You guys. I don’t think I can survive this period before transfer. I can’t. Not with stupid people around every corner. I want to be positive and upbeat about this transfer, but the truth is, I keep getting hit with roadblock after roadblock. It’s always something. There’s always an issue.
I Need Birth Control Pills On A Sunday
Take this weekend. I needed a refill on my birth control because my doctor wanted me to only take the active pills, meaning this month I’m not supposed to get a period. Last Friday afternoon, the thought suddenly occurred to me: What if I wasn’t supposed to take the sugar pills in my BCP pack? I grabbed my phone, logged into my patient portal and found his instructions. “Active pills only,” he said. So I had a moment of panic, wondering if I had already started the sugar pills and then breathed a sigh of relief when I checked my pills, and no, the sugar pills week started Sunday. But now I needed a stat refill in order to start the new pack in two days. I put a refill request into the pharmacy.
Sunday afternoon, Chris and I were preparing to head out for date night and my parents were due to our house in fifteen minutes. I called my pharmacy because I hadn’t been notified my script was ready yet. I’ve never had a problem with the staff, and they’ve always been helpful. The pharmacist last time didn’t have my BCP in stock so she sent it to another pharmacy and I got it taken care of. This time, I got the dude with the God-complex. The man with the penis who clearly couldn’t be bothered by my panic of screwing up thousands of dollars in fertility treatments because of an issue with my pills.
Me: Hi, I’m calling to check on the status of my prescription.
Penis: OK, so it says here we aren’t able to fill it because it’s too early for a refill. You’ll have to call back tomorrow.
Me: Um, OK but I actually have to start them tonight and the script had said ‘active pills only.’ Tonight is when I would start the second month of pills.
Penis, sighing at the thought of dealing with another hysterical female: Well it’s too early for a refill. It says you can’t fill it until tomorrow.
Me, becoming hysterical female: I don’t think you understand. This is for a fertility treatment. I need to start the medication tonight and I’m not getting my period and risking screwing everything up. I’m not sure why it’s too early, but—
Penis: Look, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.
I could feeeeel the mansplaining wafting off him through the phone.
Me, nice girl who never wants to snap, snaps: Well thank you so much. You’ve been so helpful.
As I’m about to hang up on him, he interrupts: Well hold on a sec.
I’m transferred to the pharmacist. I explain the situation again. He explains that if it was the intent of the doctor to only take the active pills, the prescription should have been written for 21 pills and not 28 then. When I insisted my last script was written out for active pills only, he put me on hold to look into it.
I mutter every curse word I know while I listen to Enya.
He comes back on and says he’ll fill it, but I need to come in soon before they close.
Was that so hard Man With Penis? Dick. I ended up getting my pills and starting them that night. But really?? Really. Even my freaking birth control script. Nothing can come easy.
And I Need A Hysteroscopy Today
Fast forward to today. I wondered if the clinic in Texas ever sent over the fax for orders for my hysteroscopy. I knew the nurse emailed me the order and I had several rounds of calls with the insurance company about coverage. Verdict: No one can give me a straight answer. So I’m done. I don’t know what our portion out of pocket will be, I don’t know if it’s more expensive to get it at the fertility clinic vs here, I don’t know a goddamn thing. So I gave up on the insurance part and focused on just getting the procedure scheduled.
A few days ago, I emailed the nurse back and asked her if she had faxed it to my clinic here since I never got a call to schedule it. Today, she wrote back and said yes, that she faxed it on the 14th. Over three weeks ago. I called my clinic here where I’m doing satellite monitoring and left a voicemail for the coordinator to call me back and let me know if she received that fax.
Her voicemail back—oh, how I wish I didn’t miss that call—said yes, she received it, but they don’t do hysteroscopies there and I needed to check with my OB.
Excuse me? You’ve been holding on to an order for three weeks and decided you just weren’t going to call me and tell me that bit of information?
Excuse me? You’re an infertility clinic and you can’t do a hysteroscopy? Or is it that you won’t? Because since I started back doing monitoring at my old clinic here, I’ve been passed over, I’ve been ignored, and they’ve been willing to accommodate as little as possible. It’s not that they do don’t hysteroscopies there, it’s that they won’t do them for a satellite patient.
I took a deep cleansing breath and called my OB clinic. The woman on the phone thought they didn’t do those there, but that they were done at the hospital. She will have one of the staff for my OB give me a callback.
Which means more phone calls.
I want to cry. Why does everything have to be so difficult? Why does every med, every lab, every procedure have to be met with 25 phone calls?
So I’m waiting on my OB to call me back so I can chase down a department somewhere with a fax number I can get for my nurse in Texas to send the order to. I just want to get this scheduled.
I just want to be done with phone calls and messages and coordinating back and forth.
Now that I’ve sufficiently made this the most depressing thing you’ll read all day, I’m going to go eat some cheese and crackers instead of drowning my feelings in chips and dip and copious amounts of wine. Because I’m trying to be strong here.
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