After my dear friend and also my doctor, moved back to Canada I had to find a stranger doctor. No more hanging out visiting and catching up for a few minutes at my appointments. I miss her. A lot.
Nope, this doctor on my first visit prescribes four procedures pending insurance approval. Smashing my boobs on a cold metal plate ; yah, okay that’d be fine. And the bone density. Piece of cake. But I was just kind of mad about the colonoscopy.
I told my doctor, “Oh, no thank you; I’m opting out. I watched my husband drink that horrid stuff the day before his ‘procedure’ and he pretty much looked like it was possibly the worst thing to ever befall mankind. Ever. Like giving birth to seven children all at once. And then he pallidly schlepped around the rest of the evening. No, but thanks for asking.”
But this doctor is not my friend; she said she wasn’t asking if I wanted this done and she sent it through for approval. When I got back from Las Vegas I discovered that all procedures were approved. At every office all I got was a message machine.
Okay, little note to colonoscopy doctors: no one really ever wants to get in contact with you; the least you could do is have a genuine human being answer the phone when the poor suspect finally gets up the courage to call. FYI.
When the phone first rang with returned calls; I hoped, fingers crossed, that the first call was not the colonoscopist a.k.a. gastroenterologist. A tentative, “hello?” from me and then,
“Hi, this is the massage therapist.”
“Are you kidding me!? I was wishing upon a star that it was you and not the gastroenterologist! I was just in Las Vegas but this, this feels like I won at the slot machines.” I continued, “Yah, I left a message with the gastroenterologist and if they don’t call me back, I am not calling them, but you, you I would have hunted you down.”
Massage therapy is another thing altogether. It is now almost a year since I woke up with a pain in my neck, like if a neck could do sit-ups; my neck did five hundred.
I thought, “So this is my life forever and ever, the end.” When my doctor told me that it could definitely be fixed. I kinda wanted to kiss her. But she is a stranger doctor and not my friend; so I didn’t.
I am so happy that my neck will be fixed; the other procedure, though, well, insurance has it approved for sometime in the next year. I’ll shoot for sometime in the very distant future. A huge part of the GI receptionist’s job must be hunting down people whose insurance has approved the procedure; I mean, who would go out of their way to make that appointment? Really, they should just answer their phone the first (and only) time the patient nerves-up to call.
Seriously, would you spend one second of your precious summer vacation having a colonoscopy if it could be put off, say, indefinitely?