It may have been the Australian accent, or the fact that I was so filled with hope it was oozing out my ears impairing my hearing, but I had misunderstood Dr. L at my first appointment: I do not have Opsoclonus Myclonus Syndrome.
He thoroughly explained why and graciously answered all my questions. I did plead, suggest, implore…”Couldn’t we do IVIG anyway?”
He said he couldn’t, he’d be negligent.
As a sort of Hail Mary, amidst my sniffling, I cried out, “Steroids…couldn’t we try steroids?”
“All my patients, who are nearly blind, end up hating me when I’ve put them on steroids,” Dr. L said with an empathic look.
“Really?….they hate you!?” I was disbelieving at how anyone could hate this doctor from Down Under.
“Yes, after five years the side effects are horrible.”
This is where it gets interesting, errr sketchy, um, really just embarrassing:
“With your nice ass….ent—assent, accent, and charming smile, they hate you.” My mind was reeling. I knew it was over, my credibility ruined my witness besmirched, my improv skills couldn’t get me out of this phonemic faux pas. Later my sherpa confessed she was a bit aghast at my comment, but wanted to point out that there truly WAS something wrong with me to use that sort of language.
I cried a bit, ate some great food and went therapeutic shopping. Ultimately I was okay that this was an end…no referral, no medications, just a lovely, “Hang in there.”