quentin on Nostr: Disclaimer: I’m going to share something that affected me personally, but I’m ...
Disclaimer: I’m going to share something that affected me personally, but I’m fully aware that there are people who have been through much worse. Of course, there’s no comparison to their pain and anguish.
Today, I went to the ophthalmologist to have a chalazion checked—one I’ve had in my eye for almost a year. The doctor told me I needed surgery (a minor outpatient procedure, but one that required signing a consent form).
I left the consultation, went to get the consent form, and they handed it to me saying, “Sign here.” I responded, “Hold on, let me read everything first before I decide whether to sign or not.”
The document stated that I had been diagnosed with a malignant tumor and that they needed to remove and biopsy it. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming dizziness. When I managed to collect myself, I asked the receptionist if this was correct.
She gave me a look that said “I’ll speak with the doctor.”
Long story short: the doctor apologized. They had given me the wrong document.
It was the most distressing 30 minutes I’ve experienced in a long time.
I surprised myself by feeling guilty for worrying about myself, when in reality, I should have been thinking about my family and friends—because if something truly serious had happened, they would be the ones suffering the most.
I know this is insignificant compared to what others go through, but I swear, these small scares (even with a “happy” ending) reinforce the way I see life.
Nothing is really that serious. Call your mother. Hug your best friend. Tell your partner you love them. Read your kids a bedtime story tonight. Tomorrow, we may not be here.
I love you, strangers
Today, I went to the ophthalmologist to have a chalazion checked—one I’ve had in my eye for almost a year. The doctor told me I needed surgery (a minor outpatient procedure, but one that required signing a consent form).
I left the consultation, went to get the consent form, and they handed it to me saying, “Sign here.” I responded, “Hold on, let me read everything first before I decide whether to sign or not.”
The document stated that I had been diagnosed with a malignant tumor and that they needed to remove and biopsy it. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming dizziness. When I managed to collect myself, I asked the receptionist if this was correct.
She gave me a look that said “I’ll speak with the doctor.”
Long story short: the doctor apologized. They had given me the wrong document.
It was the most distressing 30 minutes I’ve experienced in a long time.
I surprised myself by feeling guilty for worrying about myself, when in reality, I should have been thinking about my family and friends—because if something truly serious had happened, they would be the ones suffering the most.
I know this is insignificant compared to what others go through, but I swear, these small scares (even with a “happy” ending) reinforce the way I see life.
Nothing is really that serious. Call your mother. Hug your best friend. Tell your partner you love them. Read your kids a bedtime story tonight. Tomorrow, we may not be here.
I love you, strangers