TALK ABOUT A PAIN

I am of two minds about whether to call anyone or send anyone a letter about the woman I spoke with last night, even if I could (or wanted to make the time to) track down her superior.  Reason?  Well, I once got called on the carpet for playing Solitaire on the computer at my station behind the desk at the library where I worked.  I had to remind the head librarian, who was actually gracious and one step away from rolling her eyes, that she'd told me to do this when it was quiet because I'd never used a computer before, and it was a good way to learn how to move a mouse.  It definitely had the air of "just a formality" but I didn't like being called on the carpet, and maybe this lady last night was just having a very, very bad day and I should just let it slide.  In fact I got fired once for something way less consequential than this by a boss who was an embodiment of evil and I would hate to cause somebody to lose her job -- you never know who's out to get you.  Nevertheless I worry about other people who might call this lady and not be as persistent as I was in getting an answer and because of it, literally suffer.  You tell me, because even in the light of day this seems kinda awful.

I had outpatient surgery yesterday at the UConn Health Center (yes, it's all connected to the University of Connecticut).  The surgery was to take a muscle biopsy from my thigh.  I was referred to a neurologist at UConn when the blood test for my muscle enzymes doubled, and at the same time I was having pain and weakness.  (A high muscle enzyme indicates that muscle tissue is deteriorating and leaking into the bloodstream.)  The neurologist repeated some tests and ordered this procedure to help narrow down what might be going on.  This was in December 2011.  It took until February 2012 to get a date for the surgery because "we have a doctor who comes over from Hartford Hospital to help out and he waits until he has more than one person needing this so he can 'stack' patients," I was told.  Makes sense.  

But damn, guess what happened to me in February?  You may never guess so I'll tell you: stomach bug.  "Bug" seems a small and innocuous word to describe that misery, but anyway, that's what it was so I had to cancel.  And then wait...and wait...and wait, until yesterday -- August 23, 2012 -- for it to be rescheduled.  As par for the course I met briefly before the procedure with a couple of O.R. nurses, an anesthesiologist and the surgeon, a gentlemen I had never seen or met before and whose name completely escaped me, but then I didn't think I needed to remember it.  (Wait till I tell you what it is.  It has a very exotic ring to it and you're not gonna remember it after, either.)

All went fine, and again as par the nurses in the recovery room went over post-op instructions and had me sign release forms.  "Here's the number you call if you have any problems or questions," they said, pointing to a phone number on one of the forms.  "You ask for the surgical resident.  There is someone there 24 hours a day."  You always like to have this bit of reassurance after something like this.  Well, as the afternoon went on and the local anesthetic wore off, that damn thing really started to throb.  I'm surprised at how painful this deal really is, and I'm no pain wimp -- I've had fillings done without Novacain more than once.  I figured I could take a little more Vicodin than the directions on the bottle said, because the same painkiller but in a higher dose had been prescribed to me for foot surgery several years ago.  Nevertheless I wanted it somewhere on record (records can be useful) that I needed better control of the pain from what turned out to be a pretty substantial incision.  I called the number.  I got an operator.  Here's a basic transcript of the conversation:

OPERATOR: UConn Health Center, can I help you?

ME: Yes, may I have the surgical resident, please.

OP: Who is your doctor?

ME: The doctor who ordered my procedure?

OP:  Your DOCTOR.

ME:  The doctor who ordered the surgery is Dr. Ascadi.  I don't know the name of the surgeon.

OP:  You don't know your doctor's NAME?

ME:  No, maybe it's here on the paperwork. [I look at the paperwork.  It's not.] No, I don't see it.  I just know he's a black gentleman who comes over from Hartford Hospital to help out.

OP:  We don't cover Hartford Hospital doctors, ma'am.

ME:  I'm just looking to speak to a surgical resident.  I have a question about medication.

OP:  What made you think you could call here?

ME:  It says!  Right on the paper!  Right here, I'll read it. [I read it.]

OP:  Who did your surgery ma'am?

ME:  I don't know his name!

OP:  Well, I can't pull a doctor out of the sky for you ma'am!

ME:  I don't need a doctor, I just have a question about medication.  Painkillers.  I had surgery today.

OP:  The surgical center isn't a part of this complex, ma'am.

ME:  But I was there today.  Having a procedure.

OP:  Okay, you had a PROCEDURE.  That's different.  Hold on.

[I hold on and listen to some muzak.  I DREAD this woman getting back on the line.]

OP:  Okay, how are you spelling your doctor's name?

ME: A, S, C, A, D, I.  Ascadi.

OP:  Oh, Johnny Ascadi.

ME:  No, it's a woman.  Agnes.

OP:  Yes.  Johnny Ascadi.  Hold on.  

[I hold on a minute.]

OP:   You had Dr. Onyiuke and he is NOT a Hartford Hospital doctor.

ME:  Okay, I was told he was.  Can I just speak to the surgical resident?  About my painkillers?

OP:  Hold on.

[I hold on another minute.]

OP:  I have [whatever her name is, I don't remember but I guess she's the surgical resident] on the line and she's going to help you.

ME:  Whew.

And help me she did.  She asked the appropriate questions.  We came to a consensus about the pain pills and supplementing them with ibuprofen.  I thanked her, and meekly mentioned I'd had "such trouble with that operator tonight!"  She laughed politely.

Years ago when I was the Social Services administrator for my town, part of my duties included approving or disapproving medical bills submitted on behalf of indigent residents.  The money ultimately came from the State of Connecticut coffers.  If I okayed a payment without the supporting documents, the town would have to pay the state back come audit time.  I had one provider, a radiology practice, that continued to call and basically harass me because I had not yet paid their bill.  I tried to explain that I simply couldn't, because the patient had not yet been in for an interview, and please, don't call me every day -- I'll keep you informed of the progress.  The office called the Selectwoman, who hated me for political reasons.  She called me into her office and fired me on the spot.  Yes, I did appeal and get my job back -- in fact I SUED the bitch.  But my point is, someone complained about me.  That did not bode well.  If I complain about this woman, will anything happen?  Should anything happen??

I am a fifty-something person with my wits mostly about me, and I can persist (although I admit I was in pretty bad shape) when someone on the other end of the phone who is charged with helping you plays the snotty idiot instead; what about an elderly person, or someone whose first language is not English?  This person could have handled it differently; she could have said "Let me see if I can help you," instead of sounding put out by my apparent stupidity.

I have a lot of stuff to do in my life.  A LOT.  It would be a pain in the ass to take this woman to task but she sounds like she needs it.  You tell me; you put yourself in my place; am I reacting appropriately by being blatantly disgusted with her?  Shouldn't I at least find out her name and send her a copy of the discharge papers so she knows the protocol and that yep, that building IS located on the grounds and yep, sometimes you just need to talk to the surgical resident.  (Note: if you are ever in the same situation and they up your painkillers, be prepared to wrap this woman in your arms as it may appear that hey, it's cool, it's all good, dude.)  Meanwhile, ouch, but ouch a little less now.  Thank heavens.  But no thanks to the UConn Health Center operator who was working last night.