Friday, November 18, 2011
So Are The Daze Of My Life
Today I wrote a thank you note on a Spongebob card and mailed it to my kid's new pediatrician. Why? Because I kind of hate the whole medical industry with every fiber of my being (and I am quite fibrous, believe you me) and so when I find an office that is actually nice to me and doesn't make me want to scream and kick my feet and throw myself prostrate on the train table in the waiting room, well, I send them a thank you card.
What I wanted to say (but didn't, mostly because it was a very small Spongebob card after all) was:
Dear Dr Drake and staff,
Thank you for answering your phone. Promptly. And for not putting me on hold for eleventy seven minutes, have me push #1 for English, put me through to someone else, force me to speak clearly to a robot who misunderstands me and tells me to repeat myself four times and then disconnects me, and all that jazz.
Thank you for taking new patients and for not sighing at me when I asked if you were taking new patients like the idea of seeing me and my sick child for a grand total of ten minutes per year and then extorting a ridiculous sum for it is just too, too much for you to bear.
Thank you for having a kind receptionist who remembered my Roo's name as we went in and as we went out.
Thank you for not batting an eye when I said I hadn't vaccinated my gremlins. Thank you for not sighing, preaching, or scribbling down a long sentence in your notes that I would imagine would say things like "Idiotic mother neglecting children... Probably gave birth at home. Most likely homeschools. Expect children to die of easily preventable diseases immediately if not sooner. Call CPS immediately. "
Thank you for having a background in food allergies which is the stuff dreams are made of in my life. I was not impressed with the local allergist office here who, coincidentally, are rude, unorganized, rude, late, rude, didn't ever call in Moose's prescription, and are rude.
Thanks for telling me Roo's ear was healing nicely on its own thanks to my warm compresses and oils and she did not need any other treatment.
Lastly, thanks for having a name that totally sounds like a soap opera doctor's name. It just gives me no end of giggles. I don't know why. Probably because anything related to medicine makes my brain cells melt and dribble out my ears onto my shoulders.
And just to be clear, I don't REALLY hate medical professionals. I just hate medical professionals who don't act professionally. And the insurance companies. Other than that, I like them fine. I just don't like going to them because somehow I turn from Nice Sweet Ballerina Shy Bookworm Girl who considers 'fart' a naughty word, to Fire Breathing Dragon Phone Slamming Threat Hissing Tea Cup Throwing Girl. Ask my husband about this strange medical malady. He will confirm it. He now handles every phone call to the insurance companies because I hung up on the last one. And I don't hang up on people! Really! It's rude! And I don't do rude! But I don't want to offend all the nice doctors and nurses and staff out there because someday I might get some dreadful disease that I won't be able to treat with garlic or olive oil or Pau d Arco or Enya music or denial or Pinot Grigio or copious amounts of Nyquil. Just kidding on the Enya. And I will need those doctors and nurses and staff and I wouldn't want them to be offended or have notes about me. That'd be bad. Like, epic bad.
Did you get the title? Soap opera? Mixed up with "daze" instead of "days?" Get it? HAHAHAHAHA! Laugh with me, my minions, laugh! It's the best medicine...the doctor told me so.