I Think I Need a Pre-Nup for My Pre-Op Experience. Has Health Care Really Given Way to the DMV? There Has To Be a Better Way.

My week began with a note from the incredible surgeon who will work on Hendrick about needing a Covid-test (fine: I've done them and they arranged that for me), as well as two items on a Pre-Op from my Primary Care Physician. I, however, don't have a primary care physician because, well, I haven't needed one. I have, however, realized how important they are, as insurance companies won't allow for surgeries without pre-op procedures being met.

I needed an EKG and bloodwork. Easy enough. 

Except that places don't do Pre-Ops unless they are your primary care facility. This is my bad, as I don't have one. So, being of the Google world, I found one and made arrangements a week ago to meet on Friday. After waiting an hour for my 2:30 pm appointment, they decided they couldn't do a Pre-Op because they were not my primary care giver.

My mom is/was my primary care giver, as was my father. 

It was  suggested I use DOCs, a walk-in clinic that doesn't take appointments, but that says that one should schedule an appointment when doing a Pre-Op. No one picked up the phone for me to schedule an appointment (as the website suggested)...so I walked in, and the advice I received was, "Walk in early on Saturday, and they'll likely get you in," so I came back...even though I was told to make an appointment, too.

I must say, the front desk was incredible kind, supportive, and helpful. The physician and his intern physician assistant were great, as well, although they didn't understand the paper work that came with me because they just wanted to do a physical, and didn't know what kind of blood work my surgeon wanted. So they did a complete physical and moved toward the blood work....well, not them. They sent me elsewhere, which I will detail below.

First, however, I have to explain the EKG. As the lady rolled in the machine she laughed and said, "We have the oldest machine in the universe." She was training another nurse who was correcting her trainer every step of the way. They put the stickers all over my body, and then spent 45 minutes untangling the wire as if they were Christmas lights. I asked them to sing Christmas Carols, which they began to do, but then they got too stressed in the untangling to be joyous. When they finally accomplished the unravelling, they hooked me up, ran the test, ripped off my chest and arm hairs from the sticky nodes, and left.

Soon after the doctor came in and said, "We got a faulty reading, and it's probably the old machine, but they need to do it again. If it doesn't work, we'll send you to a place with more modern equipment."

A few minutes later, the lead receptionist came in (the kind, knowledgeable one who really made the day very pleasant) and said, "The girls didn't know what they were doing so I'll do it this time." She re-untangled the Christmas wires, re-glued my body, refastened the equipment, and did four attempts of the EKG before a proper reading came through.

"You're fine," the doctor said. He seemed giddy that the machine still worked. But then he sent me elsewhere to get bloodwork. 

Recently, while on the road and stopping to get a quick bite of food, I've noticed that fast food joints no longer have workers taking orders but you tap onto a screen what you want when you enter the lobby. Then a pimply kid gives you your order. The same is true for getting blood work done. It was a big lobby with iPads fastened to the wall, with people entering their information before waiting, DMV style, for a name to be called. It goes fast, so when Sylvia Patricia Schvlotnick misses her name because she's old and can't hear, she starts screaming when Bryan Ripley Crandall is called before her. "I was here before that man. Why did you take that man before me?" No matter how you try to tell her that she was already called but didn't respond, she screams louder, "That man is cutting the line."

A woman from India, no smile, took me into a room, didn't look at me, punched things into a computer, and asked how I would pay. I say, "I have cash," in which she says, "We only take credit," and I hand her a card. She shoved me in a chair, jabbed me with a needle, and I stared at a two-year old's drawing of a smiley face with a tongue hanging out to distract me (It worked...I was mildly happy as the blood was drawn). Then I went. 

Granted, the surgery is the 9th, and there is no surgery without a Pre-Op proof of appointment. I am hoping the EKG and bloodwork get faxed to the surgeon's office, as the paper the surgeon mailed me 10 days before the procedure requires that I fax it to them 14 days before the surgery (which was impossible, unless I could reverse time). 

I remember when the U.S. airlines industry went from being a classy act to a Saturday morning at Walmart, and I'm afraid the medical industrial complex has gone the same way. I'm sad for the poorly paid nurse's aides who have to do all the work for little money, while the professional people have to maintain a semblance of control in order to do what is requested within the bureaucracy that is controlled and run by insurance and pharmaceutical companies.

I can't imagine having to go into the medical realm with anything more serious, especially now with Covid. I do, however, miss the world of yesteryear where there seemed to be patient care. I am recalling all the doctors and hospitals I called when my mom and dad had things going on the last time I visited them and how I always found it ironic that their recorded voice message always said, "Your health care is most important to us. Please remain on the line for the next available agent," when you sat on the line for two hours thinking, "No one gives a flying shit about any of us any more."

I know there are reasons this has happened and I imagine it all has to do with corporations and insurance companies, but it really just seems wrong. I also know that I don't like going to the doctor's because I see the scam as it is. I will leave it to people smarter than me to explain the phenomenon of medical care, but I seriously think there has to be a better way. 

My surgeon is a magician and her office is stupendous. She's a stunning mind, care-giver, and healer. Yet, she too had to push me into the the other world to appease insurance companies.

The moral of the story, I guess, is that I really should get a primary doctor. I'm not sure what that will do for me, but I'm hoping it's better than what I went through yesterday (as comedic as every second of it was).

My final note: When I came home, worked for a while, walked the dog, and then finally showered, I found 7 of the sticky nodes still taped to my body. You'd think they would remove them before I left.

Ah, gosh, world. It's already August again, too. Phew.