"No cancer. Mr. Dixon? Good to see you. Nice shirt."
Dr. Hanna smiles to his entourage as he examines Ward who is wearing a Hawaiian print shirt, as always.
"Mr. Dixon always has the most fabulous shirts".
Then he sits down next to me and says, "So. How long has it been since he's had cancer?"
Seven years.
Which is outstanding. There's no good reason for me to be twitchy about cancer- they've scanned him every six months and every six months Dr. Hanna strides into the room and says, "No cancer. Mr. Dixon? Good to see you. Nice shirt".
In fact, two years ago Dr. Hanna recommended that we go to yearly scans. Ward was for it.
I couldn't do it.
Two years ago I agreed to nine months. Within three months there was a lump on Ward's eyelid- which freaked us out just a little because that's where the cancer started on his other eye- the eye that isn't there anymore along with a good portion of that side of his face. It turned out to be nothing, but I quickly retreated back to the security of scans every six months.
Because I'm superstitious and neurotic and always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Take Tuesday.
Ward had had his PET scan on Monday and when he went in for his ultrasound Tuesday morning he came out grinning. "The doctor looked at the ultrasound and said 'no biopsy needed- it's nothing'. So...it's nothing".
We were both thrilled. In celebration we got breakfast at the little cafe in hospital, sat out on the patio and fed the birds right next to the 'DO NOT FEED THE BIRDS' sign.
But there was a check to our happiness, a caution, a little voice that told us we hadn't seen Dr. Hanna yet, hadn't heard "No cancer. Mr. Dixon? Good to see you. Nice shirt" yet and because this was our life we're talking about here the odds were very high that Dr. Hanna would walk in and say, "Mr. Dixon? The lump in question is nothing- no worries. But there's this spot here...and here...and over here that are cause for concern. Nothing a massive dose of poisons won't kill tho; I'll set you up with that department ASAP. Nice shirt- see you soon".
So we withheld our full-out happy-dance.
Dr. Hanna is still sitting next to me, reassuring smile, kind eyes. "Do we want to go to yearly scans yet? I know it's been very difficult- but all his troubles have been from healing complications, not cancer".
I tried.
I tried to say, "YES- yearly scans are fine. I'm totally over that whole scared-shitless-about-cancer-killing-my-beloved-husband thing. I'm cool with that".
But I couldn't.
Our eyes were locked.
Finally I blinked and said..."Nine months".
Dr. Hanna laughed and said to his PA, "OK. Set Mr. Dixon up for an MRI and chest X-ray in nine months- we'll see you then".
But now we're home and it's had some time to sink in.
More importantly, I've had time to exhale. To unclench. To smile.
I've just called Dr. Hanna's office to ask them to move the next check-up to 12 months...a whole year.
***BUT***
Only if it's a PET scan- nose to toes and checking every cell like this last time. Not 'just' an MRI of the head/neck and a chest x-ray.
I mean, I may have exhaled, unclenched and smiled; but I'm still the same ol' superstitious neurotic.
What was that sound? That wasn't a shoe dropping, was it?
photo
photo by Sheri Dixon
Showing posts with label hospitals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospitals. Show all posts
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Back Into the Vortex
Hopefully nothing.
It's nothing.
It has to be nothing.
The lump under Ward's arm is nothing.
We're going to Houston just to verify the very nothingness of the lump.
Should be easy. Straightforward. Stuff they do every single day at a CANCER hospital where most of the patients are not only from out of town, but out of state and some from out of country.
Schedule shit in an orderly fashion and a timely manner.
See? Easy.
But it's not. I had a helluva frustrating morning yesterday just getting things ironed out, not on my end- I've arranged for work and home and fixed our incredibly complex schedules to accommodate for being gone Sunday afternoon through Tuesday evening.
And I thought that just this once (out of say 4 dozen times in the last 7 years) we had a schedule that had fallen together seamlessly. Because it should be easy.
The dermatologist found a lump and notified Ward's primary care physician in the Head and Neck center because that's where his original cancer was- on his head. So that's who scans him every 6 months to be sure it doesn't come back.
The Head and Neck physician said, "Yikes. Lets do a PET scan, an ultrasound and a biopsy to be sure it's nothing. I'll order it and see you after all that is done to tell you it's nothing".
So they scheduled. Both the PET scan and ultrasound appointments on the internet patient site said "PET scan/ultrasound/Head and Neck". I called Head and Neck to be sure they were not taking images of the head and neck because the lump isn't there. It's in a lymph node on his side.
After five requests for verification, finally someone told me, "Yes- it just says Head and Neck because that's the department who ordered it". Fine. Makes sense.
Here's our incredibly simple schedule-
Drive down Sunday.
PET scan Monday at 6am
Ultrasound w/needle biopsy Tuesday 6am
See the Dr. and be told, "It's nothing- go home". Tuesday 9am
Go home.
Yesterday (Friday) we got the calls from PET and Ultrasound to tell us what meds Ward can take and what he can eat/drink before the scans.
PET scan department said, "We'll be done by 8:30 and you take your morning meds at 9- don't do anything differently but be sure no carbs starting Sunday morning because you're diabetic and if your sugar is too high we can't scan. And nothing to eat or drink after midnight Sunday night."
Cool.
Ultrasound department said, "Nothing to eat or drink after midnight Monday night and withhold coumadin for three days prior."
*Wait. What? I told her no one told us about the coumadin withhold.
"Well, I'm telling you now". (said in a sort of snotty tone)
"So you need to get with your cardio doctor to see what he wants to do- he may want to bridge with lovenox injections the days he's off coumadin".
This was Friday at 11:45 am. And I was just supposed to magically conjure up Ward's cardiologist (whose office, like many offices is officially open till 5pm on Fridays but who really clear out starting at noon and are literal ghost towns by 3pm) and ask him about coumadin withhold, and who may or may not order lovenox which is something a lot of pharmacies don't keep on hand.
Awesome.
I called the cardiologist and talked to the nurse who needed to get ahold of the doctor for further orders. Regarding the lovely advance warning, her only comment was, "That's just crazy". No shit.
'Round about 1pm the ultrasound department called back. Seems they had been sent Ward's chart by mistake. They were the Neurological Ultrasound, which is different from General Ultrasound. I don't know and I don't care. She said they had contacted Head and Neck and that they were putting in for an appointment in General Ultrasound.
I asked her if the coumadin withhold would still be important for General Ultrasound and she didn't know.
She said, "All I know is that they put in for a General Ultrasound of Mr. Dixon's head and neck, just like we were going to do."
*Wait. What? After I explained (amazingly calmly) that we don't WANT Mr. Dixon's head and neck ultrasounded because that's NOT WHERE THE LUMP is, she gave me the number for General Ultrasound and told me to call Head and Neck to be sure they had the orders right.
So I called General Ultrasound and they said, "Golly- it says head and neck- I'll call to be sure".
So I messaged Head and Neck and asked them "What the hell?"
I checked the internet patient site and they had scheduled the General Ultrasound with fine needle biopsy for
Tuesday 2pm
I called General Ultrasound and told them that Dr. H is good, but not so good that he can see the results of a scan and biopsy FIVE HOURS BEFORE THEY'RE DONE.
"Ohhhhhh...no one told me that- they just said schedule for sometime Tuesday".
Why the HELL would you see the doctor BEFORE the scans???
(I actually tried to do this correctly- using italics instead of capital letters, but it slows me down so deal with it)
She said, "We're totally booked Monday and early Tuesday- did you try calling the department who sent the order to the wrong ultrasound office?"
Yes. Yes I did. And they sent it to you, my little pumpkinhead- and it's so not OUR fault that it got messed up. It costs us a minimum of $500 every time we go down there with hotel and gas and food and we're doing this THIS week in ONE shot, and you're the scheduler so you need to make it so.
I was much nicer on the phone. I only swore a blue streak after hanging up. The schnauzer is still trembling.
She made it so.
I asked about the coumadin withhold and it's just a general ultrasound- no limitations at all- eating, drinking, medications...none. Sweet. New ultrasound/biopsy is 7:30 Tuesday. And what area are they ultrasounding, pray tell?
Left side lymph node something or other under the arm. OUTSTANDING.
The lady from Head and Neck called me regarding the message I'd sent and she pulled up the order and verified that yes- the PET scan is of Left side lymph node something or other under the arm. FABULOUS.
The nurse from the cardiologist called to give me coumadin withhold instructions and I said thank you very much but we don't need to do that- they sent his orders to the wrong department. "Crazy" she said. No shit.
So we're straightened out I think.
Here's what slays me and has slain me for seven years.
This is the best cancer hospital in the country and one of the top two in the world.
Cancer is all they do.
Out of town patients is a high percentage of what they do.
They're so specialized the schedulers do NOTHING but schedule, and each department has multiple schedulers.
How can this be so messed up so consistently? Honestly, Ward's case is NOT difficult- surely not any more difficult than anyone else there- this is the place people go who are too difficult for 'regular' hospitals. And yet, MOST of the time there is something that needs adjusting on our schedules- not to accommodate our time constraints, but just to make a damn bit of sense...like doing scans and blood work before seeing the doctor.
Why do *I*, a little old lady who barely made it through high school, have to watch every damn thing they do?
What happens to people (and there are many people who fit this description) who figure, "They know what they're doing- I'll just follow the schedule"?
How many die who don't need to? Just because no one is watching the details and by the time everything is straightened out it's too late?
This bothers me more than a little. You may have noticed.
I guess I should just be happy when they tell us, "It's nothing- go home till July when we do your regularly scheduled 6 month scans".
I'm sure that's what other people do.
And I will be happy- deliriously joyfully thankfully happy, because right now I'm almost paralyzed with the fear of the "What ifs?" I will hug the stuffing out of my husband and come home and hug the stuffing out of my son, and return to the laughably labled 'normal' of our lives. Till next time.
But this sort of consistently shoddy scheduling crap still bugs the shit out of me and never ever goes away.
