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Show 163 "May I please speak with Dr. Chappie," I am asking, praying that she is there, praying that they will let me speak with her, praying that they will not think I am some drunk with this slurred Versed speech. "Hello, Suzanne!" She has recognized my voice. "How are you? Where are you?" I am crying as I tell her where I am and why and what is happening to me yet again. She is silent on the other end of the phone. I understand that she cannot say pejorative things about other doctors. I understand she will not say pejorative things about other doctors. I understand that she will not, that she can not, interfere with their care of me. "Will you please take me back as a patient?" I am hearing myself begging. If I could fall on my knees, I would be falling on my knees to beg her to take me back. Even over the telephone. On my knees. "But I don't know anything about stiff-man syndrome," she is saying, and I am interrupting her. "You could not possibly do any worse," I counter. "You would troubleshoot this catheter correctly and not kill me by using the wrong dye." She is gasping on the other end at this new information and trying to make it sound like a cough. |