This afternoon, I visited yet another doctor's office. No, this visit wasn't related to last week's marathon doctor day. This was related to my car accident. Yes, the one I had in January. I've taken to calling it the accident that adamantly and stubbornly rejects closure.
When I went to a local doc-in-the-box after the accident, the receptionist told me that I couldn't use my health insurance because I'd been in a car accident. At the time, I had a hard time processing this information. I was injured as a result of a car accident, but I couldn't use my health insurance because I was injured as the result of a car accident. I've since gotten over my incredulity about this.
On the day of the visit, I paid the bill in full because they refused to see me otherwise. The other driver's insurance company eventually reimbursed my expenses. All was right with the world.
Fast forward to the beginning of April: I received a puzzling statement from my health insurance company saying that they had denied the doctor's office claim for my visit. I think I said, "Well, that makes sense, seeing as how I've already paid the bill." I didn't know why the doctor's office filed a claim but they did and my insurance company wouldn't pay. I thought this would be the end of the story.
Nope. Unfortunately, my insurer wouldn't pay because they thought I still had insurance from my previous job as a teaching assistant in the northeastern postindustrial wasteland. Sooo, the doctor's office started calling me. Correction - the billing people in India started calling me. Repeatedly. Apparently, they did not know my tried and true philosophy of life: Ignore stupidity and it will go away.
In several phone calls, the heavily-accented voice on the other end of the phone kept insisting that I needed to call my insurance company to let them know that I did not have any other insurance. I tried to find out why I needed to take time out of my day to call my insurance company about a bill that I'd already paid. In order to communicate this message, I needed to be able to communicate with the person on the other end of the phone. This turned out to be an insurmountable obstacle. I might as well have been singing zip-a-dee-doo-dah to a mentally handicapped gerbil.
I was out of town last week and returned to two fresh messages telling me that this call was very important in regards to my insurance. I'd had enough. Today, I went to the office and talked with someone who assured me that she would stop the phone calls. Ironically, I had to speak to this person on the phone. I'm convinced that everyone who is not a doctor or nurse at this practice is a cyborg.
The disembodied voice explained that my doctor's office in Georgia sends their billing business to a company in Maryland that outsources to India. The persistent Indians managed to get my insurance company to pay for the office visit, but the company wouldn't pay for the x-rays. She said that once the insurance company figured out that this was all related to a car accident, the doctor's office would have to give the money back. She apologized and said, "This is a good example of a situation we need to learn to handle better." Yes, I agree. And I plan to find a primary care provider and avoid all docs-in-boxes if at all possible.
I also blame George W Bush for outsourcing our overly complicated health insurance industry to India. Nothing, and I repeat nothing, that Hillary proposed over 10 years ago could be this screwed up.
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Monday, May 5, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Report from Doctor
Yesterday was medical maintenance day. I started the day at the dentist, then went on to the woman doctor. I figured that it wouldn't be the best day of my life (and for that, I'm thankful!), but at least I got it all out of the way in the same day.
The dental appointment went fine. My dentist looks a bit like Hitler, which can be off-putting until you realize that he's just a socially awkward fellow who spends his day sticking his hands in people's mouths. I mean my dentist, not Hitler. Just want to be clear, though Hitler might have been socially awkward as well. Anyway, my dentist seemed pleased that I actually took his advice and flossed regularly between appointments. I was pleased because the hygenist didn't need to drag out the sandblaster to get the tartar off my teeth.
Then, it was off to the woman doctor. This was my first visit with this woman doctor. She doesn't resemble a meglomaniac mass murderer, which is a good thing. She does have a loud voice, which complicates discreet conversations in an office with thin walls and doors.
Before I assumed the position, the nurse did the preliminary tests - urine, blood, weight, height. No surprises, except that I'm getting smaller. I've lost almost an inch. I can't afford to lose an inch. I'm choosing to believe that I just wasn't standing up straight. I can't possibly be shorter than 5 feet tall. It's just not possible.
I also learned that I have a condition that needs a follow-up appointment. It's not a common condition - because I never have common conditions. I've had black tongue before. It's a fungus that's common in the Amazon River valley. I've never been to the Amazon River valley. I contracted the fungus on a flight from Germany to New York. Go figure. I had chicken pox in my throat. I had a rash that looked like Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever while I was living in upstate NY. (It wasn't spotted fever.) Can't do anything mediocre or half-ass. Damn over-achieving!
Anyway, this new condition isn't life-threatening by any means, it's more embarassing. It's so rare that the receptionist didn't know what it was - so I had to explain it to her. For some reason, she decided that this was an invitation to tell me the intimate details of a similar surgery. I think she was trying to make me feel better but I kept wondering if it would be OK if I just reached up and gently closed the glass window separating the two of us. If she wasn't going to maintain some emotional boundaries, I felt that I'd be completely justified in creating a physical boundary.
I looked up the condition on Google when I got home. I got no hits. None. Apparently, the condition is so humiliating, no one wants to write about. I feel so much better.
The dental appointment went fine. My dentist looks a bit like Hitler, which can be off-putting until you realize that he's just a socially awkward fellow who spends his day sticking his hands in people's mouths. I mean my dentist, not Hitler. Just want to be clear, though Hitler might have been socially awkward as well. Anyway, my dentist seemed pleased that I actually took his advice and flossed regularly between appointments. I was pleased because the hygenist didn't need to drag out the sandblaster to get the tartar off my teeth.
Then, it was off to the woman doctor. This was my first visit with this woman doctor. She doesn't resemble a meglomaniac mass murderer, which is a good thing. She does have a loud voice, which complicates discreet conversations in an office with thin walls and doors.
Before I assumed the position, the nurse did the preliminary tests - urine, blood, weight, height. No surprises, except that I'm getting smaller. I've lost almost an inch. I can't afford to lose an inch. I'm choosing to believe that I just wasn't standing up straight. I can't possibly be shorter than 5 feet tall. It's just not possible.
I also learned that I have a condition that needs a follow-up appointment. It's not a common condition - because I never have common conditions. I've had black tongue before. It's a fungus that's common in the Amazon River valley. I've never been to the Amazon River valley. I contracted the fungus on a flight from Germany to New York. Go figure. I had chicken pox in my throat. I had a rash that looked like Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever while I was living in upstate NY. (It wasn't spotted fever.) Can't do anything mediocre or half-ass. Damn over-achieving!
Anyway, this new condition isn't life-threatening by any means, it's more embarassing. It's so rare that the receptionist didn't know what it was - so I had to explain it to her. For some reason, she decided that this was an invitation to tell me the intimate details of a similar surgery. I think she was trying to make me feel better but I kept wondering if it would be OK if I just reached up and gently closed the glass window separating the two of us. If she wasn't going to maintain some emotional boundaries, I felt that I'd be completely justified in creating a physical boundary.
I looked up the condition on Google when I got home. I got no hits. None. Apparently, the condition is so humiliating, no one wants to write about. I feel so much better.
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