you couldn’t make this shit up

I’d really love to put the whole Attack of the Killer Gallbladder thing behind me, really I would. Sadly, I have to deal with the pesky stent that took up residence in my common bile duct during that pre-surgery procedure in early April.

That puppy has a best-before date. Three months from date of insertion, to be exact. That means early July or bust.

Knowing the cluster-fuck gross inefficiency that is my local healthcare system, I called my G.I. specialist’s office the day after my surgery to try to secure a date for the stent removal.

Several voicemails later, I received word that I had been booked in on June 9th.

The unfortunate thing is, June 9th is also the date of son’s girlfriend’s university convocation ceremony.

Since I have, for all intents and purposes, adopted her as one of my own, trust me when I say that nothing will prevent me from celebrating this lovely girl in her cap and gown on that day. Nothing.

I called the G.I. specialist’s office yesterday, where I had the opportunity to speak to his ultra-bitchy receptionist (UBR).

Little Britain’s Carol Beer: ‘Computer Says No’

Here is a transcript of the ensuing conversation:

me: Hi, I received a voicemail from you indicating that you’ve booked me in for an ERCP on June 9th. 

UBR: Yes, that’s correct. 

me: Unfortunately, I cannot make it that day. 

UBR: Well, we are booked solid for a few months, so it has to be that day. 

me: Yeah, no. I cannot do it that day. So, what are my options? 

UBR: [shuffling pages – presumably in a paper calendar] We are looking at September. 

me: Yeah, no. Dr. P told me this has to come out before July. 

UBR: Well there is nothing available.

me: But it HAS TO COME OUT before July. 

UBR: There are no openings. 

me: Well, what do you suggest we do then? 

UBR: There isn’t really anything we can do. This is a very specialized procedure and Dr. P can only do it when he’s on call. 

me: Yeah, so… what are my options? 

UBR: Well, you’re not an emergency, so we will just have to wait for a cancellation. 

[JEEZUS H CHRIST!! REALLY??? ARE WE BACK TO THIS???]

me: Yeah, so, I’m not super comfortable with that, since this HAS TO COME OUT before July. 

UBR: [Loud exhale] ARE YOU UNDERSTANDING ME? 

[Picking myself up off the floor]

<editor’s note: Clearly this woman has no idea who she’s messing with. Now that I’m no longer distracted by blinding pain, I’m not shy about showing my claws.>

me: OH, I UNDERSTAND YOU PERFECTLY.

[pregnant pause to allow her to fully absorb my tone]

me: Do YOU understand ME? I’m an executive with a large software company. I travel frequently. I’m not sitting around at home waiting for your call. I could be in Timbuktu, for God’s sake, when you decide to call me with a cancellation. SO… WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST WE DO, SINCE THIS THING HAS TO COME OUT BEFORE JULY? 

UBR: [Her aggression scaled back considerably.] Well… you will become an emergency in a couple of weeks, so we can then look to prioritize you. 

me: Can I just get another G.I. specialist to do it? 

UBR: Well, you could if you get a referral. 

my inside voice: FOR SHIT’S SAKE? YOU WORK THERE. CAN’T YOU MAKE THE REFERRAL??? 

my outside voice: You know what, just let me know when you figure something out. [click]

I’m seeing both my surgeon and my family doctor next week, and I’ll ask one of them (heck, maybe even both of them) for a referral to another G.I. doc.

I am SO over it all. So over it. Done. Like dinner.

And the worst part is, I’m not cleared for heavy exercise yet, so I can’t even channel my frustration that way. Universe: please go pick on someone your own size.

Keep moving,

xoxo nancy

***UPDATE*** I’m stoked to report that the universe must have heard me and taken pity. I got a phone call from UBR at 10:00 am, advising me that I’ve been booked in at 6:30 am on June 10th. HUZZAH!

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