Category Archives: White Man’s Medicine

The Joys of Broke-Folk Insurance

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY a staunch supporter of the Affordable Care Act.  I would not have any goddamn health insurance at all without it, and I’ve been there, it sucks.  And I know the healthcare industry is all fucked up, and I know there’s not enough doctors, and everything.

But still… this ain’t right.

CALL #1 (Yesterday, ’round noonish)

Voice:  “Hello, Doctor ___’s office.”

HoodyHoo:  “Hi, I need to make an appointment?”

V:  “Okay, have you been here before?”

HH:  “No, my insurance company assigned me to y’all.”

V:  “Okay, what’s your name?”

I proceed to tell her, then spell my whole real name three times, then my first name an additional three times, because A) 5 letters is too hard or B) I have a speech impediment.

V:  “And what insurance do you have?”

HH:  “Broke-folk Insurance.”

V:  “Okay, can you hold please?”

Note:  When there are this many “okays” in a single conversation, things are not going to end well.

V (returning):  “What was your name again?”

I spell the whole name one more time.

V:  “Okay, do you have your card in front of you?”

HH:  “I sure do.”

V:  “Okay, can you read me your ID number?”

I do.

V:  “And the doctor’s name on the card?”

HH:  “Doctor _______.” (um, the same name you said when you answered the phone…)

V:  “Okay…”        <long pause>    “And what’s your phone number?”

I give it.

V:  “Okay, we’re going to have to look something up on the computer and call you back.”

HH:  “Ohkaaaay….”

I am somewhat perplexed.  Surely she could look and see whether or not they took my insurance WHILE we were on the phone?  But… maybe they have dial-up, whatever.

TWO HOURS LATER, WITH NO RESPONSE

CALL #2

HH:  “Hi, I called earlier today to make an appointment and someone was supposed to call me back?”

New Voice:  “You called today?”

HH:  “Yes, a couple of hours ago.”

NV:  “Hold on, I’ll get her.”

Short hold, then a Different Voice:  “Susan?”

HH:  “No, this is Hoody.  I just needed to make an appointment as a new patient?”

DV:  “Oh, okay, hold on.”

At this point, I licked my insurance card and stuck it to my forehead because that suddenly seemed to make more sense than what I’d been doing.

Third Voice:  “Hello?”

HH:  “Hi, I needed to make an appointment?”

3V:  “Okay, hold on.”

After yet another hold, FOURTH FUCKING VOICE:  “Hi, this is Linda.”

HH:  “Hi, Linda.”

And Linda was finally able to make me a goddamn appointment… in October.  Now, granted, all I need is a new patient checkup, but she told me there’d be a 3-month wait BEFORE she asked if there was anything wrong.

And people wonder why us Broke-Folk use the ER as our regular doctor.

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Filed under I'm Confused, Reality Bites, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

Spacing Is Important

Okay, so it’s always struck my inner Beavis as inappropriately hilarious that “therapist” and “the rapist” are just a misplaced space away from a Monty Python sketch.  But now I’m paying the price (as usual):

I may have inadvertently hit on my counselor.

See, the time before last, she had her hair down and I complimented her on it.  I hadn’t seen it down before and I was raised to say nice things to people (to their face).  Then this LAST time, she had her hair down AGAIN… and SHE complimented ME on my shirt.

Now, I’m fairly sure one should not date one’s mental health professionals, plus I’m REALLY sure no one who’s seen into the cobwebby corners of my psyche should be even remotely interested in the enormous inevitable train wreck that is a relationship with me.  We should also probably mention that I think EVERYONE is hitting on me — self-image was never my problem!

Maybe it’s like Poor Ol’ Dad always says:  The hotter a woman is, the crazier she is.  So I suppose the reverse is also true:  the crazier a woman is, the hotter she is.  Plus this foil hat really brings out my eyes.

And by the way, when asked if the Poor Ol’ Dad Corollary of Hotness vs. Craziness applies to Dear Sweet Mama, POD had only this to say:

“Your mother has always been very hot.”

I rest my case.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, Poor Ol' Dad, White Man's Medicine

Drink Your Juice and Tip Your Stylist

AAAAARGH, so I’m back from Hospital Part Deux, and I have to sincerely thank all of you for worrying about me so much!  Plus, I know you’re just dying to know what I did to my fool self this time.  So here ’tis:

Friday before last (May 4) , I went to get my hairs cut in preparation for going to a Kentucky Derby Party with the lovely and talented Cinema Sugar (who seems to have deleted her blog for some reason and can expect an ass-kicking).  Anyhoo, the little hair gal had just washed my hair and I was sitting in the chair chit-chatting… when I started to get that feeling… that feeling that I was gonna pass out…

Now, I am very familiar with that feeling, since as a child I would faint at the drop of a… well, a small child.  Everything got fuzzy and far away, there was a roaring in my ears, and when I tried to say something to the stylist, I couldn’t talk.  Next thing I remember, she and Chuckweasel were standing over me (still in the chair, thank goodness!) discussing whether or not they should call 911.

