A New Definition to "Bad Day"

Today's itinerary looked something like this:

9:45 a.m. Arrive at hospital to check-in for outpatient procedure

10:00 a.m. Have echo sonogram (aforementioned outpatient procedure) so that the doctor could prove that my severe leg pain was all in my head.

10:45 a.m. After a lovely chat with the u/s tech (while she wanded the veins in my right leg), she announces she must call the doctor. Uh oh. 'Tis not good when a doctor is involved in an u/s.

10:50 a.m. Beg the tech to show me the nearest restroom. The 40 oz. of water I've consumed today have suddenly hit my post-child-birthing bladder with a vengence. She tells me not to escape, as she's still trying to track down the doctor.

11:00 a.m. Doctor is found. News is delivered. DVT - deep blood clots behind my right knee. Turns out one can indeed have blood clots with only one major symptom (pain) and none of the others. Turns out, doctors can be very, very wrong. Turns out, doctors can be very, very surprised by u/s result (the u/s they ordered just to placate me because I wouldn't stop bugging them, by the way).

11:10 a.m. Told to head to the 4th floor for a specialist consult. Also told "this day is nowhere near ending, you might want to tell work you won't be back today." This cannot be good news.

11:15 a.m. Told by specialists brand-new, very harried receptionist that they cannot see me today. Too bad, so sad, go see your other doctor. (I later discovered that the specialist - with whom my doctor had chatted - had INSISTED on seeing me - but of course didn't relay the message to either me or the front desk).

11:25 a.m. Arrive at my doctor's office after having hormonal, emotional meltdown Numero Uno with my mother (who was at work) because Himself was indisposed on a business trip in a city 5 hours away.

11:40 a.m. See the doctor. At this point, my leg feels like it just might fall off. I am starving and thirsty and am terrified of the "Hospitalization" word uttered freely at the hospital. I am a single parent this week. Single parents cannot be hospitalized.

Noon. Doctor #3 explains all of the bad news, good news and "what this means for you" and explains that I will need to give myself 2 injections a day of a relatively new drug. Sends me to lab with paperwork for three blood tests. Gives prescription and directions to pharmacy at the hospital (not the one I was at previously) across the street.

12:30 p.m. Blood vials (all three) taken. Pharmacist calls my name and announces my prescription is filled. She says, "Your total will be $900." I, thinking she has mis-stated something, ask her what it is AFTER insurance. She explains that IS the post-insurance cost. Pre-insurance the drug is $4500 - or $150/day. Try to stay calm and sane and tell her I don't have $900 and she can keep the drug.

12:45 p.m. Have hormonal, emotional meltdown Numero Dos with my mother (again because Himself isn't answering his phone). I am one of the millions unable to find $900 more a month in the monthly budget - no matter what I cut out (other than finding free housing).

1 p.m. Call insurance to figure out why secondary insurance won't pay for drug. Sit on phone forever. Let Doctor #1 yell at insurance company about this "life and death" matter - he tells them she'll hospitalize me and that will cost them more than a few hundred dollars. I hope the insurance listens. Doctor #1 and Doctor #2 give me second consult - including the pros and cons of taking the cheaper medication. The cons outweigh the pros by far, and I opt to keep fighting the insurance. Doctor #3 has gone to lunch.

2 p.m. Doctor #1 realizes I haven't eaten all day. Sits down and has lunch with me (the lunch the Guardasil people have brought in - Heaven bless cervical vaccines!). I don't like lasagna much, but I was too tired, too frustrated and too emotional to care. I ate every bite. Sends me back to original hospital's pharmacy to buy a 1-day dose of the medication so I can start treatment while the insurance companies are still arguing with each other (and with the doctor).

2:45 p.m. Finally get drug. Pay $30 for one day's dose ($30x30 = $900, remember). Head back to doctor's office.

2:55 p.m. Sneak back into doctor's office so nurse can show me how to stab my tummy with a needle twice a day. Hurts like hell (the needle doesn't, the drug does - for 15 minutes afterward). She explains to be sure to do it in a different part of my stomach each time to "minimize the significant bruising that WILL occur."

3:10 p.m. Doctor #1 confirms I will not be traveling to Virginia - or anywhere via plane or long car trip - for a long time (as in months and months). Realize I will not see friends or ffamily for a long time. Nearly have emotional hormonal meltdown Numero Tres, but hold on to dignity. Doctor #1 hugs me.

3:15 p.m. Third consult of day with Doctor #1 and Doctor #2. Schedule bloodwork for tomorrow and in one week. Schedule follow-up for one week. Schedule consult with university superstar doctor who deals with these kinds of things more often than Doctors #1-3 combined. Talk about genetic testing to see what my clotting factor is - since I have ZERO risk factors for clots. Nada. None. Clots generally do not show up as surprise visitors.

3:30 p.m. Call insurance company again. They say to call back in three hours. No authorization yet.

3:45 p.m. Leave doctor's office - a full 6 hours after ordeal began. Can barely walk, I'm in so much pain. Have emotional meltdown Numero Tres, realizing that I'm supposed to walk the fine line between not doing anything that will raise my breathing or heart rate and spending too much time sedentary (after this weekend). Realize that my strict orders to "lounge with your feet up until Monday" (until drug starts working and to get my stress-related sky-high blood pressure down) cannot be followed, due to my current single parent status (Himself doesn't get in until late tomorrow) and my lovely, if active, toddler.

5 p.m. After picking up Woodstock, arrive home, exhausted, in pain and emotionally numb. Put Woodstock to bed since I interrupted her afternoon nap. Plug my ears when she throws her binky overboard and sobs "binty binty" for a full 20 minutes before she falls asleep. Feel like the world's worst mother - even though cry-it-out over a binky never bothers me otherwise.

6 p.m. After "lounging with my feet up" for an hour, have emotional, hormonal meltdown Numero Quatro - to myself (my poor mother has heard from me enough today), because I'm in too much pain to fix dinner, but only Chinese delivers and Woodstock can't have Chinese (peanut issue) - so I have to fix dinner regardless. Curse the fact that I am an independent adult who lives hundreds of miles from family. Curse Himself's first business trip in years. Try to work. All it does is raise my blood pressure and make me feel guilty for having to take today and tomorrow off. Injection site hurts like hell. So does head, after all those emotional, hormonal meltdowns.

Want to crawl up into ball and sleep. Not possible, but it sounds good. Feel like a whiny, selfish, dependent kid instead of a thirty-year-old employed parent and wife.

Really hope tomorrow is better.