On the Other Hand, the Spaghetti Westerns Never Named the Lead…

Doctors consult doctors who consult more doctors who consult pacemaker engineers. I roll with this crew. Except my name is not followed by PhD, and I am not employed in the medical industry. I am: patient.

Patient has no name or real identity. To be honest, patient could be reduced to a number of facts and figures. Males, twenty-seven, average weight, average height, congenital heart, bypass 1981, open heart 1985, pacemaker implantation 1985, pacemaker replacement 1994, 1999, 2006, possibly anxiety disorder and possibly difficulties with left ventricle do to pulmonary stenosis. And there you go my life in short and sweet summery. It would make a medical student drool.

It is odd, but I am forgotten many times. Not my case, my case is discussed more often than a Clinton run for the Presidency. But me, the person, the Luka, I am forgotten. For to too many doctors and health care workers, I become the case not the person. How I feel is only an indicator of their success.

Can’t say I blame them. They have their own lives. They don’t want to become too attached and be unable to see the big picture and miss something.

Still it is always nice when a doctor sees you as a human. I once saw my cardiologist tear up at my college graduation picture. That’s why I stay with him. So as other docs ask me to move out of pediatric and into adult cardiologist, I don’t want to. I see those doctors looking past the person and into the file. To them I am not someone who can contribute to society, I am a case, a manila folder in the upper drawer that is pulled whenever I come in for a visit and forgotten as soon as I am gone.