I've discovered an absolutely horrifying thing. Horrifying to the point of speechlessness (which is a biggie for me). If I spent as much time exercising, preparing my meals and planning my diet as I do blogging, checking emails, working on my Thursday Thirteen meme, and researching stuff for no reason on the internet, do you know I'd have NO WEIGHT ISSUES?
I realized this at 2am last night. I was working on a particularly visual TT for next week which required I do some serious internet hopping. I messed with it for like hours. Happy hours, mind you, but HOURS none-the-less.
It reminds me of a conversation I had with one of the doctors I work for. Seems he told a woman she needed a special test that insurance didn't pay for. It was $55.00. She balked. She hemmed and hawed. Said she would think about it. She wanted to discuss it with her husband and and and......
However, we decided that if he told that woman there was a special down the street -- manicure/pedicure for $55.00 -- she'd be gone so fast there would be dust in her wake.
I am currently at a deadend to explain this as I am just as guilty.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
My Bad
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Sick-o: MD vs. Insurance
I remember seeing a copy of the doctor's bill, circa 1957, when my friend was born. For a regular birth, no complications, her mother and sweet new baby daughter stayed in the hospital for 10 days. My mother had a c-section with me, and we were in the hospital for 14 days. Now I'm not going to go over how we could ever afford that in 2007, even WITH insurance (which is what, I believe Michael Moore's movie deals with), but what I find interesting is how the shift of medical power has gone from the physician to the insurance company.
I've worked in health care a long time. And I've seen important medical decisions being made by a person at ABC Health Insurance HMO,PPO,POS whose only acquaintance with biochemistry is knowing that green fuzz on bread means it's got to go.
When a doctor wants you to have a test, the first words out of your mouth are, in effect, I better check with my insurance company to see if I REALLY can have that test and WHERE I can have it. Some tests, whether Mr. M.D. deems them necessary or not, are stamped NOT MEDICALLY INDICATED. And some kid who's on summer break from college where he's an art history major has probably made that decision based on the playbook he's handed to make those judgments.
Don't get me wrong. The insurance companies have an appeal process. The doctor has to send in all kinds of documents and test results and the sequence of his thought processes that made him come to the decision that his patient needs an MRI or whatever. But that process can take a long frickin' time. It can sometimes be too long for some people -- who have passed the hope of possibly being cured, end up dying, with the family suing the doctor stating he "didn't act in a timely manner or in the best interests of his patient". Then personal injury attorneys and malpractice insurance attorneys have a go and tie up the doctor in depositions and trial for months. Because he's unavailable, and his partners are taking his patients along with their own, everyone is overworked, overstressed and THAT's a recipe for real life and death disaster.
I have worked with many, many doctors. 99% of them were honest, hardworking and truly trying to do what's best for their patients to the best of their ability. It's a real shame to see them spending so much of their time negotiating with insurance companies to provide the medicine or tests or care that their patients need. Without question, the patient should come first. Not the insurance company's bottom line.
Now, if you'll excuse me, me and my terrible cold are going to the doctor and hoping it will be covered by insurance.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
General Hospital
I actually haven't watched "General Hospital" since Dr. Noah Drake left and I'll explain why. It's really two reasons: #1 -- What for?; #2 -- I work there, figuratively speaking.
It seems the older I get, along with my friends and their loved ones, I'm seeing a wide variety of doctors, nurses, hospitals, hospital rooms, ER's and surgical waiting rooms both as a visitor and patient. Add this on top of being a hospital employee and I believe I have valuable insight that is my duty to relate.
Allow me to share Lara's Rules and Regulations of Doctor/Hospital Etiquette.
The number one rule: Doctors Lie. The word “Discomfort” in their language has a far different meaning than it does between normal human beings. You would assume that discomfort means, well, it’s gonna hurt a bit, but then it’ll be okay. Don’t assume. You know what it makes out of you and me. A doctor saying “discomfort” is like a volcanologist calling Mt. St. Helen’s “a little burp”. You’ve been warned.
The number two rule: Don’t be brave. You need pain medicine? Think you just MIGHT need pain medicine? Yell. Do not, under any circumstances, suck it up. Be a baby. This correlates proportionately to when you are in dire need of pain relief and near unconsciousness, they will tell YOU to suck it up, that you didn’t need it before and why don’t you just wait awhile? If you finally complain long and loud after suffering in silence, you will be considered a “difficult patient” and no nurse will answer your call button...ever.
The number three rule: At the very first glimpse of an opportunity to leave the confines of the hospital, do so ASAP. If the doc says in his singularly see-saw way (I’m thinking William Shatner here), “Well..., we could... keep you overnight...or send you home if you can...” just agree with him. Whatever bodily function he needs you to perform, do it and get out. Those places will kill you...physically and financially.
