Back in February, we found out that the back pain I've been suffering from over the last several years is from a herniated disc in my lower lumbar spine.
I live on Camp Pendleton Marine Corp Base north of San Diego. My general practitioner (a
wonderful nurse practitioner at the Naval Hospital here) put in for a consult with a neurosurgeon so that this guy could look at my MRI films and determine a course of action. She also, at that time, put in a consult for physical therapy.
I called the office back in February, and they told me they hadn't received the consult, yet. No biggie. I left my number and they said they'd call me back when they got the approval. Two weeks passed. No phone call. Label me
shocked. So I called them for a second time. An appointment was scheduled for mid-March. Two days before the appointment, the office called to confirm. Their office is down in San Diego at Balboa, so they mentioned that I should bring a copy of my MRI pictures. Um...okay. And where exactly am I supposed to get those?
So...the next day, which was the day before my long-awaited appointment, I go down to the hospital to get a copy of my MRI pictures. They tell me..."oh no. We have 24 hours to get those to you, and there's no way we'll get them today." I say, "But my appointment that took a month to get is tomorrow morning!" Their response, though politely worded, was code for "We don't care. Leave our office, now."
I called the surgeon back and explained that I wouldn't have my pictures until too late to make the appointment. The guy on the phones told me that the doctor didn't have any open appointments and that he would call me to reschedule when something opened up.
That was exactly two months ago today.
So I called this morning to find out if anyone down there gives a flying rat's backside that I haven't been able to put on my own socks and underwear or pick up my child without pain since February. Apparently, they don't. Again...label me shocked. The entire conversation was infuriating. Some new bimbette answered the phone and did that deer in headlights thing where they don't respond at all. I stated my case in a calm tone because I'm a rational human being who realized that this poor girl didn't know me or anything about the fact that I've been in daily pain for 3 months while her office ignored the crap out of me. So...I calmly and cheerfully stated my purpose for calling while trying not to shake with rage hard enough to affect my voice. I got through the story without yelling or cursing...and then she said NOTHING. Dead silence. After a pregnant pause, she said defiantly, "Well,
Ma'am, I see that you had an appointment scheduled for yesterday, but that you cancelled it."
I bit my lip and inhaled sharply through the nose.
"That's just absolutely not the case," I said. "I haven't spoken to anyone from your office since March. I had no appointment with your office for yesterday." Then...she put me on hold.
15 minutes passed (no...not "a long time," and I just pulled "15 minutes" out of my ear. 15 actual minutes. On the clock.)
"Ma'am?"
"Yes," I replied.
"All I have here is that you had an appointment for yesterday and didn't show up."
I gripped the phone and gritted my teeth. My Southern upbringing took over and I heard the drawl creep over my voice. I've been uprooted and away from "home" for so long that I don't sound Southern until I'm angry or drunk. I don't drink often. So...when you hear me break out the Arkansas drawl, it's time for all wise men to leave the room.
"Look. I'm not the kind of person to yell over the phone, so let me tell you what I need from you.
I have a 7mm protrusion in my L5-S1. I've had it since February. I can't put on my own panties. I can't pick up my daughter. I can't sit in a chair for more than 15 minutes at a time. That means that I can't sit on the couch and watch a movie. I can't sit through a service at church. I can't get into the car and drive from my house to your office without enduring excruciating pain. I've been in physical therapy so long that my authorization has run out...
And the problem is that I can't get my neurosurgeon to call me back ONCE in almost 4 months!
Now, I don't care what your appointment book says, I did
NOT have an appointment with your office yesterday--"
"Oh, Ma'am?"
"Excuse me...yes?"
"Well, I'm sorry, but I see here that it says MARCH 17th, not May 17th. I'm sorry. I was wrong."
"Yes, that's the time I told you that I called to reschedule...and you never contacted me back to reschedule...since MARCH. I am calling you to day because all I want--"
I stopped here to breathe because I was getting lightheaded on account of my low tolerance for brick-thick stupidity
"--is for you to get that book out and schedule an appointment with me to see the surgeon for a consult that my doctor requested 4 MONTHS ago! Now can we DO that?"
Silence.
Envision my very pale skin turning from alabaster (that's Southern for "pasty") to fuschia to outright violet as I try very hard to breathe in through the nose and out the mouth.
"Well. See, Ma'am, your doctor called in a consult but it's not on this desk anymore. Somehow it got lost or sent away and you'll need to call in another one. I can't reschedule without a new consult."
Oh. My. God.
"Ok, then. Who do I need to call to get you another copy of the consult you lost?"
"You need to contact Gladys at the following number."
She gave me the number. I called it. The voice mail (again, color me shocked) picked up.
"You have reached Angela So-and-So at the This-and-Such office....."
I clicked the end button on my phone so hard that it hurt my thumb. As all of us who remember real dial phones that had handsets heavy enough to bludgeon something the size of an elephant to death understand, this was not satisfying enough. I threw the entire handset across the room. It hit the carpet with an impotent thud, and I tried not to cry.
I called my dear, sweet husband and told him my story. He took down all the information and told me he'd take care of it. See...we're on a military base, so having the military member call is often more effective than the civilian spouse calling.
We'll see how it plays.
But the point is that my back hurts. It hurts SO badly. It's been a long time, so I'm used to it, but some days it gets really bad, and all I want is for someone to give a damn.
My physical therapy is over unless I can get an extension...but I can't get an extension until the surgeon asks for one...and I can't get the surgeon to ask for one until he looks at me...and he can't look at me until I get an appointment...and I can't get an appointment without another consult...because they have the lowest common denominator working at the desk in the neurosurgery office down at Balboa.
Anyway. That's my rant. Really confidence inspiring, no? Makes you want to run right out and have spinal surgery with this guy and his staff.
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This post was edited because when I originally wrote it, I said some very generalistic and mean things about people in the medical profession. That was unfair and unkind, so I have removed those statements. I wrote them in anger and that should be a lesson. Don't write something that will be published in public when you're pissed.
