Energy level: tree hugging marsupial
Pain level: 4- 6 pain killers: most appropriate name ever!
HR is kind enough to clarify that I am not accruing any vacation time or sick leave since my first missed day of work. He urgently needs me to fill out the Family Leave & Disability paperwork. This paperwork is essential to protect my job.
Wow.
It hadn’t occurred to me that I was at risk of losing my job.
I am simultaneously assured and disturbed that I am being treated just like anyone else in this situation.
On one hand, the family and disability leave protects people from losing their jobs in the event of a family or medical emergency. Hooray for government protections and equality!
On the other hand, after dedicating 20 years of my life to this company, why should I have the slightest worry of losing my job? I am really at risk of being replaced if I don’t file the correct paperwork?
Wow.
Yesterday’s note from the doctor was the total recovery time and I should be able to resume duties in a few weeks. However, this verbal explanation has no weight. HR needs facts and dates, not speculation. He tells me that HR is not allowed to use common sense, only facts.
HR’s job is to uphold the law. Nonetheless, I am shocked when he actually suggests that I camp out at the doctor’s office to get some paperwork singed. I can’t move, but it is as though the condition doesn’t exist unless I have a doctor’s letter stating I’m bedridden.
I voice my frustration in being the go-between for HR and the doctor and I tell him to call the doctor to get whatever he needs. But…. his hands are tied. Legally, he can’t contact the doctor due to patient/doctor confidentiality.
I feel like I am on planet Vogsphere from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
post op day 3 - h.r. calling
Energy level: hibernating squirrel
Pain level: 4 - 6 meds: keeping pain at bay
JP ensures that I am tucked in, elevated, iced and have an ample supply of water, meds and bananas on hand before he leaves for work. I settle into my nest for a long winter nap.
My deep dreamless sleep is disturbed by the phone. It’s HR. They want to know when I’ll be back to work. I explain in slow, slurred speech that I’m on opium and “can we talk later?”
He wants to know if I’ve received the packet he fed-exed. I tell him that “I received it, but it had a lot of words so I didn’t read it.”
The doctor said I should be able to go back to work in a few weeks. I should have plenty of sick leave and vacation time to cover this incident, why am I being harassed when I should be resting?
My boss and the entire office sent me a plethora of “Get Well” cards last week that overwhelmed me with warm fuzzy feelings and made me ache to go back to work. I miss the team and I want to go back ASAP.
However, “ASAP” is not good enough for HR. He needs a date.
HR is not allowed to discuss feelings, hopes or dreams. I dearly miss my job, I hope that I can walk soon and I dream of making it to the toilet instead of pissing in a bucket. I cannot mention these things as they have no meaning to HR. He needs the facts, just the facts.
My doctor faxes a letter to HR stating that I’m incapacitated until May 10, 2010 – more that three months!
Pain level: 4 - 6 meds: keeping pain at bay
JP ensures that I am tucked in, elevated, iced and have an ample supply of water, meds and bananas on hand before he leaves for work. I settle into my nest for a long winter nap.
My deep dreamless sleep is disturbed by the phone. It’s HR. They want to know when I’ll be back to work. I explain in slow, slurred speech that I’m on opium and “can we talk later?”
He wants to know if I’ve received the packet he fed-exed. I tell him that “I received it, but it had a lot of words so I didn’t read it.”
The doctor said I should be able to go back to work in a few weeks. I should have plenty of sick leave and vacation time to cover this incident, why am I being harassed when I should be resting?
My boss and the entire office sent me a plethora of “Get Well” cards last week that overwhelmed me with warm fuzzy feelings and made me ache to go back to work. I miss the team and I want to go back ASAP.
However, “ASAP” is not good enough for HR. He needs a date.
HR is not allowed to discuss feelings, hopes or dreams. I dearly miss my job, I hope that I can walk soon and I dream of making it to the toilet instead of pissing in a bucket. I cannot mention these things as they have no meaning to HR. He needs the facts, just the facts.
