I remember stating the obvious a time or two to a doctor (or after seeing a doctor)... Something like, “Hey! I’m a human. Please treat me like a living and breathing entity with feelings.” As in, have just a hair of a bedside manner.
Here's the backstory: I’ve been trying to schedule surgery for ummm… 7 months. Count ‘em up! 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 months. That means seven months of storyline straightening, six months of the appeals process, five months of waiting, four rounds of appealing to the insurance company, three different calls with the surgeon, two patient advocates, and one surgery date. Or at least it should have all been leading to ONE surgery date. That means, if you give me a surgery date because my appeal has been accepted then I will be excited about scheduling surgery. Don't. Take. That. Away. From. Me.
But you did… because you jumped the gun and didn't wait for final sign off from the surgeon… because you didn't take my very realistic travel schedule into account… because you don't care about my feelings.
Sure I am grateful that you can finally schedule me, but geez lady. Try to treat me like a human, would ya?