#Respect #ClinicalTrial I walked out, just in time. This morning, I sat at a doctor’s for 2 ½ hours, increasingly nervous. I had volunteered for a Phase 1/2a investigational drug trial--I learned they'd tried it on just six people before me--and the auspices were not promising. Calls I was to receive hadn’t come; RXs—for qualifying imaging—not emailed when expected; the RX for a blood draw never arrived. The rep said to come in for the 1, 1 1/2 hr screening interview anyway. I initialed all 16 pages of the consent form, and waited. I finished my magazine. After an hour I asked, "How much longer?" "About 15 minutes," the study coordinator said, and then the doctor would be quick: maybe 15 minutes. I returned to my room went through my tai chi warmups. After 1/2 hour I called home to say I wouldn’t be much longer. I told the coordinator my concerns, saying I’d give it another five minutes. She brought in the PA, who said, "Another 10, 15 minutes the doctor will be done and can see you." With their record of time competence? "Too tight," I said, and left. If I’d hit traffic on the way home, I would have been late. As it was, I had time for two-three bites of lunch before a scheduled meeting. This was a screwed-up trial, a less-than-together practice. They could have communicated. Where's the respect? They could have offered me water. Taking responsibility, I could've considered, “They haven’t managed to follow though so far; it would be foolish to volunteer for them.”