The number four rule: Pull out every piece of ammunition you’ve got to get them to be nice to you. From the Doctors on down to housekeeping. Tell them whatever they want to hear. Be nicer than the Dalai Lama. Be the life of the hospital party (your pain meds might help with this) and for heaven's sake, don't make waves. Because if you make waves and don't play ball, you will be labeled a “difficult patient” and we already went over where that will get you.
The number five rule: Just because people have initials after their names doesn’t necessarily mean they are smarter than you. MD, BSN, PhD, RT, APN. You know yourself better than anyone. You’ve lived with you for...well, years. So speak up and ask questions. Make sure if you are in for an appendectomy but it seems like they are prepping you for brain surgery, politely ask for a "time out". And if anyone comes at you with a large foreign object that hasn’t been preceded by an anesthesia consult, remember Rule #2.
Finally, throw your dignity out the window but keep your sense of humor intact. After all, anything you've got, they've already seen.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Little Tidbits From Someone Who Knows Jack
And I’m sure you little smarties out there know which Jack I mean (!)
Anyway, I thought I would brighten your cyberspace doorstep by relating yet another one of my adventures resulting in abject humiliation. Keep this in mind at all times: if you ever feel stepped on, abused, misled, ignored --- come on over. I’m here to remind you that there is always someone who’s screwed up WAY worse than you.
No problem. My pleasure.
So, let’s talk about: oxygen. You know, like in breathing.
Biology 101: Your Autonomic Nervous System.
This system takes care of things so you don't have to. I wish I had an Autonomic System to shop, cook and clean...and pair up those damn socks in the laundry, but unfortunately --- unavailable at this time. Your A.N.S. assures your heart beats (varying rates at varying times, but generally anywhere from 70-80 beats per minute), makes sure your eyes blink (around 20 times a minute, unless you are working on a computer or concentrating on something, in which case the number decreases) and makes sure you suck in OXYGEN and blow out CARBON DIOXIDE (at a rate of about 16-18 respirations per minute). There are many, many other things your A.N.S. takes care of, but then we'd have to graduate to Biology 202 and screw that.
Now as an important sidebar to that info I listed above: I AM NOT A DOCTOR. I'm just spitting out generalities. So if you figure out you blink 25 times a minute, please move on immediately and find something else to do.
What I really want to discuss is breathing. You don't think about it much unless you are climbing 4 flights of stairs after a meal consisting of a 12 oz Porterhouse, 2 pound spud with butter, sour cream and salt and a couple of green wisps in a bowl smothered in liquid fat disguised as "salad dressing". As you push your stomach before you while trying to remember what floor of the parking garage your car is, your legs will begin to complain around step 12-ish. By step 15 - 16, you are sweating. By 20 you are gulping air by the bucket fulls, by 25, you're sure you're having a heart attack. By step 30, you are swearing off food and alcohol forever, sacrificing children, parents, pets, your own eternal soul. Oxygen, at this point, is foremost on your mind...as is your lack of getting proper exercise. And as you crawl on hands and knees up step number 32, you sadly acknowledge that the simple acts of breathing and getting a little exercise have been totally ignored by you for years.
Now we can go on and on about exercise. I have and will. But for now, let's talk about breathing….and how, as a 40+ year old woman, I found out the hard way that I wasn’t doing it PROPERLY.
Things, as they are wont to do, started out simply enough. I wasn’t feeling well. Not feeling well on my radar always translates into ensuing drama. To save you the gory details, because of my cardiac issues and panic disorder, I ended up on a gurney at 2 am, being taken to my local ER once again by those nice paramedics who know me better than some family members.
I undergo my usual battery of cardiac testing and then Dr. Donald comes in. Dr. Donald and I know each other well. Dr. Donald is wonderful. I love Dr. Donald. I’ve seen him more in the middle of the night than his own wife has. And when I hear him say, “Lara, your heart is fine”, I relax and know I’ll be going home soon.
One night however, Dr. D sat down and held my hand. He looked me right in the eye and said, “Lara, if you are ever uncertain about how you are feeling, I want you to come to the Emergency Room. Always listen to your body. Never leave your health to chance, but Lara, do you breathe? I mean do you know HOW to breathe?”
As my respirations were still about 30, I guessed not. So I began another journey to learn how to breathe, how to relax, how to count breaths, how to monitor that I’m not hyperventilating. I did poorly in the beginning and Dr. Donald and I had several more discussions over the year at 2 am, but I’m getting the hang of it.
Soon, and I think VERY soon, I may be able to give up the little brown paper bag I carry with me to breathe into in case of hyperventilation. I will then lose my “bag lady” designation, but that’s ok. The point is to be healthy. The only down side?
I’ll miss Dr. Donald.
