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2007-02-10 - 4:16 p.m.

More From Medical Hell

On the first day of this new year, I was awakened by agonizing pain on the left side of my head, radiating from my chin to the top of my head. In the long minutes it took me to crawl out of bed and stagger to the recliner I was sure my eye was going to pop out and the roof of my head was going to blow off.

It took a few minutes for me to think clearly through the pain, but I eventually put it together. Damned if I wasn’t back to the same sinus problem I had suffered five years ago.

My ENT in 2002 told me, following a surgery to correct the faulty left maxillary sinus, the problem could return. It had, and it had come roaring back with a vengeance. At least this time I was fairly sure of the cause, unlike my first bout when I was convinced my dentist had screwed up a root canal, or I was suffering from what some people thought all along—a totally screwed up head!

The next day, following another painful attack during the night (the episodes only occur when I’m lying down), I stepped back into the land of medical madness. Or my own simple-minded madness. I dragged myself into my doctor’s office for a script for the decongestant and pain med the ENT (who left this area three years ago) had given me before.

I should have known better.

Once in the office a vicious battle ensued! The doctor informed me I had not been on one medication I had previously taken for pain.

“You didn’t take that. That’s a seizure medication.”

“Yes, Reader scripted it out.” I felt my little hate-doctor demon’s antennae begin to wiggle.

“No, that’s not right (the innuendo being I was stupid), but I’ll give you another pain medication.”

Ah, Christ, here we go again!

The hate-doctor’s demon snarled, and I stormed out of the office. The search was on for a new doctor.

Two days later I was with my new doctor. She agreed that Neurontin was used for the pain I was experiencing and gave me a script, referred me to the new ENT in Kirksville and scheduled a CT scan at the medical center in Columbia. This after I exploded telling her I would not trust my gawdam dogs to the hospital personnel in this town. She is either a very patient and understanding woman, or I scared the living bejesus outta her because she gave me no argument.

Two weeks later I’m with the ENT. He plays with the CT image, does a rather painful sinus scope and declares my left maxillary sinus completely shut down and useless.

Ohhhhh boy, I know what’s coming.

“A surgical procedure will be needed to correct the problem.” He’s a young kid, though an excellent doctor, and completely unprepared for me.

“No way in hell, bud! That means the death bed over at Northeast!”

He’s wide-eyed and speechless and quickly steps away from me. I’m resolute.

“I’ll keep this blue-light special open for you,” was the last I heard as I beat tracks out of his office.

Two days and another excruciating attack of pain and I was back in his office. The pain obviously had clouded my senses and somehow silenced my hate-doctor’s demon; I was prepared to try another surgery—this after I vowed I would never enter Northeast again after the incompetent and shoddy pre- and post-op treatment I received during the previous sinus surgery. I also was concerned with something the ENT said: some things—including flying—could trigger a very painful and debilitating sinus attack. I was booked on a March 4 flight to Mexico.

Fer crissake’s, what was I suppose to do?

Apparently, lose my mind and my will to live. There I was agreeing to do a February 8th surgery. But I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Y’all need to know,” I told the doctor and his staff, “I have absolutely no trust in the care givers at Northeast, and I am not at all confident in going there for this procedure. And I don’t give a good gawdam how simple you say it is!”

They didn’t argue with me, either. Gawd have mercy, they agreed with me!

But, the doctor said, I was going as outpatient and not inpatient “where they can really make you sick!”

My little demon started screaming and slapping me. I was in some serious trouble and wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of it.

On February 1 I did the pre-op business, which I learned is now done (at least here it is) on the damned phone. General questions led to some more serious medical questions. Did I have liver disease? Did I have fully functioning kidneys? Did I have heart problems?

“How the hell would I know?” Demon locks and loads. “Don’t you people do EKG’s and bloodwork?”

“Not anymore! Do you have a durable power of attorney and a living will?”

“Excuse me?” The demon took aim.

I was then offered a special “gift deal” by the billing/insurance department. If I would pay up front for the surgery they’d cut me a 20 percent break.

Like hell they would! The demon fired!

For the next few days—I was, by the way, pain free and back to sleeping in a normal prone position—I vacillated between telling myself I would go through the procedure and listening to my little hate-all-things-medical monster scold me for even considering putting my life in the hands of the quacks at Northeast Regional.

”What the hell’s the matter with you? You promised yourself never to deal with that facility again! Jesus, you’ve totally lost it!

The little monster finally won out. The day before I was scheduled for surgery I called the ENT’s office and told them it was off. I think, after my prior ranting about my abhorrence of the hospital staff, they expected my call.

“Is everything okay?” the office manager asked.

“You betcha, Barb, and I’m gonna keep it that way!”

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