(no subject)
Monday, August 9th, 2004 08:57 pmToday I had an appointment with a new doctor, a rheumatologist. From the rheumatology group's website, I had learned that they're a busy practice, heavily involved in research, terrifically up-to-date. So naturally I figured that I'd be seeing my newest physician in a nice, modern office, probably in a multi-story office building.
When I got to the address on my referral form, I double- and triple- and quadruple-checked to make sure I'd gotten it right. "Am I really," says I to myself, "supposed to see a doctor at [Abstract Noun] Animal Hospital?!"
Heavy sigh. Called up the number on my referral form, rediscovered that my primary provider's receptionist really does need to work on her penmanship, then walked half a mile to meet my newest physician in a nice, modern office in a multi-story office building.
Filled out forms detailing my life history and the life histories of all my known blood relatives, talked to the doctor a bit, was encouraged & think that he really does know what he's doing, or at least is keeping up with the research reasonably well. He wants me to go to a psychiatrist, not so much for the psychological aspects of illness as for the fact that the drug he thinks I should try next is one that my flavor of Medicaid might be more likely to pay for if it's prescribed by a psych. rather than a rheumy. Fair enough. Also, he wants me to go to a physical therapist associated with the practice, because that physical therapist apparently loooooves fibro patients. Or something like that. Sounds good to me--there's a huge and potentially agonizing difference between PT from someone who knows fibro and PT from someone who doesn't.
Also got more blood taken. Seems my veins should be ready for pop quizzes at any moment these days. Unfortunately, these people did not have any Bugs Bunny band-aids.
For the first time since I started getting Medicaid benefits, I saw what a doctor's actually charging. Whew! I truly hope you taxpayers will be getting your money's worth.
On the way home, I saw a goldfinch flitting amongst sunflowers. Nature is rarely so color-coördinated.
When I got to the address on my referral form, I double- and triple- and quadruple-checked to make sure I'd gotten it right. "Am I really," says I to myself, "supposed to see a doctor at [Abstract Noun] Animal Hospital?!"
Heavy sigh. Called up the number on my referral form, rediscovered that my primary provider's receptionist really does need to work on her penmanship, then walked half a mile to meet my newest physician in a nice, modern office in a multi-story office building.
Filled out forms detailing my life history and the life histories of all my known blood relatives, talked to the doctor a bit, was encouraged & think that he really does know what he's doing, or at least is keeping up with the research reasonably well. He wants me to go to a psychiatrist, not so much for the psychological aspects of illness as for the fact that the drug he thinks I should try next is one that my flavor of Medicaid might be more likely to pay for if it's prescribed by a psych. rather than a rheumy. Fair enough. Also, he wants me to go to a physical therapist associated with the practice, because that physical therapist apparently loooooves fibro patients. Or something like that. Sounds good to me--there's a huge and potentially agonizing difference between PT from someone who knows fibro and PT from someone who doesn't.
Also got more blood taken. Seems my veins should be ready for pop quizzes at any moment these days. Unfortunately, these people did not have any Bugs Bunny band-aids.
For the first time since I started getting Medicaid benefits, I saw what a doctor's actually charging. Whew! I truly hope you taxpayers will be getting your money's worth.
On the way home, I saw a goldfinch flitting amongst sunflowers. Nature is rarely so color-coördinated.
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