I’m back on the west coast for the Christmas break. I normally fly in and out late at night, but this year’s flight had me arriving around lunchtime. The drive home from the airport took me past the hospital where I was diagnosed. Rather than deal with faxing back and forth information and requests, I took the opportunity to swing by the medical records department to see if they could help me out.
One of the representative still had my file on his desk from my initial phone call last month so I was in and out of the office in about 5 minutes. I started reading the information as soon as I got back in the car.
I don’t even know where to start. It’s roughly how my hyperglycemic brain remembers it. It was interesting to see the actual numbers from the lab work.
But the errors, oh the errors.
I could have gone much, much longer without reading any of that. I’m not sure I would have thought so highly of the endocrinologist I had for the next three years if I had known of all mistakes he made in the diagnosis and discharge notes. For now the file is back in its envelope, I’m enjoying the final details of holiday prep, and I’ll return to my frustration with how apparently difficult it is to correctly diagnose an extremely typical case of type 1 diabetes in anyone over the age of 18 in the new year.