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.