It sits on my brain- a tiny living smudge of discontent, poking at me with needles of doubt perched next to the razor-legged spider of fear weaving her web of uncontrollable things that stick to our family over and over again.
It's nothing.
It has to be nothing.
The lump under Ward's arm is nothing.
We're going to Houston just to verify the very nothingness of the lump.
Should be easy. Straightforward. Stuff they do every single day at a CANCER hospital where most of the patients are not only from out of town, but out of state and some from out of country.
Schedule shit in an orderly fashion and a timely manner.
See? Easy.
But it's not. I had a helluva frustrating morning yesterday just getting things ironed out, not on my end- I've arranged for work and home and fixed our incredibly complex schedules to accommodate for being gone Sunday afternoon through Tuesday evening.
And I thought that just this once (out of say 4 dozen times in the last 7 years) we had a schedule that had fallen together seamlessly. Because it should be easy.
The dermatologist found a lump and notified Ward's primary care physician in the Head and Neck center because that's where his original cancer was- on his head. So that's who scans him every 6 months to be sure it doesn't come back.
The Head and Neck physician said, "Yikes. Lets do a PET scan, an ultrasound and a biopsy to be sure it's nothing. I'll order it and see you after all that is done to tell you it's nothing".
So they scheduled. Both the PET scan and ultrasound appointments on the internet patient site said "PET scan/ultrasound/Head and Neck". I called Head and Neck to be sure they were not taking images of the head and neck because the lump isn't there. It's in a lymph node on his side.
After five requests for verification, finally someone told me, "Yes- it just says Head and Neck because that's the department who ordered it". Fine. Makes sense.
Here's our incredibly simple schedule-
Drive down Sunday.
PET scan Monday at 6am
Ultrasound w/needle biopsy Tuesday 6am
See the Dr. and be told, "It's nothing- go home". Tuesday 9am
Go home.
Yesterday (Friday) we got the calls from PET and Ultrasound to tell us what meds Ward can take and what he can eat/drink before the scans.
PET scan department said, "We'll be done by 8:30 and you take your morning meds at 9- don't do anything differently but be sure no carbs starting Sunday morning because you're diabetic and if your sugar is too high we can't scan. And nothing to eat or drink after midnight Sunday night."
Cool.
Ultrasound department said, "Nothing to eat or drink after midnight Monday night and withhold coumadin for three days prior."
*Wait. What? I told her no one told us about the coumadin withhold.
"Well, I'm telling you now". (said in a sort of snotty tone)
"So you need to get with your cardio doctor to see what he wants to do- he may want to bridge with lovenox injections the days he's off coumadin".
This was Friday at 11:45 am. And I was just supposed to magically conjure up Ward's cardiologist (whose office, like many offices is officially open till 5pm on Fridays but who really clear out starting at noon and are literal ghost towns by 3pm) and ask him about coumadin withhold, and who may or may not order lovenox which is something a lot of pharmacies don't keep on hand.
Awesome.
I called the cardiologist and talked to the nurse who needed to get ahold of the doctor for further orders. Regarding the lovely advance warning, her only comment was, "That's just crazy". No shit.
'Round about 1pm the ultrasound department called back. Seems they had been sent Ward's chart by mistake. They were the Neurological Ultrasound, which is different from General Ultrasound. I don't know and I don't care. She said they had contacted Head and Neck and that they were putting in for an appointment in General Ultrasound.
I asked her if the coumadin withhold would still be important for General Ultrasound and she didn't know.
She said, "All I know is that they put in for a General Ultrasound of Mr. Dixon's head and neck, just like we were going to do."
*Wait. What? After I explained (amazingly calmly) that we don't WANT Mr. Dixon's head and neck ultrasounded because that's NOT WHERE THE LUMP is, she gave me the number for General Ultrasound and told me to call Head and Neck to be sure they had the orders right.
So I called General Ultrasound and they said, "Golly- it says head and neck- I'll call to be sure".
So I messaged Head and Neck and asked them "What the hell?"
I checked the internet patient site and they had scheduled the General Ultrasound with fine needle biopsy for
Tuesday 2pm
I called General Ultrasound and told them that Dr. H is good, but not so good that he can see the results of a scan and biopsy FIVE HOURS BEFORE THEY'RE DONE.
"Ohhhhhh...no one told me that- they just said schedule for sometime Tuesday".
Why the HELL would you see the doctor BEFORE the scans???
(I actually tried to do this correctly- using italics instead of capital letters, but it slows me down so deal with it)
She said, "We're totally booked Monday and early Tuesday- did you try calling the department who sent the order to the wrong ultrasound office?"
Yes. Yes I did. And they sent it to you, my little pumpkinhead- and it's so not OUR fault that it got messed up. It costs us a minimum of $500 every time we go down there with hotel and gas and food and we're doing this THIS week in ONE shot, and you're the scheduler so you need to make it so.
I was much nicer on the phone. I only swore a blue streak after hanging up. The schnauzer is still trembling.
She made it so.
I asked about the coumadin withhold and it's just a general ultrasound- no limitations at all- eating, drinking, medications...none. Sweet. New ultrasound/biopsy is 7:30 Tuesday. And what area are they ultrasounding, pray tell?
Left side lymph node something or other under the arm. OUTSTANDING.
The lady from Head and Neck called me regarding the message I'd sent and she pulled up the order and verified that yes- the PET scan is of Left side lymph node something or other under the arm. FABULOUS.
The nurse from the cardiologist called to give me coumadin withhold instructions and I said thank you very much but we don't need to do that- they sent his orders to the wrong department. "Crazy" she said. No shit.
So we're straightened out I think.
Here's what slays me and has slain me for seven years.
This is the best cancer hospital in the country and one of the top two in the world.
Cancer is all they do.
Out of town patients is a high percentage of what they do.
They're so specialized the schedulers do NOTHING but schedule, and each department has multiple schedulers.
How can this be so messed up so consistently? Honestly, Ward's case is NOT difficult- surely not any more difficult than anyone else there- this is the place people go who are too difficult for 'regular' hospitals. And yet, MOST of the time there is something that needs adjusting on our schedules- not to accommodate our time constraints, but just to make a damn bit of sense...like doing scans and blood work before seeing the doctor.
Why do *I*, a little old lady who barely made it through high school, have to watch every damn thing they do?
What happens to people (and there are many people who fit this description) who figure, "They know what they're doing- I'll just follow the schedule"?
How many die who don't need to? Just because no one is watching the details and by the time everything is straightened out it's too late?
This bothers me more than a little. You may have noticed.
I guess I should just be happy when they tell us, "It's nothing- go home till July when we do your regularly scheduled 6 month scans".
I'm sure that's what other people do.
And I will be happy- deliriously joyfully thankfully happy, because right now I'm almost paralyzed with the fear of the "What ifs?" I will hug the stuffing out of my husband and come home and hug the stuffing out of my son, and return to the laughably labled 'normal' of our lives. Till next time.
But this sort of consistently shoddy scheduling crap still bugs the shit out of me and never ever goes away.
It sits on my brain- a tiny living smudge of discontent, poking at me with needles of doubt perched next to the razor-legged spider of fear weaving her web of uncontrollable things that stick to our family over and over again.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Because Having to Go to the Cancer Hospital Isn't Stressful Enough
I'm going to step out of character for just a bit here, and take a moment to rant.
*stop laughing*
Ward needs some pretty extensive dental work done and because of his many issues and the graft that we do NOT want to endanger by poking around and yanking shit out right there, his reconstructive surgeon and ourselves decided that the best place to have the surgery done was back at MD Anderson.
On accounta those guys in the dental department deal with nothing but "cancer teeth" all day long- and Ward's teeth are literally breaking off from the radiation they did 6 years ago. The radiation that did nothing to stop his cancer from growing back.
So our surgeon in the reconstructive surgery department called in a referral to dental for a consultation right away, and we waited.
Over a week later, I called to see what was up.
After the scheduler in reconstructive didn't get an answer from dental, she bounced the request back to the doctor, and he personally walked into the office of the head of the dental department and explained why Ward needed to be seen...by them...now.
So we went in for our consultation and they gave Ward "homework" of a prescription mouthwash and toothpaste for 3 weeks then return to see what his mouth looks like in its healthiest state.
He still needs 6 extractions in the regular operating room under general anesthesia.
The head of the dental department (who will be doing the surgery) said he'd have them schedule the IMPAC (pre-surgical appointment with the internist) for later that week or the next week at the latest. Later that week was last week and this week we're ending now is next week- the 'at the latest' part. They can't reserve the OR till after IMPAC. And he needs this done ASAP because
a) He's in constant pain
b) His teeth continue to break off
c) He can't eat well, nor does he want to because of his teeth
d) HE'S IN CONSTANT PAIN
I thought it odd when the doctor said, "If you don't hear back with an appointment date in like 3 days, call and start bugging them".
I waited the 3 days.
Then I called and started bugging them.
I was told that "the order hasn't been placed for an IMPAC appointment".
I was told that "we haven't heard back from IMPAC".
I was told that "IMPAC can't schedule because there's an insurance issue".
See how that works? Everyone passes it along to someone else after the patient sits on hold and gets transferred over and over and over again while listening to the 'on hold' nauseatingly endless loop of
"Here at MD Anderson, we've put patient care as our first priority for over 60 years"
After 3 days, I made it to the final person in the Line of Blame- the lady in the business office in charge of insurance. I asked her what the problem was since he's had the same insurance for his last 2 surgeries and she sounded mildly surprised.
"There's no problem- they have it marked 'medical necessity' and insurance will take it automatically- all they need to do is get it scheduled".
So I worked my way back to the physician's assistant who told me she'd get right on it.
Several DAYS later, I called her again and was told that all the appointments would be made for this upcoming Friday and I said FABULOUS! There's a speaker Ward wants to see in Houston Friday night- we can drive down Thursday, do the hospital thing Friday, see AMY GOODMAN Friday night and drive home Saturday. Easy.
