The first clue that my initial OBGYN appointment wouldn’t be going as planned was when I spied a young woman sobbing at the edge of the check-in counter. The receptionist had screwed up her insurance information and she’d been hit with an astronomical bill. Definitely not a good sign for the person next in line. Me.
Actually, my very first clue SHOULD have been the day I called to schedule my OBGYN appointment. “Our computer system’s down,” the receptionist said, “Try back in an hour.” An hour later, the same thing. And a couple hours after that. And the next day. FOR THREE DAYS. I finally managed to wrangle an appointment onto the calendar, but realized a few hours later that my Wednesday appointment wouldn’t actually work with Nate’s classes, and we both wanted to be there. I called to reschedule. “Strange,” said the woman, “I can’t find your appointment in here. I’ll make a note to ask the other girls and make sure it gets cancelled. I’ve gone ahead and put you in for that Friday.” Okay, great. Wednesday out, Friday in.
Until that week rolled around and I got a call to confirm my Wednesday appointment. “No,” I explained, “I cancelled Wednesday and rescheduled for Friday.” Long pause. “Ooooh, okay. I see that. Yes, we’ll see you on Friday. And please be sure to fill out your forms online ahead of time.” So I filled out the forms and sent them in, noting that my appointment was FRIDAY afternoon. They presumably got them, and I heard nothing back.
So here I am. Friday. In line behind the sobbing woman. Nate’s by my side to witness the confirmation that one of his little troopers has, in fact, found its clever little way into my egg. My turn rolls around and – shocker – they don’t have my Friday appointment on the books. Can I just take a moment to clarify my situation? It’s Friday. I woke up this morning, vomitted as usual, and then spent a long nausea-filled day at the office, where I found out that since our insurance coverage totally sucks, it’s gonna cost an extra $400 monthly to add this bundle of joy onto my plan once it’s born. Crap. So I dragged my rapidly-expanding ass home and then to this OBGYN appointment, where I’m facing the one bright spot in a week I’d rather forget. Officially at 2 months today, I finally FINALLY get to receive confirmation that my little blueberry is in good health and everything looks as it should. I’m eager with anticipation. This is my first pregnancy and I am a little worried, afterall.
But no. No confirmation. I explain the situation, but the doctors can’t see me because “they close at 5” and it’s already late afternoon. Are you kidding me? Between school and our jobs, getting to this office anytime in their ridiculously-overbooked hours is no small feat. I feel the tears start to stream down my cheeks (did I mention I’m PREGNANT??) and explain the situation again slowly and nicely, but to no avail. I restrain myself from yelling about f***ing HMO soulsuckers and say, with as much calm as I can muster, “I’m extremely upset right now. I scheduled this appointment a month ago, confirmed it, and I’m very, very disappointed the doctors aren’t willing to take the time to make this right when it’s not at all my fault. I cannot believe that this is the way you’re handling my first appointment, and my first child.” AND if you can’t get a single appointment right, how on earth are you going to safely bring my infant into this world??
“Okay, let’s reschedule. We have an appointment a week and a half from today,” she says. “No,” I explain, “The only day that both my husband and I can both be here is on Fridays. And we both want to be here.”
“Okay, how about Wednesday the 29th?”
“No, not Wednesday. FRIDAY.”
“Oh. Right. Hmmmm. Oh here’s one on a Friday but it’s at 10am so that won’t work…” she mumbles.
“Wait, why won’t that work? Who said that won’t work?”
“Because it has to be in the afternoon, right?” Huh?? Who said anything about the afternoon? It was at this point that I had to stop talking altogether and let Nate take control of the situation.
And of course, while all this went down we had to pay the stupid medical building parking rates. Nope, they don’t validate either.