crappy bureaucratic machine

These little piggies... got crushed by an anvil, or something.
Inching closer to Friday, this week maintains its steady crawl. It’s ’round about nine and I’m watching some TiVo’d Andy Griffith. I didn’t do a thing tonight, fell asleep on the couch shortly after getting home from work. Didn’t work on the witch, didn’t shave, didn’t do anything.

Guys. Really. I mean, I thought I was finally done giving this presentation. For a week in Taiwan I parroted this stuff, and at two conferences already before that. I flew to Houston to present it, I presented it over the phone. I can do it blindfolded, on one foot, while whistling. I can do it in pig latin with no slides, I can recite it backwards while jumping through fire, I can roll out of bed and give the whole thing completely straight-faced in nothing but my skivvies. Please, please, don’t make me fight traffic over to the Bay to give it two more times… I might collapse. Oh lord…

Everyone is saying I’m guilty of fraud, just because I added a few letters to a doctor’s evaluation of Sharaun’s knee. OK, OK, I’ll back up and start from the beginning. Sunday, Sharaun tweaked her knee while playing soccer. At first she thought it was OK, but later that night it had swollen pretty bad was really hurting her. Bad enough that we drove to a friend’s to borrow some crutches so she could better get around at work the next day.

Anyway, since she can’t really make phone calls from work, I called the next day to try and get her an appointment at our doctor. Turns out there wasn’t anything until Thursday that she could manage to make it to. Since she was/is in pretty bad shape, I asked if there was anything else we could do. I told them that I was pretty sure she’d need to see a specialist, and that we just wanted to get a referral so she could do that. Our doctor’s office suggested she go to an “urgent care” clinic and get checked out, that way his referral to a specialist would be good enough for insurance, and she wouldn’t have to wait until Thursday. So, Monday night we spend roughly three hours at the urgent care place, where the doctor’s assessment was that she’d need an MRI and further evaluation. Before leaving, we got carbons of some paperwork with his assessment which we figured, according to what I’d been told on the phone earlier that day, would satisfy insurance’s requirement for seeing a “primary care” physician before being referred to a specialist.

So, the next day I called the our normal doctor back and relayed what the urgent care place said about Sharaun needing an MRI. However, this time I got a different story. For an MRI, she’d have to come in and be seen at the doctor – which is exactly what we were told we’d be avoiding by going to the urgent care. So I explained what I’d been told the day before, and that we’d spent three hours at the stupid urgent care, and blah, blah. Finally, the nurse relented somewhat and said that if the paperwork from the urgent care doctor stated she needed an MRI, I could fax it to them and they’d in turn fax it to the insurance for approval – bypassing another appointment. Awesome, I got the fax number and pulled out the paperwork from the urgent care.

Now, guess what y’all? That crap-doctor at urgent care didn’t even write the word “MRI” on this little paper. I mean, there’s all sorts of stuff on here – but the key statement says, “You have an internal injury to L knee, needs further eval.” He even captured such astute observations like, “… walks with limp..” and, “… swelling.” Great. Now I have no proof that this quack ever recommended an MRI, and Sharaun’s gonna have to go in for another appointment before she can see a specialist. So, here’s what I did:

Easy right? I just added the word “MRI” in parentheses after his “… needs further eval.” statement. I didn’t even bother to try and match his script, or the color of his ink. I didn’t even really think about it. The doctor wanted to see MRI, so I put MRI. I faxed it all over and am awaiting the response from whatever triad of governing bodies it requires to get a damn specialist referral through insurance. Crappy bureaucratic machine.

I’m spent.. I have nothing more. Dave out.


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One Reply to “crappy bureaucratic machine”

  1. Speaking of falsifying documents… I watched a Foresnsic Files where a guy named David stole his friends identity when he moved, then killed the friend after he came back. So I´m keeping my eye on you Dave (if that´s your real name…)

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