Auld Lang
Syne
Dear Emily Rose,
Bringing in the New Year must have been uneventful because I don’t
remember much about it. I wasn’t at a hip party or dancing in Times
Square. In fact, I didn’t even watch the ball drop on
television. I can guarantee I was in bed already. Midnight is past my
bedtime and New Year’s Eve is not my favorite holiday.
But with the calendar change came an unavoidable first experience for us
both. Our first OB/gyn appointment was upon us. I made sure to follow
their instructions about what to do prior to the appointment and left the house
with a clear head. The hospital and doctors would be new to me, but I was
a seasoned veteran. I saw this appointment as one of those chores that
would be over with soon enough and then easily
forgotten.
I walked into the waiting room and my first reaction was one of
disappointment. My last doctor’s office was like the Cheesecake Factory of
offices–huge, well decorated, and busy but run like a military
operation. Comparatively, this new place was a hole in the wall. I’m not
the type of girl that needs all the frills, but I felt lost and suddenly had
the feeling that something was about to go wrong.
I waited behind one other person and when it was my turn, I gave the
secretary with a bad 1980’s haircut my ID and insurance card. Through her wide-framed
glasses, she peered at me with a combination of annoyance and disgust. “Do you
have a referral with you?”
I was ready for this question since they told me I would need to take
care of this before the appointment. “My insurance company said I didn’t need
one.”
“You ALWAYS need one when your primary care physician
is in a different state.”
To make a long and rather uninteresting story short, I lived
in Vermont at the time but had a Massachusetts primary care
doctor, one I had never seen before. After spending a long time trying to
get a referral anyway, I was relieved to find out from my insurance company
that I was good to go without one.
I went into more detail about my phone conversation with the insurance
rep. After my spiel, I waited in uncomfortable silence as she formulated her
unfair judgment about my competence. I could see it in her eyes. Soon
the bickering resumed and only ended when she decided to “check with her office
manager.”
OK...you do that...
I sat down in a corner as far away from humanity as
possible. Trying to debate a secretary on a power trip is like trying to
discuss evolution with a religious zealot. Both are immune to reason
because their “word” is gospel. My argument would have been just as
effective if I had broken into a chorus of Auld Lang Syne.
I stewed in silence until my name was called. The worst had to be
over, right? Well, I wish that were true. The know-it-all nurse then
had to say things like...this should have been taken care of already...you may
have to pay out of pocket....blah, blah, blah. She was clearly on team
secretary.
Now imagine this, Emily Rose: you are sitting on an exam table wearing
only a disposable gown. You are about to undergo one of the most invasive
procedures you will ever have done by a complete stranger. AND THEN, the
nurse and your supposed doctor start discussing your insurance predicament (and
your blatant ignorance) right outside the exam room door.
Because the doctor was badmouthing me in the hall, I disliked him before
he walked in the room. And, of course, once he decided to grace me with
his presence, he started his speech on the intricacies of the
health insurance system.
“I’m not an idiot,” I said unremorsefully when he was through, and
I should have added, “or deaf either.” Then I asked who the
expert was on the matter since my insurance company obviously gave
me the wrong information. The nurse and the doctor exchanged glances and
couldn’t give me a straight answer. It was just as I expected. They
didn’t really know any more about my situation than I did.
Their attention then turned to my health and it was about time! I
gave the doctor curt answers to his inquiries and endured his poking and
prodding. The end was near. It had to be. I had been through
enough for one day. When the exam was over, I put my clothes back on and
tried to hold it together as I went to check out.
I attempted to schedule my next appointment with the younger, more
pleasant office assistant, but the process was interrupted by bad-haircut,
power-trip lady. She had more to say. I had to tune her out. Adrenaline,
nausea, low blood sugar, and pregnancy hormones were quickly becoming a toxic
combination. My vision started to blur and not just with tears. While
I was mentally trying to find an escape route, the infamous “office manager”
stepped in. Her “we’re only trying to help you” speech wasn’t at all
convincing, but at least someone had information with more substance than
hearsay. She had called my insurance company and just as I had said from
the beginning, I didn’t need a referral. So I was right all along! In
essence, power-trip lady, preachy nurse, and uncompassionate doctor were just
practicing their condescension at my expense.
In the car on my way home, I called your father at work and gave him the
tearful rendition of my story. When life seems overly complicated in my head,
he has a way of removing the extraneous emotional variables. His
conclusion was this: find a different doctor. The thought was empowering, but
the second closest hospital was about forty minutes away. I felt
stuck. For your sake, Emily Rose, I decided to give them one more chance,
a chance they didn’t deserve...
Signing off,
Mom
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