second red flag that something was up. When the appointment was confirmed I was instructed not to eat or drink 10 hours prior to the surgical appointment. Yet I drank a sip or two as I was thirsty and considered the third red flag.

The bro tech left the room without charting my vitals or administering the IV sedative that I requested. Like, the last time I had oral surgery I was floating on the ceiling before the doctor arrived.

Another ten minutes of waiting and the oral surgeon appeared. She acknowledged my presence, turned to the clinic’s laptop, pulled up my chart and asked “what are we doing today?”

And this is where I’ll stop sharing specific details. In the space of a few minutes I felt shamed regarding my dental hygiene—er, hello…three fucking visits to my dentist last year—thank you very much. I was chastised for not readily knowing a very specific piece of lab work info. I was informed of “what I’m dealing with…” regarding the emergency patient that mandated her next question about my flexibility to return later in the day.

There are other details; I found myself grabbing my jacket after she turned to a different tech person with instructions regarding the aforementioned emergency patient.

At the reception desk I made the decision not to reschedule that same day. The entire point of getting in early is that the oral surgeon would be fresh—so to speak, and that I would be home early in the day with an ice pack recovering on my sofa.

Too, I was told that “we’ve opted out of your insurance network so this is all self pay…” Why wasn’t I informed of that on the confirmation call? And part of me was left wondering if my lack of insurance was the ‘patient emergency.’

Like I noted there were other signs and remarks that set my spidey sense on high beams to bounce out of there.

The friend that I had arranged to meet me—post surgical sedation, was surprised to find me upright and angry. Though we had a nice lunch while I chewed on the morning’s absence of professionalism.

I’ve scheduled a consultation with a new, younger oral surgeon. Yes, I didn’t get my damn tooth pulled. And at my curmudgeonly age—no one is pulling any bullshit either.