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12/13/2006: "As much fun as a slap in the face with a wet tuna"
Oh my goodness is it ever fun to call Kaiser. Except when, you know, nobody has a clue.
Which is always.
On Monday I called the advice line about a pain I have been having since last Friday. I've been having sciatica, which is no fun but not something you get nervous about when pregnant. But the new pain is smack dab in the center of my pubic bone and, while not internal and scary, still isn't exactly expected. So, like a good patient, I call the advice nurse to get reassured that all is well and this is normal.
No such reassurance is forthcoming. Instead, the advice nurse on the phone decides that it's sort of early in the pregnancy to feel this pain and decides to send a "clinically urgent" message off to a qualified medical professional. Whether this professional is my OB (who I have not laid eyes on since May and has nothing to do with my prenatal care at this point) or my midwife (who is the primary caregiver 'round these parts), I was not told but I have my suspicions. The Big Fun with Kaiser is that their system is completely unable to send messages to midwives, despite the fact that the midwives are the primary caregivers for a low-risk pregnancy and everyone is routinely assigned to one. All messages appear to need to go to your OB of record, even if he wouldn't recognize you in a lineup of one.
Which seems like a great system, no? Send your "urgent" messages to someone who has no medical history of you instead of the woman you just saw two weeks ago? Yeah, I love that too. Also, I am increasingly convinced that my OB of record is an asshole since he routinely takes days and days to have an assistant get around to getting back to you.
So off the message goes into the mysterious ether of my OB's inbox. Please note, it was marked clinically urgent. URGENT. I was assured that someone would call back within the hour.
That was two days ago.
At 12:25 pm today, I got an email from Dave saying that Sophie from Kaiser called. Please call her back. Immediately, I think "Hurrah! They finally got around to my urgent message! What great service! They will be out to lunch from 12:30 to 1:30! I have 5 minutes to call them and 12 kids to get out of my classroom first! What fun!"
Except, you know, with all the sarcasm I could muster.
So I call, right? About the "clinically urgent" message that I left ON MONDAY? And it is now WEDNESDAY? Yes, OK, you are with me. And when the phone is answered, Sophie has no idea who I am. She does not know what my problem is, who my doctor/midwife is and in a repeated act of desperation, wants to schedule an appointment that she is conviced I want. Which I do not. But since she cannot find any information about me at all even after I give her my name three times and my medical number twice, she really just wants me to schedule an appointment to get me off her hands, I think. The conversation goes something like this:
Sophie: And so you want to schedule an appointment?
Me: No. I want to find out if this pain is something I should be concerned about. I was trying to get advice and the nurse on the phone sent an urgent message two days ago.
Sophie: What is your name again?
Me: Kristin. Pinnatore.
Sophie: We called so many people this morning...
Me: (!!!!) Yes, I imagine you did. Two days worth of urgent messages would be a lot.
Sophie: (Oblivious to the only slightly bitchy tone in my voice) And what was the problem again?
Me: I have been having intermittant sharp pain in the pubic bone. I am pregnant. I am concerned. I left a message. On Monday. Don't you actually have that message? To refer to?
Sophie: And your name starts with a P?
Me: Yes. A P. As in Probably I will drop dead before this conversation is over (OK - I didn't really say the last part. But I thought it).
Sophie: Hmmm. I can't seem to find your information.
Me: But you called me. You called me! This morning! Just a few minutes ago!
Sophie: ... So... did you want to make an appointment?
Finally I ask her if she is the doctor's assistant or what because, like, am I in the Twilight Zone? And that - THAT - is when I find out that she is no relation to the Sophie who actually has any information about me. There are two! Two Sophies! One of which is confused as hell and the other who is not there!
I will call back later and hopefully the Real Sophie With Information will be around. Otherwise I will sit in the corner and eat my own head.
I swear to you, when this kid is born, someone related to me is required to follow it everywhere until it has been marked as ours with indelible ink. Because I do not trust Kaiser not to try to send us home with a Chinese baby and say it is just a virus.
Notes from a Yarn Hacker
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