Yes, Hooligans.  I had my very own Steel Magnolias moment.

So, Shelby drank her juice and all was as well as one can expect.  I went home with my partial haircut and promised to eat something to steady out my blood sugar (no, I’m not diabetic, but I do drop like a rock if you let me get too hungry).  Next day, still feeling shitty, but less clammy and sweaty, so I continued to eat even though I wasn’t hungry because I didn’t want to faint again.

AND WE ALL KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I EAT.

By Tuesday night, the pancreas was fucking KILLING me, so I made Chuckweasel take me to the ER Wednesday morning.  The pain wasn’t EXACTLY the same as before, and I didn’t want to be that asshole who ignores the symptoms of a heart attack until she just keels over flat dead.

Fun Fact:  excruciating chest pain gets you back to be seen at the ER in nothing flat!

So I spent Wednesday night, all of Thursday and Friday morning  in the hospital, having every test known to man to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me.  I didn’t care what they did, as long as the morphine kept a-comin’.

Final decision — heart and lungs are fine, brain is fine (HA!), but pancreas is very angry.  So I have yet another kind of pill I have to take when I eat, and the rest of it is pretty much a low-fat-low-salt-no-booze diet plus pain management (which is an important part that was MISSING from their previous plans, tyvm!).

So, in the words of the Great Sage Granny Weatherwax, “I aten’t dead.”  Get your filthy paws off my stuff.

PS:  Part 2 of this post tomorrow — in which I will reveal a little known facet of the haircutting industry!

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Filed under Chuckweasel, Getchore LEARN on!, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, White Man's Medicine, Youse Guys

Could You BE Any Wrongerer?

Dear sweet baby Jeebus, the stupid is running THICK this week!  But at least now it’s catching on Dear Sweet Mama instead of me… and it’s yet another dose of the White Man’s Medicine.

DSM goes to one of her many doctors (I think the kidney one, which makes this EVEN MORE disturbing) and he tells her her kidneys are overworked because of all the protein shakes she drinks (insert “That’s what she said!” as needed).

DSM does not drink protein shakes.  In fact, I’m not sure she’s ever been near one.  In further fact, even I am more likely to ingest something so healthful-esque! And we all know what I eat.

But when she tells the doc this, he says, “Oh, then just stop eating so many protein bars.”

Ummm… Doc?  That’s not happening either, unless you mean the ones that come in the wrapper marked “Snickers.”

So all we can assume is that DSM is somehow consuming these products without her own knowledge.  And she does take that Ambien, which they say makes you do things, so maybe instead of sleep-driving or sleep-eating, she’s sleep-training-for-a-marathon?  Of course, now she’s worried that she has a sleep-training-TEAM that’s gonna be pissed when she doesn’t show up for the marathon she doesn’t know she’s in.

See where I get it?

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

The White Man’s Medicine

Y’all may have picked up what I’m putting down already… to be on as many drugs as I am, I’m really not a huge fan of what Dear Sweet Mama and I like to call “The White Man’s Medicine.”  Being of Indian extraction (feather, not dot), and being somewhat of amateur herbalists to boot, both of us would rather fix ourselves with tea and a compress than a mess o’ pills… but sometimes, tea don’t cut it.

BUT… Neither does the white devil!

Remember when Chuckweasel’s mama had the stroke and had to be in the hospital for awhile?  Luckily, she made a really good recovery, the only trouble being that her blood pressure stayed way too high, which they kinda figured caused the stroke in the first place.  So Dr. Custer fills her full of blood-pressure pills (5 kinds. FIVE!) and sends her on her way.

Cut to yesterday, when poor Chuckweasel’s mama had to have surgery to remove a nodule on her adrenal gland… which they think may be the reason her blood pressure was so out of wack in the first place, and taking it off may fix that.

REALLY?

It’s been MONTHS of Dr. Feelgood prescribing all sorts of medications to treat her SYMPTOMS, but no one ever thought to look for the CAUSE?  My guess is they just looked at her age and figured, “Well, a lot of people get high blood pressure as they get older” and called it a day.  The same way doctors REPEATEDLY told my own Dear Sweet Mama that her chest pain was “just gas” because “women your age don’t have heart attacks.”  Well, now we know she’s got a birth defect in her heart… where’s your gas now, DOC?

All in all, I am all in favor of the pills the pills the marvelous pills that keep me from shooting people and enable me to eat, well, food, but treating the symptoms is not enough.  Fucking make it better, or pass the peyote.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Chuckweasel, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, SCIENCE!, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

It’s NOT Me!

