So. I had a letter confirming my surgery, which told me I was to toddle up for a pre-operative assessment any time between 22/01/2018 and 03/02/2018.
Please note that: Any time between those dates. There was apparently no need to book an appointment.
I could even go up on a Saturday. Well, although that seemed more convenient, meaning the hus-creature wouldn’t have to work from home, we decided it was most sensible to go up on a weekday.
So, here I am. I was educating my Lyft driver on some fundamental differences in the health care systems between the UK and the USA. He pulled some WTF faces when I explained about waiting lists, but did concede that you know, not going bankrupt was a nice perk.
Also maternity leave. Honestly my heart breaks for the few pregnant women of my acquaintance out here.
So? Do we think it’s gone/going well?
Surely, surely madam you jest?
Well, I got there at 08:10, not bad I thought, since on weekdays they open at 07:00.
First thing I had to remember is that for Americans the First Floor is what I, as a Brit, consider to be the Ground Floor. So I got a little flustered trying to find the First Floor lab. Still, the lovely receptionist sent me to the Registrar to do paperwork.
But hang on, I was told I didn’t need to make an appointment. That I just walked in.
Nope. And that wasn’t the first piece of misinformation.
So I’m sitting waiting and get called.
As I was, the lovely J called to let me know that #1 Son had had a full meltdown in the car over not being able to get out and play.
Well kiddo if you’re going to keep running into school at the wrong times, we have to adjust to fit.
I am expecting a bad day now 😰
First, they couldn’t find my surgery in the system!!!!
So that right there wasn’t good. However, once they checked the spelling of my surname, and got the correct date of the operation in, there it was!!!
And then there was nothing in the system about my pre-operative testing. The lovely registrar (thank you Mary, you were a saint!) was trying her best to find it.
So they try to ring my doctor. Well it was only 08:25 by this point, so they weren’t open.
With many apologies, they send me back to the waiting area.
It’s more than okay. I’m used to any kind of medical related appointment running at least 40+ minutes over. I had brought my knitting and snacks.
The poor staff were amazed that I wasn’t kicking off about this. But see, what does that achieve? You get a black mark against you, which will affect the level of service you receive, and you just make someone else’s life even fricking harder.
I also heard a more higher up person mutter that my particular doctor’s office is apparently known for screwing with the paperwork. They had tried entering a span of dates, including the ones on my letter, but they hadn’t worked.
It turns out that when the provisional hysterectomy was agreed back in December (the 12th for anyone who is interested) the paperwork was inputted into the system and dated for 20th December.
So no wonder they couldn’t find it!
By this point I highly feared for anyone attempting to take my blood pressure!
So off I toddled to the lab, armed with fresh paperwork, labels and renewed hope singing in my heart.
And actually, it wasn’t too bad. I was waiting less than 5 minutes. Then the two phlebotomists fought over who got to stick me because they loved my accent.
I warned them about my (notoriously) bad veins, but she stuck me and got two vials of the stuff first try!!!
So then off I trotted home to relieve the hus-creature (as he was distracting the Tiny Tyrant) and send him off to the office, with a sore arm, but I’m pleased it’s done.
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