GPs

I hate doctors. More specifically, I hate male doctors, since I have never actually had a bad experience with a female physician.

I hate going to the doctor. I loathe going to the doctor. If I am sitting in one of those tiny rooms in a doctor's office on those paper sheets that only half cover the actual bed-stand-thing after waiting at least two hours before I even get to the tiny room, its because I think that I am dying, I most likely am dying, and if I stayed home I probably would die, and whoever found me would cry and say "oh, if only she had given in and gone to the doctor all of this could have been avoided!" So, sometimes I find myself cranky and sick and haggard at the doctor's office. (If I have showered and put on a bra it is a miracle - which is to say I usually go greasy and bra-less. It isn't pretty.) This is usually the first thing I say to Dr. Dumbass when he walks into the room: I hate going to the doctor. I know people come in for every little ache and sniffle and waste hours of your time with their whining/need for attention. I assure you that I do not do that and the only reason that I am here today is because I have been <insert whatever has been wrong> for <insert ridiculous length of time> and I am desperate.

Some highlights:

One time, I had a high fever and an excrutiatingly sore throat for about 3 weeks. If you have that for more than 3 days, you are supposed to go in. But with my attitude being how it is, I waited as long as humanly possible hoping it would get better. I finally dragged myself in, most likely collapsed on the paper bed-thing and croaked something about searing pain, I don't really remember on account of the fever. I do remember him asking me to take my shirt off so that he could cup my breast and then giving me a fifteen minute lecture about smoking. I also seem to recall asking what information he was able to gather from feeling me up and wouldn't a test for strep throat possibly be more productive. He told me about the wonders of apple cider vinegar and sent me on my way highly doubtful that apple cider vinegar would adequately fend off a streptococcal infection.   

One time, I fell down a flight of cement stairs leading to a basement in a house where I was dog-sitting. The dogs were hovering and barking around me, licking my face but not running off to get me help. Somehow I made it back upstairs to the couch where I stayed until the following morning, only getting up to hobble over to the door to let the dogs in and out. This one was bad. I went to a doctor the next day. I told him what happened and that I was afraid I may have broken my tailbone. He asked me bend over the paper bed-thing, slipped on a pair of gloves, and put two fingers up my bum.
"Ya, I'd guess probably broken."
"Alright that's fine, what next."
"Oh well there's nothing you can do, I guess you could buy one of those air donuts to sit on if you wanted, but I would say just try to take it easy for a bit."
So what did sticking your digits up my bum have anything to do with it?? If there is nothing you can do either way, then why not just say that, slap me on the ass, and send me on my way.   

My most current experience with GPs to diagnose my recent mystery illness was no better, probably even more frustrating because I had to go back so many times, explain myself repeatedly, go through numerous and ultimately useless tests, forcefully insist that my symptoms were not "normal" and that "waiting and seeing" was not a satisfactory solution. Of course I finally went to a female physician who brilliantly thought that maybe listening to a patient describe their symptoms could be helpful in treating them.

I waste my time (which is just as vaulable as theirs!) to pay $50 a pop for some condescending, arrogant, self-important, over-paid, pervert to give me the up-down while either ignoring me completely or flippantly brushing off my concerns and then sending me on my way.

And that's a little bit about why I hate GPs.