My doctor faxes a letter to HR stating that I’m incapacitated until May 10, 2010 – more that three months!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
post op day 2 - med education
Energy level: snow white - post apple
Pain level: 4 - 10 meds to the rescue!
I never thought I could sleep so many hours. If it wasn’t for the occasion episodes of pain interrupting my sleep, I might think I was in a drug induced coma.
Yesterday’s experience has completely recalibrated my pain chart. Previously, a level “10” only induced crying. Now, a “10” is indicated by uncontrollable sobs and screaming. A “10” is to be avoided at all costs, even if it means the humiliation of peeing in a bucket while trying to keep one foot on the ground and one foot elevated above the heart – a truly humbling experience.
The pain is bearable as long as my foot is elevated above level of my head. Upon exiting the hospital I was given yet another prescription for Oxycodone. After a morning of the crying and yelping, JP decides it is worth the trip to the pharmacy to see if this 10mg prescription is any different than the 10mg I already have. The new prescription can be taken every 3-4 hours for pain, where as my original prescription was every 6 hours for pain. Although both pills are 10mg of Oxycodone, my 6 hour pills are much bigger – which begs to question, why is it bigger? Sugar? Would the pharmaceutical companies really be so sweet?
The 3 hour pills seem more potent and have a more intense effect. Both carry a heavy warning that overdose could lead to liver damage. Some research on the web reveals that pharmaceutical companies purposely add liver damaging compounds to discourage overdosing. I know you can’t believe everything you read on the web, but if this is true, it seems morally wrong to poison drug addicts and patients who truly need the medication. What’s next? Poisoning potato chips to discourage obesity?
A spoonful of poison helps the medicine go down.
Pain level: 4 - 10 meds to the rescue!
I never thought I could sleep so many hours. If it wasn’t for the occasion episodes of pain interrupting my sleep, I might think I was in a drug induced coma.
Yesterday’s experience has completely recalibrated my pain chart. Previously, a level “10” only induced crying. Now, a “10” is indicated by uncontrollable sobs and screaming. A “10” is to be avoided at all costs, even if it means the humiliation of peeing in a bucket while trying to keep one foot on the ground and one foot elevated above the heart – a truly humbling experience.
The pain is bearable as long as my foot is elevated above level of my head. Upon exiting the hospital I was given yet another prescription for Oxycodone. After a morning of the crying and yelping, JP decides it is worth the trip to the pharmacy to see if this 10mg prescription is any different than the 10mg I already have. The new prescription can be taken every 3-4 hours for pain, where as my original prescription was every 6 hours for pain. Although both pills are 10mg of Oxycodone, my 6 hour pills are much bigger – which begs to question, why is it bigger? Sugar? Would the pharmaceutical companies really be so sweet?
The 3 hour pills seem more potent and have a more intense effect. Both carry a heavy warning that overdose could lead to liver damage. Some research on the web reveals that pharmaceutical companies purposely add liver damaging compounds to discourage overdosing. I know you can’t believe everything you read on the web, but if this is true, it seems morally wrong to poison drug addicts and patients who truly need the medication. What’s next? Poisoning potato chips to discourage obesity?
A spoonful of poison helps the medicine go down.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
post op day 1- princess & the p
Energy level: sleeping beauty
Pain level: off the charts - or the new 10 - ice, ice baby!
Pain, pain, go away! Like clockwork, pain wakes me every five hours to remind me to take a pill.
I finally have an appreciation for those hospital contraptions to keep feet elevated. My personal method relies on a stack of cushions. The couch has been completely deconstructed so that the firm cushions keep my foot well elevated above my head as I sleep. I feel like the princess and the pea in some weird yoga pose.
Nature calls about mid morning. Groggily, I grab for my crutches and swing myself to sitting position.
FIRE!
PAIN!
FIRE!
My screams bring JP and some ice instantly to my side.
Instinctively, I lay down and elevate and ice my foot. The alarms have gone off in my foot and my brain is struggling to understand them. It’s only been three hours since my last pill, so the pain should be in check. Why does my foot feel like it is going to explode?