I asked her again- was she SURE about when the appointments would be? Because I had to make hotel reservations and work arrangements and all, plus order our non-refundable tickets.
She said, "Absolutely".
So I did.
I started watching for those appointments to show up on the handy MyMDAnderson website.
Nothing.
I waited a day.
Nothing.
I called again.
I was told, "Mr. Dixon doesn't have any appointments till February for his regularly scheduled cancer scans".
I made my way through the transfer/on hold gauntlet to be told, "They just haven't made it into the computer yet- should be today".
Yesterday (Wednesday) I started checking the website every 30 minutes or so.
FINALLY an appointment with the internist (but no lab-work) showed up...
...For Monday.
Troubled, I called again.
And was only able to make it through to voice mail.
I called the hotel and explained that we might NOT need to check in on Thursday after all, but that I would call for sure by the 24 hour in advance time limit to cancel. We love our hotel. We love the owners. Unfortunately, English is NOT their first language and he had a dickens of a time understanding what I was trying to say. When we completed the conversation I knew only that he had us down to check in Thursday, Friday, or not at all.
I waited.
Finally, the appointment with the oral surgeon showed up...
...For Tuesday.
VERY troubled now, I called again.
I left a message on voice mail stating my displeasure on now having to either choose NOT to attend our non-refundable event Friday night or to spend double the nights we'd been planning on in Houston, and missing double the time at work I'd been planning on.
Finally at 5:30 I called the hotel back to firm up our reservation- we're checking in tomorrow (Friday) and out on Tuesday.
When I got home, I told Ward the absolute clusterfuck of events and said, "There's no way they could've screwed this up more than they did- lookit this" and I pulled up the schedule on my computer.
Wait. I was wrong.
They COULD fuck it up worse.
There, brand new since 5:30pm, was a new appointment, not for lab-work, but with the oral surgeon AGAIN...
...for THIS MORNING.
No shit.
12 hour notice. For a patient they know is 5 hours away.
At that point my head completely exploded.
I pressed the little "reschedule" button next to this morning's appointment and typed in-
What the hell?
Kimberly assured me yesterday that all Ward's appointments were being made for Friday- so I made hotel reservations accordingly and we paid for non-refundable tickets for something in Houston Friday night.
When I checked the schedule AFTER 5PM today there were only the Monday and Tuesday appointments (?), so I called the hotel and told them we'd be in Friday, not tomorrow, and we'd have to check out Tuesday, not Monday.
Now there's one for 8:30 TOMORROW MORNING???
We live 5 hours away and I HAVE to do payroll at work tomorrow. Even if I didn't, there's NO WAY you can schedule an appointment for someone who lives out of town with TWELVE HOURS NOTICE.
You are the 8th department we've had dealings with at MDA over the last 5 years, Ward hasn't even had surgery yet with ya'll, and this is by far the most messed up anything's ever been.
AND there's no lab work scheduled at all, which I'm assuming the internist will need BEFORE seeing Ward.
Here's what I need- I need ALL internist appointments on Monday. Leave Dr. Chambers on Tuesday.
Someone CALL ME tomorrow with our FIXED schedule- Ward's already stressed about this, we do NOT have money growing on a dang tree for extra nights away from home, I now need to tell my JOB that I'll be gone almost a week.
Seriously. I've never encountered quite this level of unprofessionalism. Ever.
The internist appointment was supposed to be scheduled for LAST week per Dr. Chamber's instructions and I called multiple times since I need to arrange so much here at home to be out of town and need LEAD TIME, was transferred innumerable times being told that it was "pending insurance" and when I finally got to Ms. Glover in the business office she told me that everything was fine- there were no insurance issues.
So this has been a frustration from day one.
It's very discouraging to have to deal with this sort of incompetency when my husband is in constant daily pain.
To be told over and over again how important my call and my husband are to MD Anderson while on hold really does nothing to help when being given the run-around.
Sheri Dixon
This morning *I* called THEM.
The scheduler had no idea how the 2nd appointment with the surgeon got there- claims she didn't do it since she'd been at home for several hours when that popped up.
She said she was very sorry about the whole Friday thing, but she had to work around the internist's schedule. I told her I understand that, but then the physician's assistant never should've told me EVERYTHING'S FINE FOR FRIDAY since now we're going to be out about $150 in extra hotel nights plus food.
I mentioned that I'd think the internist would want little things like BLOOD WORK and X RAYS before seeing Ward and she said, "Wow- you're right- good catch".
Here's what's so damn frustrating. This is not some little clinic- it's goddamn MD Anderson- one of the top 2 cancer hospitals in the WORLD. People come there from everywhere- most everyone there is NOT local- why the hell do they think they can give NO notice for appointments or change shit up without consideration of what that does to people's lives, work schedules, hotel reservations?
They've got an entire department of translators for every language from Spanish to Croatian for cryin' out loud- EVERYONE'S from out of town.
And it's not like this chick's got a million things to do- she's a scheduler. That's all she does. For like 2 doctors. Gimme a break.
When I'd finally picked up the pieces of my exploded head, I thought, "Fine. We haven't been to Galveston since before the last hurricane- we'll go there either Saturday or Sunday and there's always festivals and shit going on in Houston- we'll find stuff that's outside and free or mostly free to do on Saturday and Sunday.
I felt better.
Then I checked the weather forecast.
The only days there's a chance of rain in the next 14 days are...Saturday and Sunday.
Fabulous.
*stop laughing*
Ward needs some pretty extensive dental work done and because of his many issues and the graft that we do NOT want to endanger by poking around and yanking shit out right there, his reconstructive surgeon and ourselves decided that the best place to have the surgery done was back at MD Anderson.
On accounta those guys in the dental department deal with nothing but "cancer teeth" all day long- and Ward's teeth are literally breaking off from the radiation they did 6 years ago. The radiation that did nothing to stop his cancer from growing back.
So our surgeon in the reconstructive surgery department called in a referral to dental for a consultation right away, and we waited.
Over a week later, I called to see what was up.
After the scheduler in reconstructive didn't get an answer from dental, she bounced the request back to the doctor, and he personally walked into the office of the head of the dental department and explained why Ward needed to be seen...by them...now.
So we went in for our consultation and they gave Ward "homework" of a prescription mouthwash and toothpaste for 3 weeks then return to see what his mouth looks like in its healthiest state.
He still needs 6 extractions in the regular operating room under general anesthesia.
The head of the dental department (who will be doing the surgery) said he'd have them schedule the IMPAC (pre-surgical appointment with the internist) for later that week or the next week at the latest. Later that week was last week and this week we're ending now is next week- the 'at the latest' part. They can't reserve the OR till after IMPAC. And he needs this done ASAP because
a) He's in constant pain
b) His teeth continue to break off
c) He can't eat well, nor does he want to because of his teeth
d) HE'S IN CONSTANT PAIN
I thought it odd when the doctor said, "If you don't hear back with an appointment date in like 3 days, call and start bugging them".
I waited the 3 days.
Then I called and started bugging them.
I was told that "the order hasn't been placed for an IMPAC appointment".
I was told that "we haven't heard back from IMPAC".
I was told that "IMPAC can't schedule because there's an insurance issue".
See how that works? Everyone passes it along to someone else after the patient sits on hold and gets transferred over and over and over again while listening to the 'on hold' nauseatingly endless loop of
"Here at MD Anderson, we've put patient care as our first priority for over 60 years"
After 3 days, I made it to the final person in the Line of Blame- the lady in the business office in charge of insurance. I asked her what the problem was since he's had the same insurance for his last 2 surgeries and she sounded mildly surprised.
"There's no problem- they have it marked 'medical necessity' and insurance will take it automatically- all they need to do is get it scheduled".
So I worked my way back to the physician's assistant who told me she'd get right on it.
Several DAYS later, I called her again and was told that all the appointments would be made for this upcoming Friday and I said FABULOUS! There's a speaker Ward wants to see in Houston Friday night- we can drive down Thursday, do the hospital thing Friday, see AMY GOODMAN Friday night and drive home Saturday. Easy.
I asked her again- was she SURE about when the appointments would be? Because I had to make hotel reservations and work arrangements and all, plus order our non-refundable tickets.
She said, "Absolutely".
So I did.
I started watching for those appointments to show up on the handy MyMDAnderson website.
Nothing.
I waited a day.
Nothing.
I called again.
I was told, "Mr. Dixon doesn't have any appointments till February for his regularly scheduled cancer scans".
I made my way through the transfer/on hold gauntlet to be told, "They just haven't made it into the computer yet- should be today".
Yesterday (Wednesday) I started checking the website every 30 minutes or so.
FINALLY an appointment with the internist (but no lab-work) showed up...
...For Monday.
Troubled, I called again.
And was only able to make it through to voice mail.
I called the hotel and explained that we might NOT need to check in on Thursday after all, but that I would call for sure by the 24 hour in advance time limit to cancel. We love our hotel. We love the owners. Unfortunately, English is NOT their first language and he had a dickens of a time understanding what I was trying to say. When we completed the conversation I knew only that he had us down to check in Thursday, Friday, or not at all.
I waited.
Finally, the appointment with the oral surgeon showed up...
...For Tuesday.
VERY troubled now, I called again.
I left a message on voice mail stating my displeasure on now having to either choose NOT to attend our non-refundable event Friday night or to spend double the nights we'd been planning on in Houston, and missing double the time at work I'd been planning on.
Finally at 5:30 I called the hotel back to firm up our reservation- we're checking in tomorrow (Friday) and out on Tuesday.
When I got home, I told Ward the absolute clusterfuck of events and said, "There's no way they could've screwed this up more than they did- lookit this" and I pulled up the schedule on my computer.
Wait. I was wrong.
They COULD fuck it up worse.
There, brand new since 5:30pm, was a new appointment, not for lab-work, but with the oral surgeon AGAIN...
...for THIS MORNING.
No shit.
