As I suspected, the call never came from Dr A the night after the MRI.
I didn’t exactly sit by the phone like some school girl back in the 1950’s, waiting to be asked out on a date, but I did feel like an asshole carrying my iPhone everywhere I went that night and checking that my ringer was on every ten minutes to make sure that I wouldn’t miss his call (hmmm…sure reads like a young woman of yesteryear that had unknowingly given up her power to a male and to a communication’s devise invented by another man a century before, reinforcing negative gender stereotypes between the sexes).
But, unlike my unaware mid-century sister, I knew not to wait, and to take control. Why wait when u can take the action and call you?
Whether it’s a date or a doctor you should never think the balance of power only flows one way….his.
The wasted evening didn’t bother me so much (believed me I racked up more than my fair share of those on my own) as much as the fact that in the days after the test I had to chase him down (each time I left a voicemail I was starting to feel more and more like Glenn Close in the film “Fatal Attraction”, ‘I will not be ignored Dan’ (Dr A to be more precise)…now that I resented.
Dr A finally called in the early evening two days later.
After a perfunctory greeting I asked that he hold on the line while I put the phone on speaker so Miss Cathy could hear and talk to him as well.
He protested (which I thought was odd) saying, “Why can’t you just tell her what I’m saying?”
“Well”, I explained in my best teacher voice, honed over many years of explaining the obvious to college art students, “My mom has been anxious to talk to you since yesterday and she-is-the-patient.”
“Besides, I don’t like to convey information third party, it’s better if she hears whatever it is directly from you.”
I had made a promise to myself when this all began that (whenever possible) I would make sure that people talked directly to one another and not rely on me.
I learned early on not to fall into that trap, I didn’t want anyone to come back and say that I got something wrong. So my rule is part making sure nothing gets misconstrued or miscommunicated and part covering my own ass.
I could hear his accented voice protesting on my iPhone as I walked the few feet to Miss Cathy’s bedroom where she was already lying down for the night.
Unfortunately the doctor said that the MRI film didn’t show him anything that identified the cause of the problems she was having. Hearing our disappointment he said that he would gladly show us the film and explain what it all meant the next time we came into his office.
He spent a lot of time telling us what was ‘ruled out’ but nothing about what this was or what we should do.
So what were we suppose to do with this non-information?
The brain guy says her brain looks ‘good’…the eye guy says her eye(s) look ‘good’…yet she still couldn’t see and she was still trying to wear her tee shirt as pants and in my book that’s still ‘bad’!