Dismissive Doctors & Data Dives – A Hospital Stay with a Side of "WTF"

So here I am. In a hospital bed. Wires on my chest, tubes up my arm, blood pressure doing its best impression of a rollercoaster—and still, somehow, the scariest thing I’ve encountered is the parade of doctors too afraid to give a damn unless it's career-safe.

Let’s be clear: I’m not dying. Yet. And that’s the problem.

The moment you're not an emergency, some of these doctors turn into politicians—quick to offer help if it benefits their stats, but terrified of sticking their neck out in case doing the right thing might tick off a protocol or threaten their precious “safe practice” badge.

Except for one.

Dr. Lisa Dodd.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t brush me off. She fought—actually fought—to get me the care I needed now, not three months from now when it’s convenient or less risky for their reputation. She’s the reason I’m even still trying to cooperate with the system.

The others? They acted like my presence was a nuisance, like they were trying to solve the problem of me rather than the problem with me. One even proudly handed me a specialist recommendation—something I can’t act on for over three damn months. As if a ticking time bomb of a blood pressure reading is just another item on the “we’ll get to it eventually” list.

I didn’t come here looking for miracles. I came here for facts. If I don’t need surgery, great—give me the meds, slap a metaphorical band-aid on my chart, and I’ll GTFO to figure out the rest on my own time. But don’t treat me like I’m trying to steal attention from someone more interesting just because I’m not currently coding on the floor.

This wasn’t about comfort. This was recon.

I came in to gather info.

I’m leaving with more anger than answers.

And if the system expects us to wait quietly in pain while it debates whose career might get scratched by doing the right thing, it’s more broken than I am.

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