Ha!  Gots me some new bitch-don’t-be-crazy drugs and in doing so, I have discovered…

MY PHARMACIST

IS TRYING

TO MAKE ME CRAZIER.

Seriously, I dropped off the prescription for the extended-release Xanax (which is very cool, by the way, I no longer have ups-and-downs with the anxiety and everything seems slightly… fuzzy).  So I go back to get it and the little clerk gal says… wait for it…

“There’s no way you could be pregnant, right?”

WHA-WHA-WHAAAAAAAT?

I believe my answer was somewhere along the lines of “Christ, no,” but really?  REALLY?  This is what you ask the person picking up her crazy pills?  The same kind of pills I’d already been taking, btw, just a different formula.  Oh, yeah, I’m calm now!

But wait… there’s more…

Then a little later, the actual pharmacist gal asks me “Are you still taking the Prozac?”  Fuck yeah, I’m still taking the Prozac, do you see me on a clock tower?  But when I asked why, she says, “Oh, I just wanted to make sure your doctor knew you were taking these together.”

Um…

They were prescribed by the same doctor… to be taken together…

Am I gonna die?

Then Dear Sweet Mama chimes in with, “This is getting weird.  You better make sure they gave you the right pills.”  NOT HELPING!

Anyhoo, the pills are working, I’m much better now, and I really hope those were the right ones, ’cause I likeses them.  A LOT.

See y’all Monday with a rundown of the Completely-Shitfaced-Leg-of-Lamb I’ll be making for Saint Patrick’s Day (to compete with Laura’s Drunk-Ass-Pig)… Slainte!

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, Jesus and Pals, La Vida Loca, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

Don’t Know Whatcha Got…

‘Til it’s gone, ya know.  And since my poor car is currently on the list of things that are gone (damn transmission!), I thought I’d offer y’all a little gem I made up for The Book of Face ages ago (reworked slightly, of course!).  I present:

THINGS I WILL MISS WHEN THE WORLD GOES TO HELL

INNA BUCKET

  1. Central Heat may in fact be the thing I miss absolutely the most.  I freakin’ HATE to be cold and a fire just don’t cut it.
  2. Liquor/wine/beer I don’t have to make for myself.  Check out my high school chemistry grades if you think me trying my hand at moonshinin’ won’t end in blood.
  3. This one got tooken from me already (thanks, pancreas!): The freedom to eat whatever I want, whenever I want.  Still, I figure I’ll look back at chicken and rice FONDLY when all there is to eat is looter-meat.
  4. Being able to go places . Walking sucks and horses can be assholes, so it’s really not worth it.
  5. Water I don’t have to boil or filter… wait, I live in Wes’BYGAWD Virginny, I don’t have that NOW.  How about, water I don’t have to CARRY?
  6. Hate to say it, but I will miss the hell outta TV.  Oh, idiot box, we hardly knew ye.
  7. Books, especially new books.  Stephen King ain’t gonna be cranking out the next bestseller when the crops need a-sowin’.
  8. The ease of communication.  Even with Kevin Costner delivering the mail, he still can’t beat the phone and the interwebz.
  9. STORES!  Much as I hate to shop, if I need a new outfit, I go out and buy it.  If Laura Ingalls wanted a new outfit, she freakin’ MADE IT.  Suffice it to say, when the End Times come I’ll be wearing a potato sack.
  10. Meat I don’t have to catch, raise or kill.
  11. Antibiotics — sometimes you really gotta hand it to the White Man’s Medicine.
  12. Strangely enough, the government.  It was nice having someone to blame.
  13. The ability to be SURPRISED by the weather (“well, hot damn, it’s snowin’!”).  An agrarian society won’t have that luxury.
  14. Speaking of luxuries, how about safety, security and just general fuckin’ around time… say bye-bye to all that!
  15. Toilet paper, and while I’m at it, Kotex… and while I’m at THAT, Monistat.
  16. PAPER… FUCKING… TOWELS.  You think it’s funny, but you know how pissed off you get when you’re out?  Now imagine that’s FOREVER.
  17. Music I don’t have to make myself.  All I play is clarinet, and that badly.
  18. Vitamin tablets.  Gonna get the scurvy.

And because I couldn’t leave y’all without some serious deep thoughts to ponder all weekend..

19.  The way it feels to live your life NOT having ever had to kill someone.

20.  The ineffable luxury of being able to feel pity.

So that’s it — time to get one of those Australian dogs and attach knives to our hubcaps.  THUNDERDOME!!!!!!!!!!!

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Filed under At the Movies, GENIUS!, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, Weep for Humanity, White Man's Medicine