As I lay with my foot in the air I ponder this sudden strong sensation. The pain subsides and I decided to try it again, but slowly. Just as my foot dips below heart level, fire floods my foot.
I can see the door of the water closet taunting me. It’s in pain sight – so close, but so far away. I suddenly develop penis envy. If only I had a penis I could live like Howard Hughes. Instead, JP brings me a bucket.
Leave it to an engineer to come up with such a simple, yet practical solution.
Pain level: off the charts - or the new 10 - ice, ice baby!
Pain, pain, go away! Like clockwork, pain wakes me every five hours to remind me to take a pill.
I finally have an appreciation for those hospital contraptions to keep feet elevated. My personal method relies on a stack of cushions. The couch has been completely deconstructed so that the firm cushions keep my foot well elevated above my head as I sleep. I feel like the princess and the pea in some weird yoga pose.
Nature calls about mid morning. Groggily, I grab for my crutches and swing myself to sitting position.
FIRE!
PAIN!
FIRE!
My screams bring JP and some ice instantly to my side.
Instinctively, I lay down and elevate and ice my foot. The alarms have gone off in my foot and my brain is struggling to understand them. It’s only been three hours since my last pill, so the pain should be in check. Why does my foot feel like it is going to explode?
As I lay with my foot in the air I ponder this sudden strong sensation. The pain subsides and I decided to try it again, but slowly. Just as my foot dips below heart level, fire floods my foot.
I can see the door of the water closet taunting me. It’s in pain sight – so close, but so far away. I suddenly develop penis envy. If only I had a penis I could live like Howard Hughes. Instead, JP brings me a bucket.
Leave it to an engineer to come up with such a simple, yet practical solution.
WEEK 1 | POST OPERATION
Energy level: Exhausted
Pain level: Off the charts
Epiphany: Oxycodone is my friend
Milestone: Survived surgery
Pain level: Off the charts
Epiphany: Oxycodone is my friend
Milestone: Survived surgery
Friday, February 5, 2010
SURGERY
Surgery is scheduled for 2:00 pm, but I need to be there at noon. Surprisingly, I’m not in a lot of pain even though I’m past due with Oxycodone. I had worried about pain because I’m not allowed to eat a morsel of food the day of surgery, and the Oxycodone won’t stay down without food.
I pride myself in getting to the surgery center by myself in a taxi. JP had a very big project at work this week and he will pick me up at the end of the day.
The pre-op room reminds me of a nail salon with big fancy spa chairs. This room is a series of Lazy-Boy chairs in a row all kept “private” by curtains. I hear that the boy next to me broke his arm snowboarding and the woman across is here for ankle reconstruction.
I don’t recognize Dr. D at first with his minty green scrubs and hair net. Why does someone who is completely bald need a hair net?
He places a huge X on my left leg with a purple magic marker. I support this marking. It would be absolutely dreadful if after surgery he said “Doh, other left!”
The anesthesiologist stops by to give me the option for general (out like a light) or local. Wow! Who would want to be awake while going under the knife? Not me! General anesthesia please !
The operation room is full of lights and machines that go “bing!” They hook me up to the IV and I’m chatting away about … well I’m sure they get their kicks when the patient suddenly goes unconscious midsentence.
I wake up in a different Lazy-boy chair and the nurse is excitedly talking about her weekend plans. She’s so chatty that I think that she is my friend. She brings me some applesauce, but I take one bite and feel a dry heave. It’s nearly 5:00 on a Friday, I’m dizzy, nauseous and tired and she wants me out of there!
The pamphlet had said that I wouldn’t “feel ready to go home for about 24 hours after surgery” and I took that with a quaint grain of salt. I had no idea that I’d have these waves of dizziness and the urge to toss my cookies – cookies that I know are not there since I haven’t eaten in 24 hours.
Apparently urgent care now means urgently getting rid of me. JP is instructed to bring the car around to the secret parking spot. They wheel me out the door and into the back of the car. All that is left is a bumpy ride home and three flights of stairs to climb up using my now perfected backwards crab walk.
