VPN Plus+ ExclusiveA gentle rant on medical infantilization and the "pet parent" trapAugust 6, 2020By Patty Khuly, VMD, MBASmack in the thick of Miami's COVID spike, I had to have minor surgery to correct a bony defect caused by Rottweiler skull-induced trauma to my nose. The timing was technically elective. It needed to be done eventually, but the sooner the better, cosmetically speaking. I chose vanity over safety weeks in advance, not knowing my zip code would zoom to the top of COVID's bell curve of casualties on that exact day. At least it was an excuse to test myself ($350 for a 24-hour "concierge" negative) and take a much-needed mental break––a two-week staycation––after powering through the first full half of 2020 without so much as one whole day off (Sundays included). Despite the pain I anticipated, and the unsightly bruising, I was looking forward to the propofol and midazolam. Sweet, medically sanctioned oblivion! Sadly, I suffered a rough night during my required stay at the surgical center. The food was inedible, the meds made me vomit, and the nurse was on my case. Let's just say I wouldn't wish her on anyone. Among other transgressions, she blamed me for vomiting on my blankets when she didn't lift a finger to bring me a receptacle, constantly woke me …
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