12 hour notice. For a patient they know is 5 hours away.
At that point my head completely exploded.
I pressed the little "reschedule" button next to this morning's appointment and typed in-
What the hell?
Kimberly assured me yesterday that all Ward's appointments were being made for Friday- so I made hotel reservations accordingly and we paid for non-refundable tickets for something in Houston Friday night.
When I checked the schedule AFTER 5PM today there were only the Monday and Tuesday appointments (?), so I called the hotel and told them we'd be in Friday, not tomorrow, and we'd have to check out Tuesday, not Monday.
Now there's one for 8:30 TOMORROW MORNING???
We live 5 hours away and I HAVE to do payroll at work tomorrow. Even if I didn't, there's NO WAY you can schedule an appointment for someone who lives out of town with TWELVE HOURS NOTICE.
You are the 8th department we've had dealings with at MDA over the last 5 years, Ward hasn't even had surgery yet with ya'll, and this is by far the most messed up anything's ever been.
AND there's no lab work scheduled at all, which I'm assuming the internist will need BEFORE seeing Ward.
Here's what I need- I need ALL internist appointments on Monday. Leave Dr. Chambers on Tuesday.
Someone CALL ME tomorrow with our FIXED schedule- Ward's already stressed about this, we do NOT have money growing on a dang tree for extra nights away from home, I now need to tell my JOB that I'll be gone almost a week.
Seriously. I've never encountered quite this level of unprofessionalism. Ever.
The internist appointment was supposed to be scheduled for LAST week per Dr. Chamber's instructions and I called multiple times since I need to arrange so much here at home to be out of town and need LEAD TIME, was transferred innumerable times being told that it was "pending insurance" and when I finally got to Ms. Glover in the business office she told me that everything was fine- there were no insurance issues.
So this has been a frustration from day one.
It's very discouraging to have to deal with this sort of incompetency when my husband is in constant daily pain.
To be told over and over again how important my call and my husband are to MD Anderson while on hold really does nothing to help when being given the run-around.
Sheri Dixon
This morning *I* called THEM.
The scheduler had no idea how the 2nd appointment with the surgeon got there- claims she didn't do it since she'd been at home for several hours when that popped up.
She said she was very sorry about the whole Friday thing, but she had to work around the internist's schedule. I told her I understand that, but then the physician's assistant never should've told me EVERYTHING'S FINE FOR FRIDAY since now we're going to be out about $150 in extra hotel nights plus food.
I mentioned that I'd think the internist would want little things like BLOOD WORK and X RAYS before seeing Ward and she said, "Wow- you're right- good catch".
Here's what's so damn frustrating. This is not some little clinic- it's goddamn MD Anderson- one of the top 2 cancer hospitals in the WORLD. People come there from everywhere- most everyone there is NOT local- why the hell do they think they can give NO notice for appointments or change shit up without consideration of what that does to people's lives, work schedules, hotel reservations?
They've got an entire department of translators for every language from Spanish to Croatian for cryin' out loud- EVERYONE'S from out of town.
And it's not like this chick's got a million things to do- she's a scheduler. That's all she does. For like 2 doctors. Gimme a break.
When I'd finally picked up the pieces of my exploded head, I thought, "Fine. We haven't been to Galveston since before the last hurricane- we'll go there either Saturday or Sunday and there's always festivals and shit going on in Houston- we'll find stuff that's outside and free or mostly free to do on Saturday and Sunday.
I felt better.
Then I checked the weather forecast.
The only days there's a chance of rain in the next 14 days are...Saturday and Sunday.
Fabulous.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
If Only I Could Travel Back In Time And Tell Myself It'll Be OK
Why?
Why am I re-running stuff from the most horrible few months of our lives?
Shouldn't I just let it be, let it go, let it burrow into the lint-filled layers of my brain like last season's mouse droppings in Pink Panther pink insulation?
I dunno. What I DO know is that alot of my beloved readers weren't here last year, and to see this stuff is to understand just a bit of why I'm pretty much constantly pissed off, always glancing over my shoulder for the other cosmic shoe to crush my skull and generally certifiably batshit crazy.
What I DO know is that while re-reading and therefore mentally re-living this stuff brings back a ton of really unpleasant feelers- fear, frustration, panic, anger, exhaustion- it's also so very real and important that I acknowledge that we're looking back at it from a place we only dreamed of a year ago- both where we are physically and just the pure capital M miracle that we ARE still a family, we ARE still together,
the nightmare did end.
And that's important because when I wrote what follows, there truly was no end in sight.
So please bear with me just a little longer- and know that tonight I breathe deeply of the honeysuckle trailing the length and breadth of our 12 acre speck of heaven, filling lungs that have almost forgotten the smog and exhaust fumes and pre-breathed air already exhaled from the lungs of 4 million other people.
Almost.
Friday, April 23, 2010
"Fish Out Of Water Desires Rental Lungs and Feet"
I'm a Leo.
The feline fire sign.
But I'm not an inside cat by any stretch of the imagination. I prefer outside to indoors unless it's below about 50 degrees- then you'll find me curled up by the fireplace. I'm a fire sign- I crave warmth.
Even wildly mis-planted in Wisconsin for my first 35 years, my preference was always to be outside as long as the above temperature requirement was met, and even then, during the long winters (which last from October 1st thru May up yonder) I'd make a break for the outdoor world frantically every month or so when a flash of Nature would lure me out into it where I'd breathe deeply- the icy air filling my dusty lungs- I can't take a full breath inside.
There are 8 hours or so every fall that hold the perfect autumn hues in a grasp of perfection- not the sunny blue-skied days of magazine layouts, but one day with heavy charcoal clouds pressing down on the woods and the lowering sun infusing and drenching each leaf with glowing vibrancy- denying the reality of the next days' withering, browning, brittle descent into quietly composting anonymity.
The aftermath of a midnight snow storm- the full moon seemingly within reach and so brilliant the stars fall out of the sky and lie twinkling at your feet- each snowflake reflecting a faraway sun in the deep of an earthly night.
Early spring, when the rain falls before the air is warm, encasing everything in a transparent glistening frozen cocoon- tree, twig, budding leaf and flower- all surprised and often broken by the very substance they need to live finally come after a long winter, but just that much too soon. Timing is everything.
So even in Wisconsin (Native American for "Land of the Three Day Summer") my natural environment was Outside.
I preferred camping to shopping, hiking to TV watching, a day at the out-of-the-way nature preserve to the stuffifying interior of the school building.
Even as a grown-up, gainful employment to me needed, if not actual exposure to Outside, at the very least I required to be where I could see it- to know if it were morning or evening by the sky instead of the timeclock, if it were sunny or raining by sight and not the weather channel.
Working for a flower shop as an all-around gal, I was out delivering arrangements one day and one bright bouquet went to a medical transcription office (in the days before home computers, that's what they did). I walked into the windowless, music-free office filled wall to wall with women wearing headsets and concentrating on their work- the only sound was the ticking of keys. I felt panicked, strangled, it was suddenly very difficult to breathe as I realized that this was their life- 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and I thought horrifyingly
"This is hell".
Finally not being able to ignore that little voice screaming "MIGRATE SOUTH" any longer, I found what I was looking for- East Texas, filled with forests, water, hills, and the lazy luxury of tremendously long wildflower-filled springs and crazy quilt colored autumns with just a smidgen of "wow- hot" or "kinda chilly" dividing them.
Now my Outside Spirit is in its element- even when inside, our windows are generally wide open- our house merely a roof and a few walls giving the illusion of shelter, and even when too cold, it's not deadly frostbite cold, just mildly annoying for a few days.
Except.
This last few years have seen many times that I've been forced Inside- more than just inside an office building or behind a desk, I've been bent, folded, spindled and crammed into the very un-natural element of a very large city.
Now, I honestly can't say I've hated every minute of it.
I've hated the REASON we're here- just one of a huge herd of Cancer Families making weary frightened pilgrimages to lay our loved ones on the altar of medicine- leaving sacrificial parts and pieces behind.
But as granola munchin' tree huggin' nature lovin' as I am, I've always appreciated the things only large urban areas can offer- museums, theater, music, culture both high falutin' and local, and have always thoroughly enjoyed my excursions into large metropolitan areas from Chicago to Miami, from Los Angeles to Washington DC.
My terms, my choice, my call as to when to escape back to the quiet and peace of the forest- cherishing and grateful for what I've been able to experience in the urban jungle, and so thankful I don't have to live there.
We're currently on our 18th day of a 6 day trip to Houston.
My husband lies in ICU- the very epitome of "ravaged and wasted" after a string of events only the devil himself could put so cleverly together. He's fighting for life, for his wife, for his son- and in tiny steps is climbing out inch by torturous inch back to his family.
And while I feel enormous guilt at every moment not spent at his side, I also know that I need to be 'out here' for his son, that both our son and I need something other than the suffocating surroundings of the hospital, that even while our hearts break at the knowledge that Ward's trapped there, in that bed, inside his faltering body, we know that when he wakes fully up he'll not be angry about the hours we spent away from his bedside, but all those we did.
So we go. And do. And see. And every experience we try to engrave on our memories to share with him- make plans to do again- with him.
Being an Outside animal trapped in an Inside world, I can only tolerate the hospital for a few hours at a time- then I must flee literally if only for 10 minutes, and I stop at the cafe for something to drink or a snack and maneuver through the interior maze, out the door, between cars and buses and taxicabs and ambulances to the tiny garden planted artfully and hopefully betwixt the hospital and the busy street and I sit face lifted towards the sun- shoes kicked off, eyes closed, breathing slowly if not deeply for the smog and the exhaust fumes. Before heading back inside I bury my nose for one deep breath stolen from the heart of a rose- not my favorite flower, but as close to heaven as I can get right here, right now.
My family has been forced to adapt to this environment- and while gleaning and benefiting from the many offerings afforded by it we are not thriving.