I manage to make it up the first two flights of stairs – one step at a time. JP opens the door and I’m ready to just go to sleep in the foyer when he pulls out a giant helium "Get Well Soon!" bear balloon. I can’t stop laughing and am completely baffled as to how he pulled a bear out of thin air. The bear chases me up the stairs. I honestly don’t think I would have made it up that last flight of staris without the bear. I asked him how he got the bear, but the bear is not from him. Someone had left the bear tied to the door knob, but because I go up the stairs backwards I did not see the bear.
Now, who on earth would leave a bear on the front door? Erin! Her good energy sends me into a deep, happy and restful sleep.
I pride myself in getting to the surgery center by myself in a taxi. JP had a very big project at work this week and he will pick me up at the end of the day.
The pre-op room reminds me of a nail salon with big fancy spa chairs. This room is a series of Lazy-Boy chairs in a row all kept “private” by curtains. I hear that the boy next to me broke his arm snowboarding and the woman across is here for ankle reconstruction.
I don’t recognize Dr. D at first with his minty green scrubs and hair net. Why does someone who is completely bald need a hair net?
He places a huge X on my left leg with a purple magic marker. I support this marking. It would be absolutely dreadful if after surgery he said “Doh, other left!”
The anesthesiologist stops by to give me the option for general (out like a light) or local. Wow! Who would want to be awake while going under the knife? Not me! General anesthesia please !
The operation room is full of lights and machines that go “bing!” They hook me up to the IV and I’m chatting away about … well I’m sure they get their kicks when the patient suddenly goes unconscious midsentence.
I wake up in a different Lazy-boy chair and the nurse is excitedly talking about her weekend plans. She’s so chatty that I think that she is my friend. She brings me some applesauce, but I take one bite and feel a dry heave. It’s nearly 5:00 on a Friday, I’m dizzy, nauseous and tired and she wants me out of there!
The pamphlet had said that I wouldn’t “feel ready to go home for about 24 hours after surgery” and I took that with a quaint grain of salt. I had no idea that I’d have these waves of dizziness and the urge to toss my cookies – cookies that I know are not there since I haven’t eaten in 24 hours.
Apparently urgent care now means urgently getting rid of me. JP is instructed to bring the car around to the secret parking spot. They wheel me out the door and into the back of the car. All that is left is a bumpy ride home and three flights of stairs to climb up using my now perfected backwards crab walk.
I manage to make it up the first two flights of stairs – one step at a time. JP opens the door and I’m ready to just go to sleep in the foyer when he pulls out a giant helium "Get Well Soon!" bear balloon. I can’t stop laughing and am completely baffled as to how he pulled a bear out of thin air. The bear chases me up the stairs. I honestly don’t think I would have made it up that last flight of staris without the bear. I asked him how he got the bear, but the bear is not from him. Someone had left the bear tied to the door knob, but because I go up the stairs backwards I did not see the bear.
Now, who on earth would leave a bear on the front door? Erin! Her good energy sends me into a deep, happy and restful sleep.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
2nd Opinion
I’ve got the drug schedule down and time the pills so that I won’t be too drowsy or in too much pain when I see Dr. L.
I hop in a taxi to a high rise medical building in the center of downtown. (Okay, no hopping was involved and the taxi driver had to watch me come down all three flights of stairs on my bum doing the funny crab walk.)
I am relieved to find Dr. L to be full of great information. He explains that the reason this injury is not common in adults is because the heel bone becomes fully fused at age 9. He has all kinds of models of the human bones and seeing the foot model is most helpful in understanding the injury. He’s volunteering information I had to pull from Dr. D. Information gives me great confidence and I ask if he can do the surgery instead. Dr. L sighs and says:
“The truth is that I learned about this type of injury in medical school 25 years ago, and in my 25 years I have never operated on the heel. You should stick with your specialist. I know Dr. D and I assure you that he is a fine surgeon.”
