Note: For those of you who follow me with any regularity, you know I don’t swear much in posts (well, not these days anyway). However, after reading this, I’m sure you’ll understand why certain words made a frequent appearance. Just sayin’.
I reached my breaking point today. After the week I’ve had, it wouldn’t have really taken much anyway, but it would seem that, indeed, someone decided to test my patience and found me lacking. Boy, was I lacking. I think I made a male nurse cry. I don’t know. I pretty much didn’t care. I was ready to cut someone if they fucked with me. With words. They were my weapon of choice.
It all began on Monday. I’d called for a refill on my Ambien on Friday last week. Friiiiiiiiiiiiiiday. Friday. I should have been able to pick it up from the pharmacy Monday after P.T. When I got to the pharmacy I was told the doctor’s office had until the end of the day to respond. If they didn’t hear back, they’d call the office again first thing in the morning on Tuesday. TUESDAY. Did they? Nope. Did they call on Wednesday? Apparently not. When I called the pharmacy yesterday morning, after lo these many days without sleep, I figured they’d have something. Nope. I told them that was unacceptable since they’d said they’d stay on top of it and hadn’t. So, when I showed up at the pharmacy counter in the afternoon, they pretty much shouldn’t have been surprised when I burst into tears because they STILL DIDN’T HAVE MY PRESCRIPTION. Yet, they were.
I walked out of there with my meds. Yep. I sure as shit did. I made it a point to let those I’d dealt with know that them dropping the ball wasn’t appreciated.
Today? I got to the doctor’s office a little early. My dad drove me down there and he said he’d sit in the car and wait. That should have been my first clue something would go wrong. I stood at the counter waiting to check in and nothing… I waited and waited and waited. (Hmm, this explains why I also had trouble getting through to the office by phone on Monday, it would seem.) Finally, the gal came out to the desk and after five minutes of hemming and hawing, she tells me the P.A. is at least 45 minutes behind schedule.
“I wish I’d known this before I got here. I could have been dropping my camera off for repair instead of sitting around.”
“Wait…are you fucking kidding me? Am I being Punk’d? Cuz at my last appointment I waited two hours to be seen.”
“I want to talk to someone. Now. Get the nurse out here. I have to have some answers.”
I finally spied the nurse and called him over. I told him this was unacceptable…that there was no way in the world that TWICE I should be kept waiting and waiting and waiting. What about my father? Couldn’t they have called to let me know they were running behind? Seems like that would have been the smart — and considerate — thing to do.
I’m pretty sure there was steam coming from my ears. I’m pretty sure my blood pressure was sky high. And I’m pretty damn sure that they won’t hesitate to call me prior to my next appointment (yeah, I have to have another fucking appointment in two fucking weeks because I really should have seen the fucking doctor and not the fucking P.A…. just as I had fucking expected! And this is yet another issue that pissed me the fuck off!) and let me know they’re running late because I’m pretty damn sure they REALLY won’t like me if I’m made to wait for hours again.
Perhaps part of the reason I felt so evil and angry was the lack of sleep during the week. But you know, that’s not the whole reason. No. See, here’s the thing: I’ve worked in medical offices and I know it’s possible to pick up the phone to call patients and let them know the doctor is running late. I used to do it all the time. Regardless of how shorthanded the office may be, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. In other words, you let your patients know what’s going on before they get there so they can plan accordingly. If the patient is a diabetic, they can get lunch or adjust their testing and medication schedule. If a patient is in pain, they can plan meds around the visit. They could run errands prior to getting there and still make it home in time to pick up their kids. See where I’m going with this? It’s a simply courtesy that lets you know the doctor and the staff realize your time is just as valuable as theirs is.
Getting the runaround all week from the pharmacy and the doctor’s office (when I’d called them) had set me on edge. The fact that I’d received a postcard on Monday telling me “We tried to contact you to let you know your appointment has been rescheduled and you will be seeing the P.A. instead of the doctor” made me mad. I knew I needed to see the doctor because it was supposed to be our final regular appointment. It also made me mad because I knew damn well they hadn’t “tried to contact” me. (Sorry, that polite bullshit doesn’t fly with me.) And when I called on Monday, I couldn’t get through the first three times. I got some recording telling me all the lines were in use and to try again later. Then I got hung up on twice. Then I got put on hold for 35 minutes only to be told that they weren’t sure if I needed to see the doctor or not, but they’d have someone call me back. That never happened. Every other phone call to the office that week went unreturned. My attorney, with whom I’d spoken on Tuesday, also believed that I’d need to see the doctor for the final visit. Now I have to go back again?
This alternately seething/weeping person I was all week is not the person I want to be, nor the person I enjoy being. I did everything I could to calm myself. The shit just kept piling on me though and I couldn’t take it any longer. At some point, I stopped apologizing for being angry because I’d been treated poorly. I understand that things happen and appointments run long and doctors run behind. But it happened twice in a row. And this week there were too many balls dropped.
So today, I became a bitch. And I kind of didn’t care.
Thank God for my dad because he calmed my ass down once I got into the car. Then he took me to the camera shop so I could get my camera in for repair. Oh, and here’s the fun part: it’ll be 4-6 weeks before I get the camera back. No clue as to what’s wrong, how much it’ll cost…other than the $30 it cost me to get it sent to the service center. As I told my friend on the phone this evening, I could walk the camera up to Irvine (where the service center is) and back in less time than that.
So unless I want to rent gear, I have no camera for the next month and a half. It’s already been a month of me trying everything under the sun to get it to work. I’ve turned away several bands and a couple of families for portrait sessions because it wasn’t working. I suppose I should just rent a camera, but I’d already turned the jobs down (which was okay at the time because I felt sick as a dog and couldn’t think ahead to renting or anything else).
I dunno. Part of me is just so frustrated with everything (I yelled at LD tonight and that rarely happens). Part of me just doesn’t want to give a shit. And part of me is too tired to get upset for long. It’s a little slow burn and a little flash fire. I burn out quickly.
I’ve since decided to simply sit in the corner, suck my thumb, and mumble incoherently. That worked so well while I was sick, right?
Anyhow, if you need me, I’ll be in the corner.
Update: there was a stabbing down near my doctor’s office today. I wasn’t me. I promise. I used my words, baby.