We all three of us look to the day we can turn in our rented lungs and feet, and dive joyfully (if exhausted) back into our beloved Pineywoods, leaving only a slight and quickly fading ripple on the surface of Houston- to a time when we will again only emerge by choice, and not be forced out by circumstance.
Posted by lunamother at 5:41 AM
Why am I re-running stuff from the most horrible few months of our lives?
Shouldn't I just let it be, let it go, let it burrow into the lint-filled layers of my brain like last season's mouse droppings in Pink Panther pink insulation?
I dunno. What I DO know is that alot of my beloved readers weren't here last year, and to see this stuff is to understand just a bit of why I'm pretty much constantly pissed off, always glancing over my shoulder for the other cosmic shoe to crush my skull and generally certifiably batshit crazy.
What I DO know is that while re-reading and therefore mentally re-living this stuff brings back a ton of really unpleasant feelers- fear, frustration, panic, anger, exhaustion- it's also so very real and important that I acknowledge that we're looking back at it from a place we only dreamed of a year ago- both where we are physically and just the pure capital M miracle that we ARE still a family, we ARE still together,
the nightmare did end.
And that's important because when I wrote what follows, there truly was no end in sight.
So please bear with me just a little longer- and know that tonight I breathe deeply of the honeysuckle trailing the length and breadth of our 12 acre speck of heaven, filling lungs that have almost forgotten the smog and exhaust fumes and pre-breathed air already exhaled from the lungs of 4 million other people.
Almost.
Friday, April 23, 2010
"Fish Out Of Water Desires Rental Lungs and Feet"
I'm a Leo.
The feline fire sign.
But I'm not an inside cat by any stretch of the imagination. I prefer outside to indoors unless it's below about 50 degrees- then you'll find me curled up by the fireplace. I'm a fire sign- I crave warmth.
Even wildly mis-planted in Wisconsin for my first 35 years, my preference was always to be outside as long as the above temperature requirement was met, and even then, during the long winters (which last from October 1st thru May up yonder) I'd make a break for the outdoor world frantically every month or so when a flash of Nature would lure me out into it where I'd breathe deeply- the icy air filling my dusty lungs- I can't take a full breath inside.
There are 8 hours or so every fall that hold the perfect autumn hues in a grasp of perfection- not the sunny blue-skied days of magazine layouts, but one day with heavy charcoal clouds pressing down on the woods and the lowering sun infusing and drenching each leaf with glowing vibrancy- denying the reality of the next days' withering, browning, brittle descent into quietly composting anonymity.
The aftermath of a midnight snow storm- the full moon seemingly within reach and so brilliant the stars fall out of the sky and lie twinkling at your feet- each snowflake reflecting a faraway sun in the deep of an earthly night.
Early spring, when the rain falls before the air is warm, encasing everything in a transparent glistening frozen cocoon- tree, twig, budding leaf and flower- all surprised and often broken by the very substance they need to live finally come after a long winter, but just that much too soon. Timing is everything.
So even in Wisconsin (Native American for "Land of the Three Day Summer") my natural environment was Outside.
I preferred camping to shopping, hiking to TV watching, a day at the out-of-the-way nature preserve to the stuffifying interior of the school building.
Even as a grown-up, gainful employment to me needed, if not actual exposure to Outside, at the very least I required to be where I could see it- to know if it were morning or evening by the sky instead of the timeclock, if it were sunny or raining by sight and not the weather channel.
Working for a flower shop as an all-around gal, I was out delivering arrangements one day and one bright bouquet went to a medical transcription office (in the days before home computers, that's what they did). I walked into the windowless, music-free office filled wall to wall with women wearing headsets and concentrating on their work- the only sound was the ticking of keys. I felt panicked, strangled, it was suddenly very difficult to breathe as I realized that this was their life- 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and I thought horrifyingly
"This is hell".
Finally not being able to ignore that little voice screaming "MIGRATE SOUTH" any longer, I found what I was looking for- East Texas, filled with forests, water, hills, and the lazy luxury of tremendously long wildflower-filled springs and crazy quilt colored autumns with just a smidgen of "wow- hot" or "kinda chilly" dividing them.
Now my Outside Spirit is in its element- even when inside, our windows are generally wide open- our house merely a roof and a few walls giving the illusion of shelter, and even when too cold, it's not deadly frostbite cold, just mildly annoying for a few days.
Except.
This last few years have seen many times that I've been forced Inside- more than just inside an office building or behind a desk, I've been bent, folded, spindled and crammed into the very un-natural element of a very large city.
Now, I honestly can't say I've hated every minute of it.
I've hated the REASON we're here- just one of a huge herd of Cancer Families making weary frightened pilgrimages to lay our loved ones on the altar of medicine- leaving sacrificial parts and pieces behind.
But as granola munchin' tree huggin' nature lovin' as I am, I've always appreciated the things only large urban areas can offer- museums, theater, music, culture both high falutin' and local, and have always thoroughly enjoyed my excursions into large metropolitan areas from Chicago to Miami, from Los Angeles to Washington DC.
My terms, my choice, my call as to when to escape back to the quiet and peace of the forest- cherishing and grateful for what I've been able to experience in the urban jungle, and so thankful I don't have to live there.
We're currently on our 18th day of a 6 day trip to Houston.
My husband lies in ICU- the very epitome of "ravaged and wasted" after a string of events only the devil himself could put so cleverly together. He's fighting for life, for his wife, for his son- and in tiny steps is climbing out inch by torturous inch back to his family.
And while I feel enormous guilt at every moment not spent at his side, I also know that I need to be 'out here' for his son, that both our son and I need something other than the suffocating surroundings of the hospital, that even while our hearts break at the knowledge that Ward's trapped there, in that bed, inside his faltering body, we know that when he wakes fully up he'll not be angry about the hours we spent away from his bedside, but all those we did.
So we go. And do. And see. And every experience we try to engrave on our memories to share with him- make plans to do again- with him.
Being an Outside animal trapped in an Inside world, I can only tolerate the hospital for a few hours at a time- then I must flee literally if only for 10 minutes, and I stop at the cafe for something to drink or a snack and maneuver through the interior maze, out the door, between cars and buses and taxicabs and ambulances to the tiny garden planted artfully and hopefully betwixt the hospital and the busy street and I sit face lifted towards the sun- shoes kicked off, eyes closed, breathing slowly if not deeply for the smog and the exhaust fumes. Before heading back inside I bury my nose for one deep breath stolen from the heart of a rose- not my favorite flower, but as close to heaven as I can get right here, right now.
My family has been forced to adapt to this environment- and while gleaning and benefiting from the many offerings afforded by it we are not thriving.
We all three of us look to the day we can turn in our rented lungs and feet, and dive joyfully (if exhausted) back into our beloved Pineywoods, leaving only a slight and quickly fading ripple on the surface of Houston- to a time when we will again only emerge by choice, and not be forced out by circumstance.
Posted by lunamother at 5:41 AM
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Lucky Ducks
So last week, we were given the good news we hold onto every four months.
The cancer doctor said "Mr. Dixon- there is nothing of note in your head", meaning, of course, that the cancer has not returned, and we are dismissed for another few months. The cancer doctor thinks the "nothing of note in your head" comment is wildly hilarious, as do we, so it's all good.
As an added bonus, he said we may stay away for six months now, since the cancer has been gone for almost four years. We are breathing a little easier, sleeping a little better, daring to feel a little more fortunate than we did before.
Luck is a funny thing.
Because shit just happens. It's easier, neater, more comforting to imagine and believe that Everything Happens for a Reason, but I'm thinking that most of the time it doesn't. Most of the time Shit Really Does Just Happen.
Good people get slammed with alot of crap.
Bad people win the lottery.
There's no ulterior cosmic motive to it- no behind the scenes god knows all souls and rewards/punishes accordingly. This is Life. It's messy, beautiful, tragic, hilarious and almost completely random.
And it's OK.
When we were seeing the pain doctor last week he asked Ward's medical record number- at MD Anderson you can forget your name, address, birthdate, social security number- you are known by your medical record number and better have that baby memorized.
Ward's is very easy- a combination of only 2 numbers in a nicely arranged pattern.
So for almost four years, clerical and medical staff have all said the same thing-
"Wow. That's an easy number- how lucky for YOU".
And for almost four years, I've replied the same way-
"Yes. How lucky we are to have an easy to remember number at the CANCER HOSPITAL".
The reaction is generally nervous self-concious laughter on the part of the staff.
The pain doctor, however, looked at me, then at Ward, and said "Wow. She goes straight for the jugular, doesn't she?"
Ward smiled and said "Yep. She's a mean 'un".
Pain doctor- "And I think she hit the carotid too..."
I just smiled sweetly and said "Well, as long as I was already there- I like to be efficient".
And we all laughed.
The cancer doctor said "Mr. Dixon- there is nothing of note in your head", meaning, of course, that the cancer has not returned, and we are dismissed for another few months. The cancer doctor thinks the "nothing of note in your head" comment is wildly hilarious, as do we, so it's all good.
As an added bonus, he said we may stay away for six months now, since the cancer has been gone for almost four years. We are breathing a little easier, sleeping a little better, daring to feel a little more fortunate than we did before.
Luck is a funny thing.
Because shit just happens. It's easier, neater, more comforting to imagine and believe that Everything Happens for a Reason, but I'm thinking that most of the time it doesn't. Most of the time Shit Really Does Just Happen.
Good people get slammed with alot of crap.
Bad people win the lottery.
There's no ulterior cosmic motive to it- no behind the scenes god knows all souls and rewards/punishes accordingly. This is Life. It's messy, beautiful, tragic, hilarious and almost completely random.
And it's OK.
When we were seeing the pain doctor last week he asked Ward's medical record number- at MD Anderson you can forget your name, address, birthdate, social security number- you are known by your medical record number and better have that baby memorized.
Ward's is very easy- a combination of only 2 numbers in a nicely arranged pattern.