Deep breath. For better or for worse I will keep the appointment for surgery that is less than 24 hours away.
I hop in a taxi to a high rise medical building in the center of downtown. (Okay, no hopping was involved and the taxi driver had to watch me come down all three flights of stairs on my bum doing the funny crab walk.)
I am relieved to find Dr. L to be full of great information. He explains that the reason this injury is not common in adults is because the heel bone becomes fully fused at age 9. He has all kinds of models of the human bones and seeing the foot model is most helpful in understanding the injury. He’s volunteering information I had to pull from Dr. D. Information gives me great confidence and I ask if he can do the surgery instead. Dr. L sighs and says:
“The truth is that I learned about this type of injury in medical school 25 years ago, and in my 25 years I have never operated on the heel. You should stick with your specialist. I know Dr. D and I assure you that he is a fine surgeon.”
Deep breath. For better or for worse I will keep the appointment for surgery that is less than 24 hours away.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Rest, Ice, Elevation and Panic
Doctor’s orders are to get the swelling down in preparation for surgery. This is going to be a tricky procedure so it is critical to get the swelling down to improve the chances for a successful surgery. Ice, elevate and rest!
Any surgery is risky and doctors are required to give full disclosure and not over promise. Dr. D explains that the challenge of this particular procedure is precision placement of the bone. Basically, Dr. D has to grab that little sliver of bone floating around and like a puzzle piece, put it back exactly where it was. He will then use three screws to secure the bone. Bone drilling is risky business because there is always a risk of splitting the bone. I immediately think of wood working and times when I split wood because I was working too close to the edge.
I feel like I’m wrapped in a cocoon with Oxycodone. The whole day is a fog of drifting in and out of a drug induced sleep. Sleep is a beautiful thing, except when it is interrupted every 5 hours by pain alerting me that it is time for another pill. In a brief coherent moment I e-mail my boss to let him know that I’m going to be out for much longer than a week.
I’m too tired to make phone calls. Also, the Oxycodone gives the wrong impression that I’m drunk at 9:00 in the morning because I’m slurring my words. I decide the most efficient way to let friends and family know about the accident is to post an entry on Facebook. In my haze, I do not choose my words wisely and I write the following post:
The good news: I have fantastically strong Achilles tendons! The bad news: My Achilles tendon snapped off a piece of my heel bone and they don't know if they will be able to reposition it back to it's original place. The weird news: This type of injury is typically found in 9 year olds. The great news: I've been... diagnosed as a kid down to the bone!
There is an immediate slew of well intended concern urging me to get a second opinion along with horror stories of a friend’s cousin’s neighbor who never walked again due to a botched surgery.
Normally I’d be able to take these concerns with a rational grain of salt. But my brain is hazy and in survival mode. The panic button has been hit hard. In addition to my throbbing ankle I now have a throbbing anxiety headache. I e-mail my primary care physician and ask for a referral for a second opinion. She immediately responds with the contact info for Dr L who can squeeze me in tomorrow.
I feel like I’m wrapped in a cocoon with Oxycodone. The whole day is a fog of drifting in and out of a drug induced sleep. Sleep is a beautiful thing, except when it is interrupted every 5 hours by pain alerting me that it is time for another pill. In a brief coherent moment I e-mail my boss to let him know that I’m going to be out for much longer than a week.
I’m too tired to make phone calls. Also, the Oxycodone gives the wrong impression that I’m drunk at 9:00 in the morning because I’m slurring my words. I decide the most efficient way to let friends and family know about the accident is to post an entry on Facebook. In my haze, I do not choose my words wisely and I write the following post:
The good news: I have fantastically strong Achilles tendons! The bad news: My Achilles tendon snapped off a piece of my heel bone and they don't know if they will be able to reposition it back to it's original place. The weird news: This type of injury is typically found in 9 year olds. The great news: I've been... diagnosed as a kid down to the bone!
There is an immediate slew of well intended concern urging me to get a second opinion along with horror stories of a friend’s cousin’s neighbor who never walked again due to a botched surgery.
