I had surgery this afternoon – a routine esophageal procedure that keeps me from being able to eat solid food. I like solid food.
Because I am allergic to so many meds, I make the person pushing the anesthesia through my IV tell me exactly what they are giving me and how many milligrams each medication is. Usually they are very understanding of my request, but occasionally I encounter pushback, like today.
So I had to be a b*tch about it. And I’m more than happy that I did, because they were planning on giving me a medication that makes me violently sick in every way possible.
My dad told me something a few years ago that has since stuck with me: yes, I may be a total b*tch sometimes, but being a bitch is what has kept me alive… and I’m not sorry about it.
- I will ask questions.
- I will insist on explainations.
- I have zero problems with medical students learning on me, but if they’re not skilled enough I will make them stop.
- Same goes with other medical staff, from the doctors to the nurses to the lab techs… if I think that someone isn’t skilled enough, or is rude as hell, I will insist that the person be replaced.
I am the CEO of my body. I decide the people my body may work with and which ones can’t.
I’m not just a b*tch. I am a survivor.