So for almost four years, clerical and medical staff have all said the same thing-
"Wow. That's an easy number- how lucky for YOU".
And for almost four years, I've replied the same way-
"Yes. How lucky we are to have an easy to remember number at the CANCER HOSPITAL".
The reaction is generally nervous self-concious laughter on the part of the staff.
The pain doctor, however, looked at me, then at Ward, and said "Wow. She goes straight for the jugular, doesn't she?"
Ward smiled and said "Yep. She's a mean 'un".
Pain doctor- "And I think she hit the carotid too..."
I just smiled sweetly and said "Well, as long as I was already there- I like to be efficient".
And we all laughed.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Lists
My world, like most peoples', is filled with lists.
Grocery lists, shopping lists, errand lists, chore lists.
Lists on the telephone, the computer, typed neatly and posted on the wall or scratched onto the back of a junk mail envelope using a pen that's out of ink.
There's a running list on the Notepad feature of my phone- stuff we need at the store...next time we're there.
I travel at all times with 2 bags plus my purse- my work bag and the "house building stuff" bag.
The work bag is a misnomer since it's got the stuff (and lists) for the taekwondo club Alec belongs to in one section- I'm the treasurer of the club.
It's got our bills to be paid and calls to be made (in list form) in another section.
And there is work stuff in there too- schedules, calls, orders, lists.
The house bag has all the details of our building project- contracts, blueprints, receipts, business cards and phone numbers. And many. Many. Lists.
On one of my lists is the directive to "clean out all drawers and surfaces". This is daunting because we're packrats, every one of us. But I need to clean those areas in order to get to the furniture we want to move, and this whole Moving Thing is an exercise in cleaning out the old, shaking off the cobwebs from our previous life, starting anew and all that drivel.
Here's the thing.
I'm finding, tucked into drawers and cupboards and files...alot of old lists.
And that slows me down, because they must be read, remembered, validated before either being tossed out or saved.
I'm not talking about old grocery lists, those are easy to discard- I'm talking about
the many many lists and plans and letters and drawings that led up to the reality of the house we're now building (these get saved).
Christmas wish lists painstakingly written out in ever-more-legible handwriting by our son- and I wonder, now that he knows "about Santa" will there be a wish list this year? I remembered the conversation that led up to the very large next step of being grown-up-
"Mom- is Santa real?"
"Well, son, what do you think?"
"I don't know- that's why I'm asking you."
"Son, Santa is the spirit of giving. In that respect he's very real, and always will be."
"Soooo...he's you."
"Yes, dear."
"But mom?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I always put the really expensive stuff on Santa's list because I knew you couldn't afford them".
"Yes dear."
"Mom? I always got those expensive presents".
"I know dear."
*Pause*
"So you're Santa."
"Fraid so."
"All this time you've been Santa."
"Yep."
*Pause"
"Mom?"
"Yes dear?"
(whispered) "Does dad know?"
(whispered) "No dear- lets not tell him- he's had a rough couple of years..."
the Christmas lists ALWAYS get saved.
There are worn, stained mapquested route pages from every epic journey we've taken ("Family Vacation" just doesn't cover the scope of how we travel...). Those got saved.
So I was actually enjoying my little jaunt down List Memory Lane.
Until.
Going through a pile of stuff we brought back from the last trip to MDAnderson I found The List.
It's dated April 29, 2010, about a week before Ward's discharge and from the Social Worker at MDA. See, he'd reached a point where he didn't NEED to be in the hospital anymore- but physically he couldn't walk more than a few steps and mentally he was still really really fuzzy. Really. He was weak and fuzzy from drug reactions and weeks of intensive care and two major surgeries and heart failure and pneumonia and he was just plain wore out.
And they told me that they were stumped that he was not improving from the point he was at- and they hinted and inferred that where he was might be all the better he got- physically wheelchair bound and mid-Alzheimer's mentally.
There was concern that I wouldn't be able to take care of my husband, wouldn't be able to handle his handicaps in our home. It was strongly suggested that he not come home, at least for a few weeks. Or months. Or however long it took for him to be more "mentally reliable" and for him to get stronger.
And they handed me The List.
"Nursing Homes and Rehabilitation Facilities in the Greater Houston Area".
But I couldn't, wouldn't do it.
I just couldn't merge together the repeated assurances that the more people he knew that were around him the quicker he'd recover and remember with putting him in a COMPLETELY different environment he'd never been in before filled with all new people he'd never seen before.
He's my husband. No one knows him, loves him and cares about him more than I do, and I was determined to bring him home.
Because I work flexible hours, and because Joe was here to assist physically if needed and to be watchful when I had to be at work- leaving Ward never alone at home- we were approved to come home. All of us. Together.
Five months later, Ward's pretty much back to his brilliant, funny, beloved old self mentally, his weight is coming up nicely from the over 40 pounds underweight he left the hospital carrying, and thanks to physical therapy he's gaining strength steadily.
I looked at The List, transfixed, paralyzed, instantly awash with the emotions the first reading of that self-same list filled me with- sadness, worry, fear.
Bleakness.
I showed The List to Ward- so much of that time was filled with stuff he can't remember, stuff he remembers but never happened, strangeness, I showed it to him so he'd know I wasn't exaggerating when I told him it was recommended that I put him in a nursing home.
Then I firmly and deliberately folded The List in half, and tucked it into The Trash.
Grocery lists, shopping lists, errand lists, chore lists.
Lists on the telephone, the computer, typed neatly and posted on the wall or scratched onto the back of a junk mail envelope using a pen that's out of ink.
There's a running list on the Notepad feature of my phone- stuff we need at the store...next time we're there.
I travel at all times with 2 bags plus my purse- my work bag and the "house building stuff" bag.
The work bag is a misnomer since it's got the stuff (and lists) for the taekwondo club Alec belongs to in one section- I'm the treasurer of the club.
It's got our bills to be paid and calls to be made (in list form) in another section.
And there is work stuff in there too- schedules, calls, orders, lists.
The house bag has all the details of our building project- contracts, blueprints, receipts, business cards and phone numbers. And many. Many. Lists.
On one of my lists is the directive to "clean out all drawers and surfaces". This is daunting because we're packrats, every one of us. But I need to clean those areas in order to get to the furniture we want to move, and this whole Moving Thing is an exercise in cleaning out the old, shaking off the cobwebs from our previous life, starting anew and all that drivel.
Here's the thing.
I'm finding, tucked into drawers and cupboards and files...alot of old lists.
And that slows me down, because they must be read, remembered, validated before either being tossed out or saved.
I'm not talking about old grocery lists, those are easy to discard- I'm talking about
the many many lists and plans and letters and drawings that led up to the reality of the house we're now building (these get saved).
Christmas wish lists painstakingly written out in ever-more-legible handwriting by our son- and I wonder, now that he knows "about Santa" will there be a wish list this year? I remembered the conversation that led up to the very large next step of being grown-up-
"Mom- is Santa real?"
"Well, son, what do you think?"
"I don't know- that's why I'm asking you."
"Son, Santa is the spirit of giving. In that respect he's very real, and always will be."
"Soooo...he's you."
"Yes, dear."
"But mom?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I always put the really expensive stuff on Santa's list because I knew you couldn't afford them".
"Yes dear."
"Mom? I always got those expensive presents".
"I know dear."
*Pause*
"So you're Santa."
"Fraid so."
"All this time you've been Santa."
"Yep."
*Pause"
"Mom?"
"Yes dear?"
(whispered) "Does dad know?"
(whispered) "No dear- lets not tell him- he's had a rough couple of years..."
the Christmas lists ALWAYS get saved.
There are worn, stained mapquested route pages from every epic journey we've taken ("Family Vacation" just doesn't cover the scope of how we travel...). Those got saved.
So I was actually enjoying my little jaunt down List Memory Lane.
Until.
Going through a pile of stuff we brought back from the last trip to MDAnderson I found The List.
It's dated April 29, 2010, about a week before Ward's discharge and from the Social Worker at MDA. See, he'd reached a point where he didn't NEED to be in the hospital anymore- but physically he couldn't walk more than a few steps and mentally he was still really really fuzzy. Really. He was weak and fuzzy from drug reactions and weeks of intensive care and two major surgeries and heart failure and pneumonia and he was just plain wore out.
And they told me that they were stumped that he was not improving from the point he was at- and they hinted and inferred that where he was might be all the better he got- physically wheelchair bound and mid-Alzheimer's mentally.
There was concern that I wouldn't be able to take care of my husband, wouldn't be able to handle his handicaps in our home. It was strongly suggested that he not come home, at least for a few weeks. Or months. Or however long it took for him to be more "mentally reliable" and for him to get stronger.
And they handed me The List.
"Nursing Homes and Rehabilitation Facilities in the Greater Houston Area".
But I couldn't, wouldn't do it.
I just couldn't merge together the repeated assurances that the more people he knew that were around him the quicker he'd recover and remember with putting him in a COMPLETELY different environment he'd never been in before filled with all new people he'd never seen before.
He's my husband. No one knows him, loves him and cares about him more than I do, and I was determined to bring him home.
Because I work flexible hours, and because Joe was here to assist physically if needed and to be watchful when I had to be at work- leaving Ward never alone at home- we were approved to come home. All of us. Together.
Five months later, Ward's pretty much back to his brilliant, funny, beloved old self mentally, his weight is coming up nicely from the over 40 pounds underweight he left the hospital carrying, and thanks to physical therapy he's gaining strength steadily.
I looked at The List, transfixed, paralyzed, instantly awash with the emotions the first reading of that self-same list filled me with- sadness, worry, fear.
Bleakness.
I showed The List to Ward- so much of that time was filled with stuff he can't remember, stuff he remembers but never happened, strangeness, I showed it to him so he'd know I wasn't exaggerating when I told him it was recommended that I put him in a nursing home.
Then I firmly and deliberately folded The List in half, and tucked it into The Trash.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Houston Haiku Trilogy
My knight in shining armor
Sleeps just to my left.