Normally I’d be able to take these concerns with a rational grain of salt. But my brain is hazy and in survival mode. The panic button has been hit hard. In addition to my throbbing ankle I now have a throbbing anxiety headache. I e-mail my primary care physician and ask for a referral for a second opinion. She immediately responds with the contact info for Dr L who can squeeze me in tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I Want a Banana and a MRI
Oxycodone seems a little oxymoronic because it must be taken with food, but the pill makes said food want to come out the way it came in. Not pleasant, but pain screams louder than nausea leaving me only to debate which food would be easiest to keep down. I want nothing more than a banana at the moment. Oh, how I wish I had a banana.
The MRI is a torture device. I have to stick my foot through this little hole and keep it perfectly still for an hour. The technician does his best to make me comfortable, but my foot is no longer elevated above my heart. I’m very thankful that the Oxycodone, because I would not have done as well with just the Vicodin.
The MRI torture device is an excellent place to test my yoga practice of mediation and breathing and the 40 minutes flies by.
Cautiously I remove my foot from the MRI shackle and the technician begins to wrap my foot when HE GRABS MY ACHILIES TENDON!!! I’m sure that my scream is heard through all seven floors of the building.
I somehow thought that after looking at MRI pictures for an hour of the same foot he’s be able to see that floating piece of bone and know not to touch THERE! I somehow thought that MRIs would resemble the bones in a similar, but more detailed way as an X-ray. Now that I’ve seen an MRI I know that is not possible.
Knowing is half the battle, and knowing how to wrap my own bandages is far better than letting someone else “help”.
The MRI is a torture device. I have to stick my foot through this little hole and keep it perfectly still for an hour. The technician does his best to make me comfortable, but my foot is no longer elevated above my heart. I’m very thankful that the Oxycodone, because I would not have done as well with just the Vicodin.
Cautiously I remove my foot from the MRI shackle and the technician begins to wrap my foot when HE GRABS MY ACHILIES TENDON!!! I’m sure that my scream is heard through all seven floors of the building.
I somehow thought that after looking at MRI pictures for an hour of the same foot he’s be able to see that floating piece of bone and know not to touch THERE! I somehow thought that MRIs would resemble the bones in a similar, but more detailed way as an X-ray. Now that I’ve seen an MRI I know that is not possible.
Knowing is half the battle, and knowing how to wrap my own bandages is far better than letting someone else “help”.
Monday, February 1, 2010
HMO Obstacle Course
Pain wakes me up at 1:00am and 7:00am like clockwork. Some Vicodin and icing keeps me from crying. I send an e-mail to my boss stating that I’ll be out for the week.
On the way home I had tried calling the insurance company to get instructions for the next step, but the only advice I got on a Sunday evening was to call back on Monday at 8:00am. I had recently changed HMOs and selecting a primary care physician had not been a top priority. Ooops. A computer had randomly assigned me to a medical group four cities away.
Miraculously there is no hold time at 8:00am and I get connected right away and explain that I need the closest surgeon. Because I have an HMO and not a PPO the only way to get in contact with a surgeon is to be referred by my primary care physician. I am also informed that requests to change medical groups take a few weeks to process. I have to convince her that I’m in a lot of pain with a broken bone and don’t have a few weeks; I need the closest doctor right now! She gives me the name of a local doctor that is just four blocks from my home. Perfect! … or so I thought.
The answering machine of this mom and pop operation states that the office does not open until 10:00 but the gives a number for call for urgent situations. This is an urgent situation so I call.
“Hello Dr. C I’ve just been assigned to you for my doctor and I need to see you right away about surgery because I have a broken bone.”
“WHY DID YOU CALL THIS NUNBER??!!!”
“I’m in a lot of pain and I need to see a doctor right away.”
“GO TO EMERGENCY ROOM!!!!”
“I’ve already been to an emergency room.
“WHY DID YOU CALL THIS NUNBER??!!!”
“I’m in pain.”
“GO TO EMERGENCY ROOM!!!!”
