May I help you? You cannot be helped!

I had to write an angry email to the managing partners of my primary care doctor's office.

I'm not sure why, but I seem to have slipped out of their orbit of consciousness and into some other ether where they are no longer tied to or responsible for what happens to me. This despite the fact that every move I make in the health care system, is somehow reported back to them, or allegedly reported back, as my primary providers.

This, despite the fact that certain decisions are still deferred to them as if they are my parents.

Currently, not being able to swallow, any medication I take has to come in either liquid or crushable form--and crushable has to be very crushable, suspendable in water and flushable down a G Tube--or feeding tube. It can't clog the filters or resist the flow...these are the parameters we're working with, and they aren't that exotic. It happens every day that people in this country has tubes stuck into their stomachs when they can't eat or swallow as normal. It's just not rare bird day in medicalville when this takes place.

So, I have one of those daily medications I take that is a horse pill, and is hard as a diamond wrapped in a diamond box, and cannot be crushed by me (me now, or me 30 pounds of muscle ago). And this is a daily pill--not a maybe daily pill.

So why is my doctor not so worried about this anymore? Why won't they respond to fax questions or caller questions (Scott or Chuck, both authorized representatives), and why won't they fix this problem?

Why too decide to heave another worry on me now? It makes no sense unless your jollies come from watching someone already stressed decide that camel's back is about to be breached.

I did receive one piece of advice from the office nurse--put the pill in a plastic bag, wrap it in a towel, and then crush it with a hammer. Yes, I tried this by the way--the pill sticks to the inside of the plastic bag you've just hammered it into. Perhaps I could melt the bag and just suck the embedded drug out of it afterwards?

Perhaps when my house burns down I could cook a bunch of meat and bury it so at least I won't starve?

I don't know yet if my latest ploy for some real attention will work. Obs to say at this point, but after I get what I want, I know who won't be my primary care physician going forward. But that's been on my mind of late, anyway--in the 2 months leading up to the final diagnosis of this cancer, I saw 4 different physicians, nurses or nurse-practitioners at this practice to try to figure out what was going on with my tongue. Not one of them suggested I should be biopsied. Not one of them argued with my self (incorrect) diagnosis. Not one of them did the 10 second feel test that the ENTs did within a New York minute of my taking of a seat in the exam room.

They got their 4 visit fees. I lost a tongue. Seems like the trade wasn't fair.