Saturday, August 8, 2009





So.

About my arm.

The pain disappeared eventually in spite of the physical nature of
my job but returned after a couple of days of pain-free functioning.

I actually got in a week or so at work before I started feeling that old feeling,
and I don't mean love.
(Remember that great scene in Radioland Murder where Rosemary
Clooney sings 'That Old Feeling'? If I could sing like that, you'd have
to pay me to shut up.)

I called my doctor's office on Thursday but couldn't get in to see the P.A.
until this coming Monday. It's scandalous. I've never had to wait so long
to get in. The voice on the phone explained that I could get in
sooner if I didn't have Blue Cross. Huh?

Yeah. That's not a typo.

The voice went on to say that they have a doctor in their practice that
doesn't take Blue Cross or PhP patients: "Well, what I mean is, they
won't work with her."

Excuse me? If you had a medical office with numerous doctors, P.A.'s, and nurses,
wouldn't you make sure that the big third-party payors approved them?!
Especially when those insurance companies comprise the bulk of your practice?
Why would you bother to hire a doctor that only rich uninsured people
could afford?
And since there is no such animal as a rich but uninsured person,
who in the hell do you expect such a doctor to treat? And then bill afterward?
It makes no sense to me.

Anyway, I'm off work until Monday afternoon, resting my right arm.
Mostly I've been tottering around the house, clutching the offending member
to my side and self-medicating.

And wincing. I'm a good wincer.
I don't always say much about how much pain I'm in.

It takes more talent to seem as if you're trying to 'carry on', stiff upper lip and all.

So, you reach for your coffee mug (or Vicodin bottle or whatever) and freeze mid-motion,
with perhaps a small yip like puppies do when they're spanked on the butt with
a newspaper for again mistaking the carpet for the newspaper at the door- and scrunch
your face, remembering to include the all-important eye-squinting.
Done correctly, this will melt the hardest heart and result in someone handing
you your coffee (or drugs or whatever). Trust me on this--I've been
perfecting this technique for a long time.

The Wince.

Just one more of my many talents.

1 comment:

Jen of A2eatwrite said...

Ah! Now I can comment. It sounds like a horrid arm injury. I sure hope that it gets much better soon.