I burst out sobbing and throw the phone. My husband picks up the phone and the doctor gets in one last “WHY DID YOU CALL THIS NUNBER??!!!” before JP tells him that we won’t bother the doctor again.
I call the insurance company again asking for yet doctor because I can’t have a doctor that yells at me. I decide this time to ask for the largest medical group in San Francisco – but she is only working from a list and can’t tell a mom and pop shop from a corporate giant. Also when she does a search for San Francisco, she gets groups that are as far away as Palo Alto. It’ clear that the woman has no knowledge of the region. I have to ask if Brown and Toland is on the list, because I, at least know, that they are a large group in San Francisco.
Finally we find a doctor that is close to my job and I call that office.
“Hi, I’ve just been assigned to Dr. A and I need to see him right away because I have a broken bone and I need surgery.”
“I’d be happy to help you. There are two things you first need to know. Our office is dedicated to spending more time with patients so there is a membership fee of $149 per year. Also, Dr. A is no longer accepting patients, but I can help you find another doctor in our group.”
A membership fee for a doctor’s office??? I’m exhausted and in a lot of pain.
“Do you have a doctor who can see me today?”
“Yes, Dr. M is available.”
“Sign me up!”
“Can you be here in an hour?”
“Yes!”
“Before you get here you will need to log on to our website and pay the membership fee.”
Whatever! I’m just so happy to finally have a doctor’s appointment! One more call to the insurance company to change my primary care physician yet again and I’m on my way!
It’s love at first sight with Dr. M. She’s wearing a pink sweater, not the typical scrubs, and somehow comes across as full of empathy. She looks at my X-rays and quickly makes arrangements for me to see a surgeon and writes a prescription for something stronger than Vicodin to help with the pain.
It takes JP an hour running to three pharmacies to get the prescription filled while I camp out on a park bench. People give me odd looks, but the only way to keep the pain down is to keep the foot above heart level by laying down and putting my foot on the arm rest.
The surgeon is across town so it’s another trip where I lie down in the back seat of the car and keep the foot elevated with the help of the other leg. A challenge on pot hole filled roads as JP weaves in and around city traffic.
Although he seems too young to be completely bald, I immediately take to Dr. D’s shiny dome and soft blue eyes. As he analyzes the X-ray he muses that this is a highly unusual break and that it is going to be difficult to repair. He questions if this is my first accident and points out a line fracture about a centimeter away from the floating piece of bone. He is concerned that the other fracture may split further when the screws are inserted and orders an MRI for the following day. Surgery will be on Friday.
It’s been a long day and another backwards crab climb up three flights of stairs. The new drugs are working and I feel better having secured the surgeon when I get a phone call from Dr. C wanting to know if I went to the emergency room. It takes me a moment to recall the doctor that yelled at me this morning.
“I did not go to the emergency room, I saw another doctor.”
“YOU CANNOT SEE ANOTHER DOCTOR!”
“Well, I did see another doctor.” I can’t believe this doctor has called just to yell at me again.
“YOU CANNOT SEE ANOTHER DOCTOR! INSURANCE WILL NOT COVER ANOTHER DOCTOR”
“I worked it out with the insurance company, you yelled at me and you are no longer my doctor.”
“YOU CANNOT CHANGE DOCTORS”
“I worked it out with the insurance company, I need to sleep now – goodbye.”
On the way home I had tried calling the insurance company to get instructions for the next step, but the only advice I got on a Sunday evening was to call back on Monday at 8:00am. I had recently changed HMOs and selecting a primary care physician had not been a top priority. Ooops. A computer had randomly assigned me to a medical group four cities away.
Miraculously there is no hold time at 8:00am and I get connected right away and explain that I need the closest surgeon. Because I have an HMO and not a PPO the only way to get in contact with a surgeon is to be referred by my primary care physician. I am also informed that requests to change medical groups take a few weeks to process. I have to convince her that I’m in a lot of pain with a broken bone and don’t have a few weeks; I need the closest doctor right now! She gives me the name of a local doctor that is just four blocks from my home. Perfect! … or so I thought.
