After suffering for 2 years, I've had it with the modern medical profession. Out of a dozen or so doctors, I've only dealt with one really competent one: My longtime personal physician Dr. Speckmiear.

The straw that broke the camel's back came Tuesday when it was time to refill my hydrocodone prescription. Well, that's actually misleading since it was actually a week after I needed it refilled. My current doctor, Dr. Jessica Cook, has been continuously writing scripts that don't meet my needs for a one month supply. She was writing them for 100 pills and I managed to get her up to 120, but that still doesn't meet the needs of someone who takes 5 pills a day. I've been taking 5 pills a day for a year now and I reached that number after consulting my physician and after a botched sympathetic nerve block.

When I called the pharmacy to see if my pills were finally ready, they weren't. My mom called the clinic to see what was going on and they hung up on her 3 fucking times! So she went up there demanding to see Dr. Cook. They would only let her see her nurse who had no answers and couldn't tell her why Dr. Cook wouldn't write the correct prescription or why she hadn't bothered to take 5 minutes to sign a damn refill order and fax it back to the pharmacy.

All the stress was making my leg hurt even more. So I finally just snapped. I've sort of just taken the crap I've had to deal with from doctors thinking I didn't really have a choice. I've always looked up to doctors and could never imagine being one of those people who sued them.

The only thing we could do was take me to the emergency room at Providence Hospital. Even though there was a strict rule against giving narcotics to people off the street, the doctor risked his license and his job to get me Vicodin so I didn't walk out of there suffering. He gave me enough to get me to the next day so that I could sort out my refill.

Considering I don't have health insurance or a job, just a gold Good Health Card from County Welfare, they wanted to know how I was paying for my visit. The lady couldn't understand why I didn't have the blue card, which basically pays for everything everywhere. I'm living off my mom's spare change and whatever and she can give me. That and my credit cards, both of which are now maxed out. Neither could the person at the pharmacy the next day. There's no reason why I don't have the blue card except that the people in the welfare office were adding in my mom's income, which they aren't supposed to do.

In the ER, they took my basic vitals. I had just taken my last two Vicodin because my leg hurt so much. With 20mgs of hydrocodone, my blood pressure was 143/110 and my heart rate was 91 bpm, way above normal for me. I'm usually 110/80 and around 67 bpm, but I was so stressed from dealing with my own doctor's negligence that even a drug that is supposed to lower heart rates and breathing wasn't doing much of either.

So, in the span of 2 years I've had a surgeon ruin my knee so that I can't use it anymore, blamed me for not getting better, called me pathetic to my face and disregarded me when I told him I though I had complex regional pain syndrome which another diagnosed after 2 seconds of looking at my leg 2 months later. Great job Dr. Ellis.

I've had a pain specialist, Dr. Hurley, that everyone who has ever met him regards as a total dick promise me a "one shot cure" to my chronic condition which made me worse than I was before. And while I was laying on his exam table in agony, he decided it was the perfect time to test if I was double jointed. I was in so much pain from him twisting my knee around that I was biting my hand to keep from screaming and he told my mom that was okay as long as I didn't break the skin. I spent the next two days in bed barely able to move and my mom had to keep sharp objects away from me because I convinced myself that if I cut off a pinky finger it would take my mind off how much my leg hurt.

And now there is Dr. Cook, who is roughly my age, has absolutely no medical knowledge of my condition and won't write the correct prescriptions or even talk to my mom when she screws up. If she thinks I'm abusing narcotics, then don't give me any. But she can't do that because my doctor, a three-phase bone scan, a pain specialist and a neurologist have all confirmed I do indeed have a chronic pain condition and I need pain meds. So she should prescribe the correct amount. You don't write half a month's script for blood pressure medication and tell them to make it last. That's negligence.

So I spent Tuesday night going through the yellow pages with my mom looking at every malpractice attorney in Waco because I've decided to sue all three of these assholes. And sue them big. It's not even about getting money, even though being crippled for life and not being able to work at the age of 25 kind of necessitates getting a lot of money from somewhere. I want to take it as far as I can and take so much money from their insurance companies that there is no way that they could possibly get malpractice insurance in the future and thus never do what they've done to me to anyone else. I want to ruin their names, their practices and let them get a little taste of the hopelessness that comes from not knowing what is going to happen to you for the rest of your life.

I want retribution.