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Edited on Fri Jul-25-08 12:28 PM by philboy
My apologies for typing this rant in sentence fragments.
Most of you know that I suffer from depression, the bad kind. I have so since 2000. Pretty well controlled until the last few months.
Severe. motherfucking.arm pain. since April.
Finally got to see a hand and arm specialist 2 weeks age. After 2 denied MRI's by my insurance company ordered by a pain specialist, this hand and arm specialist decides that the problem lies in my cervical spine and orders an MRI for my neck.
I walk out of his office happy for some good news. He tells his assistant to order this MRI IMMEDIATELY. She says...we are too busy to do it during normal hours, we will have to work overtime and call after hours. He says to do it as soon as she can. One motherfucking week later, she finally calls me and schedules the MRI, which somehow is miraculously approved now by the insurance company. I go for the MRI next week.
Previous to this, my primary care doctor gives me a script for 20 x-tra strength Vicodan for the pain. I'm doing everything to make the fucking things last. Missing doses, biting them in half, etc.
When I saw the hand and arm guy, I asked him to take care of my pain management. At that time, I had almost a full bottle of Vicodan left. I dutifully brought the bottle into to him when I had the appointment. he was happy that I did. He said that he would write me an additional prescription now. I dutifully said....No, let me just call you when I run out.
Well, I am out. I called 3 days ago. His fucking assistant tells me that she will have to call my primary care to make sure she can give me the script. She didn't want me double dipping so to speak. I gave her my primary care phone number. She says the script will be ready today.
They can't call narcotics into the pharmacy, you have to pick up a hard copy script. I drive 10 miles to the office. The script is not ready. The receptionist calls back to the assistant. the assistant says she can't give me the script because my primary care never called her back. Then, the receptionist asks what pharmacy I use.
Why do you ask? I say. This script can't be called in...why do you need to know? Because the assistant would like to know she says.
Now here goes my temper. I start to get upset, receptionist says let me have you talk to the assistant. Assistant comes out and waves me into a room. I walk in the room and tell her that I am tired of being treated like a goddamn drug addict, I just want pain relief. I don't care if you give me Vicodan or something else. She says she won't be spoken to that way.
I tell her to quit pretending she is a fucking doctor, and I said that the doctor already knows my situation and offered to write a script. she says that the doctor will not be in until later so she can verify this.
I had my hand on the door to the room. I was heated. She says "Are you preventing me from leaving this room"?
I said...no, in fact, I will open the fucking door and let the whole waiting room hear what I have to say.
At that point, I knew I had gone too far, and just asked her to have the doctor call me. I was actually wishing that they would call a male security guard.
The doctor knows the severity of the pain, and he knows it is making me suicidal.
Everything is broken with health care.
Since APRIL I have had this pain, with no recourse.
I'm at a loss.
No one cares, and the doctors that do care are hampered by power hungry assistants.
I drove around the corner to my primary care. She wrote a script for the Vicodan as I had a breakdown in her office.
I've had it.
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