Watching him breathe calms my heart.
My brave son and his Fizzgig
Sleep just to my right.
Stork legs, short legs, feet and paws.
I'm exhausted past slumber
Yet sleep just won't come
For Wife, Mom, and Worrier.
*Please keep my family in your thoughts and yes, even prayers, as we once again enter the maws of MD Anderson...again. Tomorrow and Wednesday are "routine" appointments, but for some reason we're a little twitchy just being here.
Sleeps just to my left.
Watching him breathe calms my heart.
My brave son and his Fizzgig
Sleep just to my right.
Stork legs, short legs, feet and paws.
I'm exhausted past slumber
Yet sleep just won't come
For Wife, Mom, and Worrier.
*Please keep my family in your thoughts and yes, even prayers, as we once again enter the maws of MD Anderson...again. Tomorrow and Wednesday are "routine" appointments, but for some reason we're a little twitchy just being here.
Friday, April 23, 2010
"Fish Out Of Water Desires Rental Lungs and Feet"
I'm a Leo.
The feline fire sign.
But I'm not an inside cat by any stretch of the imagination. I prefer outside to indoors unless it's below about 50 degrees- then you'll find me curled up by the fireplace. I'm a fire sign- I crave warmth.
Even wildly mis-planted in Wisconsin for my first 35 years, my preference was always to be outside as long as the above temperature requirement was met, and even then, during the long winters (which last from October 1st thru May up yonder) I'd make a break for the outdoor world frantically every month or so when a flash of Nature would lure me out into it where I'd breathe deeply- the icy air filling my dusty lungs- I can't take a full breath inside.
There are 8 hours or so every fall that hold the perfect autumn hues in a grasp of perfection- not the sunny blue-skied days of magazine layouts, but one day with heavy charcoal clouds pressing down on the woods and the lowering sun infusing and drenching each leaf with glowing vibrancy- denying the reality of the next days' withering, browning, brittle descent into quietly composting anonymity.
The aftermath of a midnight snow storm- the full moon seemingly within reach and so brilliant the stars fall out of the sky and lie twinkling at your feet- each snowflake reflecting a faraway sun in the deep of an earthly night.
Early spring, when the rain falls before the air is warm, encasing everything in a transparent glistening frozen cocoon- tree, twig, budding leaf and flower- all surprised and often broken by the very substance they need to live finally come after a long winter, but just that much too soon. Timing is everything.
So even in Wisconsin (Native American for "Land of the Three Day Summer") my natural environment was Outside.
I preferred camping to shopping, hiking to TV watching, a day at the out-of-the-way nature preserve to the stuffifying interior of the school building.
Even as a grown-up, gainful employment to me needed, if not actual exposure to Outside, at the very least I required to be where I could see it- to know if it were morning or evening by the sky instead of the timeclock, if it were sunny or raining by sight and not the weather channel.
Working for a flower shop as an all-around gal, I was out delivering arrangements one day and one bright bouquet went to a medical transcription office (in the days before home computers, that's what they did). I walked into the windowless, music-free office filled wall to wall with women wearing headsets and concentrating on their work- the only sound was the ticking of keys. I felt panicked, strangled, it was suddenly very difficult to breathe as I realized that this was their life- 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and I thought horrifyingly
"This is hell".
Finally not being able to ignore that little voice screaming "MIGRATE SOUTH" any longer, I found what I was looking for- East Texas, filled with forests, water, hills, and the lazy luxury of tremendously long wildflower-filled springs and crazy quilt colored autumns with just a smidgen of "wow- hot" or "kinda chilly" dividing them.
Now my Outside Spirit is in its element- even when inside, our windows are generally wide open- our house merely a roof and a few walls giving the illusion of shelter, and even when too cold, it's not deadly frostbite cold, just mildly annoying for a few days.
Except.
This last few years have seen many times that I've been forced Inside- more than just inside an office building or behind a desk, I've been bent, folded, spindled and crammed into the very un-natural element of a very large city.
Now, I honestly can't say I've hated every minute of it.
I've hated the REASON we're here- just one of a huge herd of Cancer Families making weary frightened pilgrimages to lay our loved ones on the altar of medicine- leaving sacrificial parts and pieces behind.
But as granola munchin' tree huggin' nature lovin' as I am, I've always appreciated the things only large urban areas can offer- museums, theater, music, culture both high falutin' and local, and have always thoroughly enjoyed my excursions into large metropolitan areas from Chicago to Miami, from Los Angeles to Washington DC.
My terms, my choice, my call as to when to escape back to the quiet and peace of the forest- cherishing and grateful for what I've been able to experience in the urban jungle, and so thankful I don't have to live there.
We're currently on our 18th day of a 6 day trip to Houston.
My husband lies in ICU- the very epitome of "ravaged and wasted" after a string of events only the devil himself could put so cleverly together. He's fighting for life, for his wife, for his son- and in tiny steps is climbing out inch by torturous inch back to his family.
And while I feel enormous guilt at every moment not spent at his side, I also know that I need to be 'out here' for his son, that both our son and I need something other than the suffocating surroundings of the hospital, that even while our hearts break at the knowledge that Ward's trapped there, in that bed, inside his faltering body, we know that when he wakes fully up he'll not be angry about the hours we spent away from his bedside, but all those we did.
So we go. And do. And see. And every experience we try to engrave on our memories to share with him- make plans to do again- with him.
Being an Outside animal trapped in an Inside world, I can only tolerate the hospital for a few hours at a time- then I must flee literally if only for 10 minutes, and I stop at the cafe for something to drink or a snack and maneuver through the interior maze, out the door, between cars and buses and taxicabs and ambulances to the tiny garden planted artfully and hopefully betwixt the hospital and the busy street and I sit face lifted towards the sun- shoes kicked off, eyes closed, breathing slowly if not deeply for the smog and the exhaust fumes. Before heading back inside I bury my nose for one deep breath stolen from the heart of a rose- not my favorite flower, but as close to heaven as I can get right here, right now.
My family has been forced to adapt to this environment- and while gleaning and benefiting from the many offerings afforded by it we are not thriving.
We all three of us look to the day we can turn in our rented lungs and feet, and dive joyfully (if exhausted) back into our beloved Pineywoods, leaving only a slight and quickly fading ripple on the surface of Houston- to a time when we will again only emerge by choice, and not be forced out by circumstance.
The feline fire sign.
But I'm not an inside cat by any stretch of the imagination. I prefer outside to indoors unless it's below about 50 degrees- then you'll find me curled up by the fireplace. I'm a fire sign- I crave warmth.
Even wildly mis-planted in Wisconsin for my first 35 years, my preference was always to be outside as long as the above temperature requirement was met, and even then, during the long winters (which last from October 1st thru May up yonder) I'd make a break for the outdoor world frantically every month or so when a flash of Nature would lure me out into it where I'd breathe deeply- the icy air filling my dusty lungs- I can't take a full breath inside.
There are 8 hours or so every fall that hold the perfect autumn hues in a grasp of perfection- not the sunny blue-skied days of magazine layouts, but one day with heavy charcoal clouds pressing down on the woods and the lowering sun infusing and drenching each leaf with glowing vibrancy- denying the reality of the next days' withering, browning, brittle descent into quietly composting anonymity.
The aftermath of a midnight snow storm- the full moon seemingly within reach and so brilliant the stars fall out of the sky and lie twinkling at your feet- each snowflake reflecting a faraway sun in the deep of an earthly night.
Early spring, when the rain falls before the air is warm, encasing everything in a transparent glistening frozen cocoon- tree, twig, budding leaf and flower- all surprised and often broken by the very substance they need to live finally come after a long winter, but just that much too soon. Timing is everything.
So even in Wisconsin (Native American for "Land of the Three Day Summer") my natural environment was Outside.
I preferred camping to shopping, hiking to TV watching, a day at the out-of-the-way nature preserve to the stuffifying interior of the school building.
Even as a grown-up, gainful employment to me needed, if not actual exposure to Outside, at the very least I required to be where I could see it- to know if it were morning or evening by the sky instead of the timeclock, if it were sunny or raining by sight and not the weather channel.
Working for a flower shop as an all-around gal, I was out delivering arrangements one day and one bright bouquet went to a medical transcription office (in the days before home computers, that's what they did). I walked into the windowless, music-free office filled wall to wall with women wearing headsets and concentrating on their work- the only sound was the ticking of keys. I felt panicked, strangled, it was suddenly very difficult to breathe as I realized that this was their life- 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and I thought horrifyingly
"This is hell".
Finally not being able to ignore that little voice screaming "MIGRATE SOUTH" any longer, I found what I was looking for- East Texas, filled with forests, water, hills, and the lazy luxury of tremendously long wildflower-filled springs and crazy quilt colored autumns with just a smidgen of "wow- hot" or "kinda chilly" dividing them.
Now my Outside Spirit is in its element- even when inside, our windows are generally wide open- our house merely a roof and a few walls giving the illusion of shelter, and even when too cold, it's not deadly frostbite cold, just mildly annoying for a few days.
Except.
This last few years have seen many times that I've been forced Inside- more than just inside an office building or behind a desk, I've been bent, folded, spindled and crammed into the very un-natural element of a very large city.
Now, I honestly can't say I've hated every minute of it.
I've hated the REASON we're here- just one of a huge herd of Cancer Families making weary frightened pilgrimages to lay our loved ones on the altar of medicine- leaving sacrificial parts and pieces behind.
But as granola munchin' tree huggin' nature lovin' as I am, I've always appreciated the things only large urban areas can offer- museums, theater, music, culture both high falutin' and local, and have always thoroughly enjoyed my excursions into large metropolitan areas from Chicago to Miami, from Los Angeles to Washington DC.
My terms, my choice, my call as to when to escape back to the quiet and peace of the forest- cherishing and grateful for what I've been able to experience in the urban jungle, and so thankful I don't have to live there.
We're currently on our 18th day of a 6 day trip to Houston.
