Just Who Needs Their Head Examined

So I went to the neurologist today, having asked for a referral to get another EEG to see why the twitching has increased...my friends who have seen me twitch know what I'm talking about. Apparently this was not the day to find out. Firstly, it was frigging snowing again, which I HATE and hoped to avoid on this side of the country but alas, not far. Then I had to drive all the way out of town to the Victoria General - why on earth would they build a hospital so far out of town? Must be close to some seniors homes or something. Then I had to pay for parking. I know, I know, most cities make you pay for parking at the hospital. I still mind it. Don't we pay an arm and a leg for health care as it is? Why are we also paying for parking at the hospital? Then I get inside and there is no map of the hospital, or directory. All there is when you go in the main entrance is numerous electrical panels that tell you nothing and about 20 sanitizer pumps...so I stood in line at the information desk and asked her where neurology is as I had an appointment. She had no idea. Okay, this is going to get real interesting, real quick. How do you not know where neurology is when you work at the INFORMATION desk? So then I had to tell her what I was having done, and she sent me to the electroscopy department. Not at all what was on my invite from the doc, but I figure I have nothing to lose by checking it out. First I had to stop and take off two layers of sweaters. I don't know why hospitals insist on overheating their buildings. 


So I find the electro dept, and tell the receptionist there I have an appointment for an EEG. No record of it. WTF? They don't schedule them this late, so she asked if I was scheduled for an EKG. Um, no. My heart is fine. It's my head that is about to explode if I don't get some answers. Then I was told to take a seat in the waiting room and the doctor would come and get me soon. Okay then, did I have an appointment or not? I wasn't going to ask any more questions. I went to the bare waiting room, and twiddled my thumbs, since there wasn't a scrap of paper to be read, neither poster, 10 year old magazine, or crappy newspaper. I guess they want you to be both frustrated and bored. 


It wasn't long before this older gentleman, with a very pronounced hunchback, called my name. I followed him so far, and then he just kept waving at me like we were going on an expedition to the north pole and he might lose me. 


We finally get to this hole in the wall office that he tells me he shares with 4 other doctors. He takes out the "referral" from my family doctor, and proceeds to try and decipher the terrible physician writing. He informed me that there was no request sent for an EEG and the machine is currently in the emergency department. Um, okay. So now what? He asked me to tell him about my symptoms and when they began. We went through some of it, and when I casually mentioned that I had numbness in my hands, but I think it was from tendinitis, as the doctors have told me for years it is not carpal tunnel syndrome. He was on that like a dog with a bone - we can check this electronically...and had anyone ever done this? No. The only thing doctors have ever done was bend my wrists this way and that and declared no problem. 


So Mr Science guy invites me to lay on the exam table while he attaches a few electrodes to my right arm so he can measure the stimulation of my nerves. This takes several minutes while he clicks away at the computer, adjusts electrodes, applies stickers, jelly...okay...and then came the cattle prod...no, not a real cattle prod, but worked much the same way by sending me a little jolt. Somewhat unpleasant, but I soldiered on. He printed off some stuff, said he had a diagnosis and left the room. Um...what? 


Mr Science guy came back and sat down, made a bunch of notes...I asked him, um, so what is the verdict and are we going to get to the EEG or not? Well, he informed me I had carpal tunnel syndrome, and handed me an article on it. As for the EEG, he filled out a requisition for it, and told me to expect a call from the scheduling clerk and if she didn't call, to call them. Okay, who? The clerk, you know, the clerk. Um, no I do not know, this is my first time here at this hospital and I only found you by luck. Just call the hospital and ask for the clerk...okay then. 


Then he asked me if there was anything that seemed to make the twitching worse - I told him that alcohol seems to exacerbate it some, but that I don't drink often, it is just something I noticed. I also told him about another little habit, but his answer to that was "that won't hurt you" and he rifled through his desk drawer again and left the room. When he came back, he handed me an article on the prohibition of cannabis, and said - that's how I feel about it all. It was an article supporting the legalization of cannabis, given the prohibition has not decreased use in any way, and has led to the growth of a huge criminal element. Okay doc, thanks. We also chatted about what I like to do in my spare time. I told him I like to go to music concerts, among other things. Then he asked what kind of music - so I mentioned rock music...well, that led to a very interesting discussion about the patterns he fails to see in rock music that he can see in jazz. I told him he had to stop trying so hard to explain it that he should just listen to it and enjoy it. 


Doc then asked me what I did for a living, and I told him I was a social worker. Then we ended up in a discussion about social work, his daughter was one, but she was a professional student, over achiever, unmarried, no children, and still in school for a doctorate, wants to be high in government, and he is concerned that she is an overachiever with no life for herself. I begin to wonder which doctor I really came to? Neurologist or therapist? He seemed to know what he was talking about for the most part, even if he did digress several times. After awhile though, I was beginning to think I was in the twilight zone. I went in for a head exam and came out with a wrist diagnosis...