Radiation oncologist, chemotherapist, home care scheduler, speech therapist, nutritionist, house physician, surgeons, residents, medical students, RN’s, LPN’s, CNA’s. The alphabet soup of healthcare cycles through his room like planets orbiting the sun. They speak a language of healing, of health, of hope. They do not always speak a language we understand.
I am being educated in the art of being a pro-active caregiver. “Doctor Speak” is no longer being met with the polite head nod. Instead, I am stopping them, asking them to repeat, asking to have those words put into layman’s terms. My follow-up conversations now begin with “so, you’re saying….” With the exception of the chemotherapy oncologist, the physicians have all been more than willing to work with us and to make sure we understood what they are saying. Getting information from the chemotherapist is akin to driving at night with no headlights. She seems determined to breeze in, speed through the information she feels we need and make a fast exit out the door. My husband dislikes her and I do not disagree. She is cold, impersonal, supercilious and dismissive of George’s hearing loss. I am determined to have all of our questions about chemotherapy answered. There is always the possibility that I will block the doorway the next time she enters the room, cutting off her escape until we are satisfied our concerns have been adequately addressed. Hmmmmmm...............