The answering machine of this mom and pop operation states that the office does not open until 10:00 but the gives a number for call for urgent situations. This is an urgent situation so I call.
“Hello Dr. C I’ve just been assigned to you for my doctor and I need to see you right away about surgery because I have a broken bone.”
“WHY DID YOU CALL THIS NUNBER??!!!”
“I’m in a lot of pain and I need to see a doctor right away.”
“GO TO EMERGENCY ROOM!!!!”
“I’ve already been to an emergency room.
“WHY DID YOU CALL THIS NUNBER??!!!”
“I’m in pain.”
“GO TO EMERGENCY ROOM!!!!”
I burst out sobbing and throw the phone. My husband picks up the phone and the doctor gets in one last “WHY DID YOU CALL THIS NUNBER??!!!” before JP tells him that we won’t bother the doctor again.
I call the insurance company again asking for yet doctor because I can’t have a doctor that yells at me. I decide this time to ask for the largest medical group in San Francisco – but she is only working from a list and can’t tell a mom and pop shop from a corporate giant. Also when she does a search for San Francisco, she gets groups that are as far away as Palo Alto. It’ clear that the woman has no knowledge of the region. I have to ask if Brown and Toland is on the list, because I, at least know, that they are a large group in San Francisco.
Finally we find a doctor that is close to my job and I call that office.
“Hi, I’ve just been assigned to Dr. A and I need to see him right away because I have a broken bone and I need surgery.”
“I’d be happy to help you. There are two things you first need to know. Our office is dedicated to spending more time with patients so there is a membership fee of $149 per year. Also, Dr. A is no longer accepting patients, but I can help you find another doctor in our group.”
A membership fee for a doctor’s office??? I’m exhausted and in a lot of pain.
“Do you have a doctor who can see me today?”
“Yes, Dr. M is available.”
“Sign me up!”
“Can you be here in an hour?”
“Yes!”
“Before you get here you will need to log on to our website and pay the membership fee.”
Whatever! I’m just so happy to finally have a doctor’s appointment! One more call to the insurance company to change my primary care physician yet again and I’m on my way!
It’s love at first sight with Dr. M. She’s wearing a pink sweater, not the typical scrubs, and somehow comes across as full of empathy. She looks at my X-rays and quickly makes arrangements for me to see a surgeon and writes a prescription for something stronger than Vicodin to help with the pain.
It takes JP an hour running to three pharmacies to get the prescription filled while I camp out on a park bench. People give me odd looks, but the only way to keep the pain down is to keep the foot above heart level by laying down and putting my foot on the arm rest.
The surgeon is across town so it’s another trip where I lie down in the back seat of the car and keep the foot elevated with the help of the other leg. A challenge on pot hole filled roads as JP weaves in and around city traffic.
Although he seems too young to be completely bald, I immediately take to Dr. D’s shiny dome and soft blue eyes. As he analyzes the X-ray he muses that this is a highly unusual break and that it is going to be difficult to repair. He questions if this is my first accident and points out a line fracture about a centimeter away from the floating piece of bone. He is concerned that the other fracture may split further when the screws are inserted and orders an MRI for the following day. Surgery will be on Friday.
It’s been a long day and another backwards crab climb up three flights of stairs. The new drugs are working and I feel better having secured the surgeon when I get a phone call from Dr. C wanting to know if I went to the emergency room. It takes me a moment to recall the doctor that yelled at me this morning.
“I did not go to the emergency room, I saw another doctor.”
“YOU CANNOT SEE ANOTHER DOCTOR!”
“Well, I did see another doctor.” I can’t believe this doctor has called just to yell at me again.
“YOU CANNOT SEE ANOTHER DOCTOR! INSURANCE WILL NOT COVER ANOTHER DOCTOR”
“I worked it out with the insurance company, you yelled at me and you are no longer my doctor.”
“YOU CANNOT CHANGE DOCTORS”
“I worked it out with the insurance company, I need to sleep now – goodbye.”
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