The month I became a regular at Ceders-Sinai, medical center to the stars
located in the heart of Beverly Hills with the tinge of
Purell which inundates every floor at this prestigious institution. This was
like Summer Camp, where I began to foster with a group of people which would
ultimately lead a plan to save my life: Specialists, surgeons, and scan techs,
all had a small hand in unveiling my insides to help define what my ails were
and develop a course of action. And I hated it.
All of a sudden I was intimately involved with all of these strangers to whom I had to declare a declaration of unwavering faith. Trust in that they knew exactly what to do and at what right time. They were the medical experts and, in essence, know best. But fuck it they do at times. My original pulmonary specialist misread information regarding the follow up CT scan and was originally misdiagnosed. Shortly after, my PCP mishandled the HMO referrals necessary to see other experts for second opinions. On top of that, dealing with office assistants, clerks, and general drop-out experts that work within the many medical offices with zero professionalism have certainly affected the outcome of much of my trails. And yet somehow many doctors continue to hire these lackeys. Cheap labor I guess.
Yep, June 2016 was the gloomiest month to start this "Cancer fight" path. The worst though was losing Buckley, my dog who passed on June 24. The day before I had been dealing with HMO insurance agents & medical staff discussing the coverage of upcoming appointments, procedures and such. Some things would be approved, some things were not. That evening I arrived home fuming and unable to process the majority of stress related shit of the day, so I took to a tree in my backyard and destroyed it with my bare hands. My children were already inside with Polly, but Buckley was out there with me. AS I was tearing the tree apart I could hear him wallowing on the side, terrified at the sight of what I was doing (I guess)… my hands were bloody after I was done so I just left Buckley outside for the night.
The next morning I found his body lying next to my office door. Slumped on the cold cement floor with his empty gaze peering through the French doors that lead towards my desk. At first I thought he was asleep, but when I went to hug him ‘morning I saw that he was gone… On top of that, that same morning I had a scheduled appointment for a Mediastinoscopy and I was already late. I had to call Animal Services to collect my dog before the girls woke up, then get ready and haul ass to BH. What a way to start the fucking day. I gently wrapped him in his blanket and moved him to the side of my home. Fuck.
All of a sudden I was intimately involved with all of these strangers to whom I had to declare a declaration of unwavering faith. Trust in that they knew exactly what to do and at what right time. They were the medical experts and, in essence, know best. But fuck it they do at times. My original pulmonary specialist misread information regarding the follow up CT scan and was originally misdiagnosed. Shortly after, my PCP mishandled the HMO referrals necessary to see other experts for second opinions. On top of that, dealing with office assistants, clerks, and general drop-out experts that work within the many medical offices with zero professionalism have certainly affected the outcome of much of my trails. And yet somehow many doctors continue to hire these lackeys. Cheap labor I guess.
Yep, June 2016 was the gloomiest month to start this "Cancer fight" path. The worst though was losing Buckley, my dog who passed on June 24. The day before I had been dealing with HMO insurance agents & medical staff discussing the coverage of upcoming appointments, procedures and such. Some things would be approved, some things were not. That evening I arrived home fuming and unable to process the majority of stress related shit of the day, so I took to a tree in my backyard and destroyed it with my bare hands. My children were already inside with Polly, but Buckley was out there with me. AS I was tearing the tree apart I could hear him wallowing on the side, terrified at the sight of what I was doing (I guess)… my hands were bloody after I was done so I just left Buckley outside for the night.
The next morning I found his body lying next to my office door. Slumped on the cold cement floor with his empty gaze peering through the French doors that lead towards my desk. At first I thought he was asleep, but when I went to hug him ‘morning I saw that he was gone… On top of that, that same morning I had a scheduled appointment for a Mediastinoscopy and I was already late. I had to call Animal Services to collect my dog before the girls woke up, then get ready and haul ass to BH. What a way to start the fucking day. I gently wrapped him in his blanket and moved him to the side of my home. Fuck.
I never properly mourned him, and I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for treating my beloved pal as this.
I’m so sorry Buckley.
You deserved much better.
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