Chance Encounters of the Weirdest Kind

How We Found Our Specialist

Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash

Getting the Much Needed Referral

[Author’s Note: These events happened 18 months ago. I retell it now as I was inspired to do so.] Inspired by Dr. Kristina Adams Waldorf’s post about a serendipitous encounter with a medical professional, I offer my own serendipitous encounter with a medical professional.

Mr. J’s diagnosis stunned the hell out of us.  It is a rare, but awful condition.  Dr. Dickhead had only read about this particular slow march towards death.  He had never actually seen one.  He was pretty “doom and gloom.”

As it happens, Mr. J and I live within driving distance of a World Renowned Medical Center (hereinafter WRMC).  However, you may be surprised to learn that one does not simply make an appointment at a WRMC.  Oh, no.  One is only allowed within the hallowed halls of said WRMC by invitation.  So how does one get an invitation?  Well, it helps if you or your loved one’s diagnosis is for something exceedingly rare.  Also, private health insurance is all but a must have (although I suspect the need for good health insurance is balanced against the exoticness of the illness).  Finally, as in almost all things, it helps if you know someone.

None of My Friends are Doctors

None of my friends are doctors.  Mr. J has a cousin who is a doctor at an Ivy League establishment, and she has been consistently absolutely lovely.  But her specialty is women’s medicine, and she doesn’t know anyone at our WRMC.  So while she taught me terms like “differential diagnosis,” her role has been one of support.  I needed a “door opener.”  I called everyone I could think of who might have a connection.  But none of the usual suspects could provide the connection I needed. 

Do You Know Anyone at WRMC?

Mr. J and I were having dinner with good friends.  He, in the legal profession, she a business owner.  “I just wish there was something we could do,” he said as we enjoyed dowjic soup and kubeh brinj.  “Ha!” I said.  “Do you know anyone at WRMC?”  I was kidding, of course.  It had been a month and I hadn’t yet found anyone who could help. Dr. Dickhead was taking his sweet time sending the referral to them.  He was our only hope, and he wasn’t nearly as alarmed by Mr. J’s diagnosis as we were.  He had literally no sense of urgency about anything regarding Mr. J’s care.

Two days later, our business owner friend sent me a text.  Turns out, someone who works for her as a physical therapist is married to a tennis pro.   And her tennis pro husband gives tennis lessons to doctors at the WRMC.  And one of the doctors at the WRMC who takes lessons from her husband specializes in Mr. J’s particular form of brain degeneration.  And he had agreed to see us to see if he could help.

You could have knocked me over with a feather.