Dr. Brent Beadling, or "Don't mess with me, I will cut you"

From the moment Dr. Brent Beadling walked in the door, he made it quite obvious that he was only interested in getting me in and out of his office as soon as possible.

Being relatively new in Jacksonville, and having had a couple bad colds lately (when previously, I had been well for over a full year, quite an accomplishment for a kid who routinely spent the allergy-prone seasons knocked completely on her ass since birth), I had yet to establish a relationship with a primary care physician. I decided it was time. I am mostly over my more recent, less violent cold, that was not nearly as debilitating as the one I had in March. The coughing spasms that produce great green clods of phlegm and keep myself and my boyfriend up for significant portions of the night (when the four hours' worth of Robitussin runs out at approxmiately 3 AM) were less pronounced. I didn't resemble an uncharacteristically young woman to have the death rattle of a chain-smoker three times my age. But sick I still was, and being out of the gym, and being run down, is anathema to someone as spunky as me. I wanted a physician to listen to my health history, and recommend not only things I could do to get well, but moreso, things I could do to stay well. And to establish a relationship with someone to whom I could run for antibiotics when my body wasn't doing a good enough job on its own.

Dr. Brent Beadling apparently went to a very very good medical school. He is obviously way more brilliant than us all. I can think of no other justification for being as much of an asshole as he was. He didn't listen to me. He cut me off when I tried to tell him things about my symptoms. He rolled his eyes when I would tell him that I had allergies and therefore, am sick more than average, telling me that allergies and colds "have nothing to do with one another." I corrected myself, and apologized for mis-speaking, but told him that my allergist had told me that because I am allergic to so many things at so many different times of year, I am more susceptible to catch illnesses. He corrected me that people with allergies have their hands in their nose and eyes and mouths more than people without, and therefore, we spread more germs. Fine, whatever: I have more illnesses. What can you do to help me overcome and/or prevent those, fine doctor? Dr. Brent Beadling. (I'm hoping the more times I say his name in this post, the more likelihood it has of popping up in a google search.)

He continued to talk me out of all the things that I had been told about my many and sundry upper respiratory infections and told me that nutritious eating, getting rest, lots of fluids, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle, including exercise, were the key. (All of which, not being an actual idiot, but merely playing one in Dr. Brent Beadling's office, I had been doing, and actually, I make it a practice to engage in healthful habits, regularly.) He proceeds to write a prescription for an antibiotic that he was complaining he constantly had to prescribe because people run to the doctor at the first sign of a scratchy throat, which is why antibiotics begin to lose efficacy. He explained that antiobiotics "make you feel better" because people get them and in a few days they start to feel better, when in reality, their own immune system fights the infection on its own in 3 to 14 days, as 97% of colds are caused by viruses, against which antiobiotics are useless. If he had actually cared what I was saying, he would know that last time I was sick, I sweated it out for five days, out of work, at home, before my cough was literally so bad, I sounded like the aforementioned chain-smoker with a death rattle. (Yeah, there's my body making itself better, good work, body.) When I finally went to emergency care and got an anbiotic, I began to feel better immediately. Having had this same cough all of my life, and knowing my illnesses, and knowing my body, and knowing that colds go straight to my chest, and knowing what will and will not make it "better," I don't run to the doctor at the first sign of a scratchy throat. I wait until I see my body is not fighting the infection on its own. And so, he writes the "useless" antiobiotic prescription for a person who is actually in his office after having largely fought off two colds in as many months (to large extent) with her own immune system, and actually is looking for long-term, preventative care to avoid the colds that plague her in the first place.

He continued to sigh and roll eyes and act distracted and like his time was too good for me, all the way until, in the middle of answering a question I had about why *my* colds always devolved into a crippling cough that winded me merely climbing the stairs to my apartment, he actually put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door. While treating me. Allegedly treating me. I told him I had a couple more questions. More sighing and acting like he couldn't be bothered. He came back and proceeded to pawn me off on other specialists, telling me he didn't deal with X, Y, and Z, and didn't I want to see an allergist? What I wanted was to get the prescription and get out of there.

When I left Dr. Brent Beadling's office this morning, I wondered if he was as much a jerk to his other patients as he had just been to me. I soon got my answer. I was on the verge of tears. I had just been treated like a total idiot, and like I was being prescribed medicine to rush me out of his office, rather than because it would do me any good. I felt as though I had been patronized, rather than have anyone really listen to my symptoms and suggest anything that was going to be actually helpful in the long run. I drove to my apartment, wanting to cry and complain to my boyfriend before going to work. I was doing 50 in a 35 around the curve on Point Meadows Road when I saw the cop. I hit the brakes, but it was too late. He exited his car and flagged me down. Being on the verge of tears anyway, and knowing this was the last thing I needed, I summoned them. I was talking through tears before he got to the car.

"Officer, I am so sorry, I know I was speeding, I've just had a really bad experience with my doctor, it was awful, he just acted like he didn't even care about me or my illness and he just was such a jerk to me, and it was just so obvious that he couldn't possibly have less time for me."

"License, please."

"Please just give me a warning, I promise I'll slow down." More tears.

"Where'd you just come from?"

Sniffle. "Baptist Health on the corner."

He narrowed his eyes. "What doctor?"

"Dr. Beadling."

Pause. "He IS a jerk. That's why I just dropped him as my primary care physician."

No lie. The cop let me off with a warning. And referred me to his physician.

Incidentally, when I called to complain to Dr. Beadling's administrator at Baptist Health, she listened sincerely and sympathetically, and when I was done, indicated regretfully that "Dr. Beadling has a problem with compassion."

"So do sociopaths," I quipped.

Oh, and Dr. Beadling, if you're reading this, let me give you a little information from *my* line of work, since I'm sure you're as grossly misinformed about the law as I was about the differences between "allergies" and a "cold." It's not slander if it's the truth.