the wrong affect

[boxofdelights]

I got a phone message from my new doctor's office, telling me that neither my new doctor nor anyone else on their panel was accepting new patients, offering me the phone number for Associates in Family Medicine, and signing off with "I hope that helps!"

I called back to protest that my appointment had been scheduled eight months ago. Eventually got to talk to a person, who agreed that my appointment existed and I should not have gotten that phone call.

I don't know what I'd have done otherwise; the reason that I agreed to wait eight months for an intake visit was that I won't go to Associates in Family Medicine, who still employ Dr Steven B. Tippin (*spit*).

I was just thinking about Dr Tippin (*spit*) the other day, when someone posted about the problem of having to present the correct affect in order to get medical care instead of being brushed off as a hysterical woman. Women, of course, are always untrustworthy; pregnant (or menstruating, or premenstrual, or menopausal) women doubly so; and then there's Hysterical Hispanic Syndrome, which is endemic here in Colorado. So of course when I noticed, near the end of my first pregnancy, that the baby's movements were decreasing, I made sure to stay calm and serious as I described it to Dr Tippin (*spit*). He appeared to take me seriously. He asked if there had been a sudden drop-off. I said no, it was very gradual[*], but clearly decreasing from one week to the next. He listened to the baby's heartbeat for 15 seconds, multiplied that by 4, and told me everything was fine.

My mom, who was an ER nurse, said that the doctor must have dismissed my concerns because I seemed like a hysterical pregnant woman. I said no, I had been very careful not to. My mom didn't miss a beat: she said the doctor must have dismissed my concerns because I didn't seem concerned enough.

At the next visit I evinced more distress. I reminded him that I had brought up this concern last time. I said that the baby's movements had continued to dwindle, gradually but persistently, in strength and frequency. He listened to the baby's heartbeat for 15 seconds, multiplied that number by 4, and told me everything was fine.

At the next visit, Dr Tippin (*spit*) yelled at me for not knowing that the baby had stopped moving forever.

That's Dr Steven B. Tippin (*spit*), still practicing with Associates in Family Medicine in Fort Collins, CO.

I do realize that Dr Tippin (*spit*) was yelling at me to drown out whatever small noise his stunted shriveled conscience was still capable of making, but you know that moment in Prince Caspian when Susan has to acknowledge that she saw Aslan, she knew they were going in the wrong direction, she didn't fight for what she knew because... she doesn't even know anymore, but something feeble? That's me.


[*]If you are ever pregnant and worried about whether the baby's movements are decreasing, do kick counts. http://www.countthekicks.org/faq/

Comments

[wild_irises]

My own experience losing a baby was very different, and did not involve malpractice (the one medical judgment that could be considered a factor was discussed with me and I agreed comfortably), and I think that makes me even angrier at Dr. Tippin (*spit*) than I would be otherwise.

pokershaman's mother was a victim of clear malpractice, which may or may not have hastened her death 15+ years ago. She made the utterly understandable decision not to pursue a claim ("I don't want to spend the last year of my life angry") and I supported her completely. But what I always wanted to do, and still fantasize about doing if that doctor is still practicing, was stand outside his office with printed cards that say "Dr. X is a liar and keeps his patients from getting good care" and let him sue me. I offer you this image in the hopes that it will bring you some measure of vengeful comfort, not as an actual suggestion.

[kalmn]

i am low on words other than horrified looks and running for the bourbon to share with boxofdelights. but i can tell a horrific doctor story.

so, this last time my mom was in the hospital, the jackass who performed the surgery that nearly killed her last fall[1] had just moved his office. and there were signs up on the parking ramp doors, and in the stairwells, etc. and i had a red sharpie in my purse. which i used to write HACK HACK HACK on every single blessed one of those that i saw. i hit about one a day, due to parking in different places, and for some reason, they were never there the next time i came through that door.

[1] he performed the surgery maybe 10-15 years ago, but it didn't ramp up to almost killing her until last fall.

[boxofdelights]

Ha!

(I'm glad you didn't get caught on CCTV)