Great. So this morning I called to make a doctor appointment. They asked if I needed to be seen today — hellz yeah! Okay, there’s an appointment available this afternoon, but you’ll have to drive to our other office 10 miles away, is that a problem? Nope. Well worth it, and so off we went (my mom drove me.) Got there, and the typical waiting around shit… expected, and no sweat. Got in and waiting some more in the exam room, and the nurse asked if I could leave a urine sample — again, fine; I was expecting as much and came ready for it. Left the sample, waited again, finally the PA came in (my actual doctor wasn’t available today) and went over things briefly: No, there’s no blood in your urine, (no shit, Sherlock! I told you that multiple times already, not that it mattered…) are you sexually active? (No, not yet…) Would you like to be tested for common sexually transmitted shit? (Don’t see any need right now.) Okay, I’m going to check your lungs and refer you to a urologist. We’ll also send your urine sample to the lab, to have it fully tested. (Fair enough. That’s it?) Yep. Take this paper to the front desk, and everything’s peachy.
Well, so I thought. Got to the front desk, the receptionist told me where the urologists office was (humorous side note — the urologist, his name is Dr. Wang. How cliché can you get?) and wished me a good day. All’s well, right? Got out to the car, and two minutes down the road I realize that I didn’t get any paper from them telling me what I needed to do, nothing documenting that I was being referred, no instruction that Dr. Wang would call me… nothing. My mom was kind enough to drop me by Dr. Wang’s office, which actually happened to be on our way home, and I stopped in to ask the receptionist there what I should do. After repeating the entire story twice, she finally says, “Oh. You need to make an appointment, then. You said Dr. Petersen referred you?” (Uhhhh… no? Never said “Doctor” anything, and I don’t know where you pulled Petersen from except maybe your ass…) — that’s what I thought. What I said was, “No, I saw Margie, the P.A., and…” which is where she cut me off and told me that she could “squeeze me in” next February, how about the 9th at 8AM?
Not a chance in hell that I’m getting up that early, not to mention forcing my parents to get up even earlier so they can be ready to drive me. Asked if there was anything later in the day, which of course there wasn’t. Next afternoon appointment was February 11. All right, so I scheduled the appointment… and what? I’m just supposed to ignore the blood every time I come between now and then? You expect me to just… I dunno, just stop masturbating for two months? I don’t exactly look forward to being all bitchy and stressed because I can’t get off, but I certainly don’t want to *literally* see red every time I get red-hot.
So basically I’ve accomplished a grand total of Jack Shit. Way to go, spectacular “free-thanks-to-the-taxpayers” health care… but you get what you pay for, yeah?
Really pissed at this whole situation, and I don’t know what exactly I’m going to do about it — and it’ll have to be me doing something if anything’s going to happen, since nobody else seems to give a rat’s ass about it.
Please, take a minute or two and chip in your two cents… support, criticism, mockery and derision — just leave a note and a piece of your mind.