When Mike gets the mail in our enormous apartment complex he sings Postal Service’s “This place is a prison, and these people aren’t your friends…” That’s how I feel when I go to my OBGYN’s office. That waiting room is fucking HELL. The mindless receptionist took one look at my chart and said, “You need to go talk to billing.” She used the tone I would use if I were talking to an animal that just pissed on my couch. I told her I called and spoke with their billing department that morning and arranged to pay a small portion of the large balance*. She made a huffy noise and I went to find a seat.
I hate that waiting room. Being surrounded by pregnant women and their significant others is a bloody nightmare. Sitting in the same room where we waited to hear what came next after seeing our still baby inside of me, is fucking rough. The room was packed and I sandwiched myself between two very pronounced baby bumps. Shortly after the receptionist started calling my name. She began explaining to a pregnant woman near the door that I needed to go to the billing department. When she realized she was talking to the wrong person she just repeated louder that I needed to see the billing department IMMEDIATELY. So I did. They wanted me to make a payment on my balance then make a co-pay at the end of my doctor’s visit…um, BITE ME. After settling my bill I returned to the time out area waiting room and sat wishing I’d packed a flask.
On my walk home I found myself doing the same thing that Marty wrote about here: the game of what ifs. Trying to figure out where I went wrong: maybe it was the Diet Crush I drank on occasion but didn’t realize had caffeine (why is there caffeine in orange soda anyway)? Maybe I should have been more careful about not lifting heavy objects? I should have listened to my sister when she told me not to shovel the driveway. I should have taken it easier….
Even with all this, I feel a little bit better today. Mike and I have a fun weekend planned and I’m not even angry it’s raining outside and ruining my walk (anymore).
* When I called to make arrangements for paying off my balance the woman told me they would not be able to accept small payments and I needed to pay in full – wouldn’t that be nice?! That wasn’t nearly as bad as when she stated, “You’re pregnant” while trying to figure out why I was billed for my 1st prenatal visit 2 months later, instead of at the end. I had to tell her the freaking bills were due to my miscarriage and D&C. Cue crying.
Categories:Assholes, Customer Service Bullshit, fuck you mother nature, miscarriage, too bad I don't have mental health coverage
Tagged:
I was proud of myself because the only time I cried was (very briefly) on the phone with my sister. Then I came home to a $3941 bill from the hospital for my D&C. (Commence freak out.) Hopefully my insurance company will pick some (er, ALL) of that up but I don’t have high hopes; thus far I have had shitty coverage at best.
Before I was realized I need to hold off worrying for a little bit, I had a complete breakdown. Which I think is an understandable reaction to receiving a large bill as a result of the miscarriage. I don’t think my reaction would have been quite so extreme if I weren’t already having some pretty serious financial problems…not knowing how I’m going to pay for my current bills, partly as a result of taking time off because of the miscarriage = stressful times infinity.
When I emailed my mother about the billing mess I told her I hoped my insurance would pick some of it up (AHEM, all of it) because opening a bill for the removal of our no longer viable fetus just seemed cruel upon the horror of everything else.
To which my mother replied: “You will eventually have to stop using statements about your baby that inflame your emotions. Think of nurturing statements to be good to yourself. Wrap a little blankee around yourself.”
I know my mother was just trying to be helpful, but COME ON! It’s been only been two weeks. I’m allowed to say whatever the fuck I want. I can use whatever statements I want about my no longer viable fetus (which I even toned down for her – I have no qualms working my way through my insurance phone tree repeatedly asking why they aren’t covering the removal of my dead baby from my uterus). Besides, that is EXACTLY what happened. The medical term is missed abortion: intrauterine pregnancy is present but is no longer developing normally with fetal demise prior to 20 weeks’ gestation.
My mother and I have always dealt with things differently. I have a more out-there approach to dealing with sadness and trauma. My mother will write two page emails with detailed descriptions of Sunday drives: white puffy clouds and how they look upon a blue sky, the way the road winds through the mountain, which wildflowers are in bloom and how many she pressed for later use, the book on CD they listened to, animals they may have passed, etc.. At the very end of the email she will include an incomplete sentence letting me know that my father’s bladder cancer* has recurred and he’ll be seeking treatment for it. F that.
So that was how my week, how was yours?
*My dad is currently fine; I was just using this as an example of our different methods of coping and communication.
Categories:Uncategorized, fuck you mother nature, miscarriage, my dysfunctional family is better than yours
Tagged:
Mom: What’s wrong?
Me: My ovaries are trying to kill me!
Mom: Period?
Me: Yes.
Mom: Oh honey, your ovaries are just gearing up for babies.
Me: Gross!
Categories:fresh as a daisy, frumpasaurus, fuck you mother nature
Tagged:
Dear Mother Nature,
This weather is bullshit. Yesterday’s drive home pissed me off. Please, please, PLEASE! Stop being such a fucking whore. I am ready to hate the next season Utah has to offer.
Love,
Me
Categories:fuck you mother nature, obviously crazy to leave the bay area
Tagged:
