Mom On The Rocks

My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days are pretty few and far between, but this one went from funny to "I'm just going to go home and sit very still so that nothing else happens."

I have discovered what may very well be potentially my calling for a career: Physicians Critic. Where do I sign up? Who do I call? And what should my asking price be?

Since having my endoscopy, I've been waiting around for "follow-up" appointments with the endoscoper, and now an allergist. It's been months that I've had this scheduled. I dropped the kids off at school and went straight to the allergist. After my skin test (that's a post in itself), I was instructed to wait in the lobby for a phlebotomist to come get me and take my blood. Better a phlebotomist than a vampire is what I always say. Right?

After 20 minutes, I asked the lady at the front desk what's up. She say they never transferred my labs. Long pause. K. So, what now? I have to go back to the other desk. When I got there, I saw the lady who never checked my labs over to blood people. We make eye contact, I SEE that she RECOGNIZES ME. She stares at me, and before I can get a word out, she looks into my eyes, and says to her co-worker, "I'm going to lunch." And walks away. So, I stand in the co-workers line.

Maybe it's me, but you shouldn't be able to go to lunch if you don't get your shit done. What are you breaking from? Your break from transferring my paper work? But I was too chicken to say that. So, I stood in what I thought was the line. Apparently others didn't, because they just breezed right in front of me. Most other patients look way worse off than me, and know they've got to push and shove to get one of these people to now make eye contact, God forbid ask if they can help me. After 15 minutes of that, I walked back to the front counter lady and announced loudly, "I'm 6'3" and apparently invisible back there. NO ONE WILL HELP ME. It's NOON, MY APPOINTMENT WAS FOR 9a.m. NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE."

"I care honey, let me call back there for you."

She calls, says something to someone, and I'm instructed to sit back down, that I'm not in the computer system, someone will be out with me soon. 10 minutes later, my nice nurse who just pricked me with a plastic toothpick is in front of me.

"Do you know which lady checked you out?"

"The one on lunch break. And I know this, because I went back to ask her for help and she announced she was on lunch break."

At this point, I just feel violated, and I want to cry and perhaps report this crime to the police.

"Okay, I'll be right back."

10 minutes later: "Are you sure you don't have your paperwork with you?"

"You look. Here."

She flips through it.

"I think she lost your paperwork. I can't find it. Would you like to come back another day?"

In my nicest southern patronizing voice with a smile, but like it's a question, "Absolutely Not?"

"Okay, then you don't mind waiting?"

Same voice: "Yes I do?"

Shit, now she's confused. I take a deep breath. Emmulate my best kick ass lecturing look and exhale with restraint from exploding: "I will not be coming back. I will not wait. My appointment was for 9 a.m."

"I understand. I just can't find the paperwork."

"It's now 12:30.I will not wait for you to find the doctor, just find some papers, make it happen. At 12:35 I am going to go get my co-pay back and walk out the door. "

She looks at her watch, shocked, she had no idea it was that late. And says she'll take care of it. And she does. A few minutes later, she comes back, relieved. Nice girl, so I try not to continue the ass kicking mantra in my head, atleast not to her.

The personality-of-the-rock-garden-in-my-front-yard (because, it too, has no eyebrows) takes my blood. But she can't just take it. Nope. She's gotta dig. And my veins are rolling. Dig. Dig. It's a good thing I'm TOTALLY into needles. Can she try the other arm? Well, I suppose, or I could just slit my wrist. Whatever. Yes. She takes my blood, I go.

But in the time I've had to think about my visit, in my rage, I've had some time to think. This is dangerous for doctors to do to me. Because I've just been sucked in, and now, I'm liberating, so watch out.

I have been diagnosed for the whole swallowing issue which has happened a handful of times in the last year, only two very bad episodes. Allergist has just written me prescriptions for FOUR ITEMS: Flovent, Singulair (of which she has tried to put my apprehension with the whole depression and suicidal tendencies to rest with the fact that she 'hands it out like it's candy and rarely sees anything of the sort'), Prilosec, and an antihistamine. PharmRep-so-far-up-your ass says wha? I've been on the Flovent since after the surgery. When I asked endoscoper, "Well, is it the chicken or the egg - how do you know what works, the stretching out of my esophagus, or the steroid inhaler?"

"We don't know. So, we just do both."

All my life I've thought doctors were smarter than me. But I'm starting to catch on so watch out!

Now, someone correct me if I'm wrong (but I'm not), this is not a life-threatening issue. How about we do an If-Then scenario. If the stretcher doesn't work, THEN we go to the meds. And one at a time. Mind you, I haven't had one ioda of an episode since the endoscopy. Geez.

And if those people think I'm going back to follow-ups to tell them how I'm feeling EVERY MONTH -they are wrong. Tomorrow, I'm calling them to tell them to cancel my appointments. I'll call them when I need them. Thanks for the stretch, and I'll be shredding the prescriptions for my compost pile.

I leave the building, wondering if I'll remember where I parked my car, because I've been there THAT long.

I try to call Ricardo to meet him and some friends for lunch, but he won't answer his phone. I'm not mad at him, but still slightly frazzled shall we say, and may or may not have thrown my own private temper tantrum in my minivan. Just a little one. So, I have been craving this palak paneer (don't get me started) from this restaurant. We'd tried to go the night before, but it was closed, and now they won't PICK UP THE EFFN PHONE AND TAKE MY DAMN ORDER! Phone is thrown gently down - since now it's insured, and cue the 2 Pac. Awww..soothing. It's calming me down.

I decide to go look at Whole Foods for reusable pull-ups, because thanks to Earth Day/Week/Year and Al Gore, I'm just now realizing now that my kids are potty trained, that I'm killing the earth with pull ups. Diapers are bad, folks. They don't break down, gases are involved. I go to Whole Foods, and they don't have what I'm looking for. The lady looks at me like I'm crazy. I'm trying to spare the Earth, here people.

I get back in my minivan. My precious minivan. So good to me. And head back towards home. But convince myself that I need to stop at the mall for some things, one of which is some perfume for mother's day for my mom, who now, I realize has picked the one perfume that's impossible to find when procrastinating. I'm certain she's done this on purpose. She's checking on me. You win, moms. I get to a store called of all things THE PERFUME PLACE, tell the guy what I'm looking for, he repeats only the last of the whole name, looks for about 30 seconds, and without even trying simply tells me no. (He couldn't understand me, language barrier. But I bet he had a recipe for Palak Paneer is all I'm sayin.)

No Palak Paneer
No ReUsable PullUps
No Perfume

I go up to the Indian Food place in the food court, knowing good and well it's a gamble, at this point, I'm setting myself up for failure. And do they have it? NO.

I resolved that desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm absolutely infuriated from the doctor's office, and now all of this. So, I resolve to patch it all up with a double doozie cookie. I think this may be what they are talking about with "emotional eating" in my Weight Watchers meetings. I pay for it. Go down the escalator, reach for my keys to go home and speak to no one, and realize, I've left the double doozie cookie of greatness and about 2 days worth of Weight Watcher points on the counter. Back up the escalator, Oh sweet Jesus, it's there. Thank you Jesus. Thank you for this little morsel of goodness in my very bad day.

I got home just in time to get the leash on the dog and pick up the kids who made my day better by just being funny. It was very hard to snap out of it for them. I may not have, completely. There's even more. But I think it's time to in my Dad's words "build a bridge and get the hell over it."

So, without further ado: That's how I roll.