My husband lies in ICU- the very epitome of "ravaged and wasted" after a string of events only the devil himself could put so cleverly together. He's fighting for life, for his wife, for his son- and in tiny steps is climbing out inch by torturous inch back to his family.
And while I feel enormous guilt at every moment not spent at his side, I also know that I need to be 'out here' for his son, that both our son and I need something other than the suffocating surroundings of the hospital, that even while our hearts break at the knowledge that Ward's trapped there, in that bed, inside his faltering body, we know that when he wakes fully up he'll not be angry about the hours we spent away from his bedside, but all those we did.
So we go. And do. And see. And every experience we try to engrave on our memories to share with him- make plans to do again- with him.
Being an Outside animal trapped in an Inside world, I can only tolerate the hospital for a few hours at a time- then I must flee literally if only for 10 minutes, and I stop at the cafe for something to drink or a snack and maneuver through the interior maze, out the door, between cars and buses and taxicabs and ambulances to the tiny garden planted artfully and hopefully betwixt the hospital and the busy street and I sit face lifted towards the sun- shoes kicked off, eyes closed, breathing slowly if not deeply for the smog and the exhaust fumes. Before heading back inside I bury my nose for one deep breath stolen from the heart of a rose- not my favorite flower, but as close to heaven as I can get right here, right now.
My family has been forced to adapt to this environment- and while gleaning and benefiting from the many offerings afforded by it we are not thriving.
We all three of us look to the day we can turn in our rented lungs and feet, and dive joyfully (if exhausted) back into our beloved Pineywoods, leaving only a slight and quickly fading ripple on the surface of Houston- to a time when we will again only emerge by choice, and not be forced out by circumstance.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Illegal Aliens are Breaking the Backs of America's Hospitals
Sorry. Let me amend that. It's not ONLY Illegal Aliens (of course for clarification, we need to have a tacit understanding that by "Illegal Aliens" I am talking about those shifty Mexicans who take the easy ride across our border for a life of pure joy picking our strawberries and manicuring our lawns).
Also to blame are those Crackheads and Welfare Mamas.
Here's the basic Myth, as forwarded ad nauseum throughout the interwebs-
*and it's a well-known fact that if an email is forwarded one million times it ceases being a mere puppet and becomes a REAL BOY...
Illegal Aliens are sucking our hospitals dry. They trip lightly across the Rio Grande, have the extreme selfishness to get caught up in some sort of agricultural implement and/or heavy construction equipment while supplying our citizens with food, roads and buildings, and then lie in a vegetative state racking up MILLIONS of dollars of bills- astronomical amounts that are then passed on to us hardworking Americans (always with a Capital A) in the form of higher health care costs.
In fact- while these lazy Mexicans are lie-about in our hospitals, Grandma and Grandpa can't afford their meds- because our country is too busy taking care of the Illegal Aliens. "Shush now", says our government, "Don't disturb this wonderful Mexican with your pain- go eat some cat food and be sick somewhere else".
Are hospital costs going up? Yes, of course. Costs are rising everywhere.
Are many hospitals on the verge of bankruptcy? Yes.
Is it the Illegal Aliens' fault? Ummm.....no.
Let me relay a little story.
Just by chance, both my husband and I had to undergo surgery within a month of each other about eight years ago.
We were both insured- but by different insurance companies.
We went to the same hospital for our procedures.
Here's how the charges played out, as shown on the bills that we received.
Because in our country, even if you have insurance and pay your premiums for years without incident, you must still shoulder your "fair share" of the bill.
Husband- Heart surgery. Hospitalized 10 days.
Total bill $100,000
Insurance paid $9,995
Our portion- payable upon receipt $1,314
Discount/write-off by hospital because patient was insured $88,691
Me- abdominal surgery. Hospitalized for 3 days.
Total bill $35,000
Insurance paid $9,995
Our portion- payable upon receipt $1,314
Discount/write-off by hospital because patient was insured $23,691
Really. No shit.
Our first thought was "Thank god we have insurance". And I didn't think much beyond that for a while. Because when you are personally in crisis, that's what you do- think only as far and as deep as you must.
But here's the thing.
The hospitals were paid $11,309 for each procedure. That's it.
My husband and I have been paying premiums of about $200 per month each for all our adult lives. I can't even pick up the calculator to see how that plays out. I'm pretty sure it's heavily stacked on the insurance company's side.
I understand, being a clinic manager myself, and being the one ordering supplies, paying the bills, and overseeing the billing amounts, that one important thing to remember when listening to whatever talking head is screaming about the ginormous bills being racked up by these poor (I mean evil) patients (usually lying in a comatose state without friends or family around to mess up the room and not really causing anyone any problems) is that
Bill amount does NOT = Cost
Read that again. So if we HEAR "Jose's bill totals 1.2 million dollars", the actual hospital cost, while still substantial, is NOT 1.2 million dollars.
But I also know full well that the salaries, overhead, equipment, drugs, etc. to perform the types of surgery my husband and I had cost well more than $11,309.
So, what gives?
What happens is, the insurance company comes to a hospital and says "We bring you a huge pool of patients. We will pay you $9,995 for any surgical procedure and you will be happy to get it because we wield enormous powers in high places. Good luck cutting corners to make it all work".
At the same time, they are telling the doctors "We bring you a huge pool of patients. Some of them will be unhappy with the outcome of your care, so we must charge you huge amounts of money for mal-practice insurance. Oh. And we'll only be paying you a smidgeon of your bill amount for all these patients. If you refuse to take it, you will lose alot of business because we are huge and powerful and pay for snazzy TV commercials telling people how much we care".
Meanwhile, back on the home front- the insurance company sends out letters to the insureds that say "Thank you for being an important member of our huge pool of patients. Unfortunately, because of the rising cost of health care, your premium must go up. Alot. Of course, this will only bring you better and better health care. As long as you never ask to use it. If you do that, we'll be doing our level best to find a way to regrettably deny that care".
Brilliant. If you are a fan of Dark Humor and Evil Genius.
Also to blame are those Crackheads and Welfare Mamas.
Here's the basic Myth, as forwarded ad nauseum throughout the interwebs-
*and it's a well-known fact that if an email is forwarded one million times it ceases being a mere puppet and becomes a REAL BOY...
Illegal Aliens are sucking our hospitals dry. They trip lightly across the Rio Grande, have the extreme selfishness to get caught up in some sort of agricultural implement and/or heavy construction equipment while supplying our citizens with food, roads and buildings, and then lie in a vegetative state racking up MILLIONS of dollars of bills- astronomical amounts that are then passed on to us hardworking Americans (always with a Capital A) in the form of higher health care costs.
In fact- while these lazy Mexicans are lie-about in our hospitals, Grandma and Grandpa can't afford their meds- because our country is too busy taking care of the Illegal Aliens. "Shush now", says our government, "Don't disturb this wonderful Mexican with your pain- go eat some cat food and be sick somewhere else".
Are hospital costs going up? Yes, of course. Costs are rising everywhere.
Are many hospitals on the verge of bankruptcy? Yes.
Is it the Illegal Aliens' fault? Ummm.....no.
Let me relay a little story.
Just by chance, both my husband and I had to undergo surgery within a month of each other about eight years ago.
We were both insured- but by different insurance companies.
We went to the same hospital for our procedures.
Here's how the charges played out, as shown on the bills that we received.
Because in our country, even if you have insurance and pay your premiums for years without incident, you must still shoulder your "fair share" of the bill.
Husband- Heart surgery. Hospitalized 10 days.
Total bill $100,000
Insurance paid $9,995
Our portion- payable upon receipt $1,314
Discount/write-off by hospital because patient was insured $88,691
Me- abdominal surgery. Hospitalized for 3 days.
Total bill $35,000
Insurance paid $9,995
Our portion- payable upon receipt $1,314
Discount/write-off by hospital because patient was insured $23,691
Really. No shit.
Our first thought was "Thank god we have insurance". And I didn't think much beyond that for a while. Because when you are personally in crisis, that's what you do- think only as far and as deep as you must.
But here's the thing.
The hospitals were paid $11,309 for each procedure. That's it.
My husband and I have been paying premiums of about $200 per month each for all our adult lives. I can't even pick up the calculator to see how that plays out. I'm pretty sure it's heavily stacked on the insurance company's side.
I understand, being a clinic manager myself, and being the one ordering supplies, paying the bills, and overseeing the billing amounts, that one important thing to remember when listening to whatever talking head is screaming about the ginormous bills being racked up by these poor (I mean evil) patients (usually lying in a comatose state without friends or family around to mess up the room and not really causing anyone any problems) is that
Bill amount does NOT = Cost
Read that again. So if we HEAR "Jose's bill totals 1.2 million dollars", the actual hospital cost, while still substantial, is NOT 1.2 million dollars.
But I also know full well that the salaries, overhead, equipment, drugs, etc. to perform the types of surgery my husband and I had cost well more than $11,309.
So, what gives?
What happens is, the insurance company comes to a hospital and says "We bring you a huge pool of patients. We will pay you $9,995 for any surgical procedure and you will be happy to get it because we wield enormous powers in high places. Good luck cutting corners to make it all work".
At the same time, they are telling the doctors "We bring you a huge pool of patients. Some of them will be unhappy with the outcome of your care, so we must charge you huge amounts of money for mal-practice insurance. Oh. And we'll only be paying you a smidgeon of your bill amount for all these patients. If you refuse to take it, you will lose alot of business because we are huge and powerful and pay for snazzy TV commercials telling people how much we care".
Meanwhile, back on the home front- the insurance company sends out letters to the insureds that say "Thank you for being an important member of our huge pool of patients. Unfortunately, because of the rising cost of health care, your premium must go up. Alot. Of course, this will only bring you better and better health care. As long as you never ask to use it. If you do that, we'll be doing our level best to find a way to regrettably deny that care".
Brilliant. If you are a fan of Dark Humor and Evil Genius.
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