mercurial scribe

The ultrasound was postponed. I swear it seems as if the universe was conspiring against me or something because everything I’ve tried to do regarding my OBGYN has just not worked. Not scheduling the appointment for the high risk OB, not the medicine, not dealing with my OB’s retarded nurses, nothing.

Four weeks ago when I saw Dr. S, he said he wanted me to be checked out by a high-risk OB, Dr. A, since he was unfamiliar with the effects of my bipolar medications on Squishy. I was very happy he referred me to this Dr. A because I hear he’s one of the best high-risk obstetricians in Orange County. As soon as I left the Dr. S’s office, I was on the phone with Dr. A’s office attempting to set up an appointment. However, they can’t set up an appointment for me until Dr. S’s office faxes over my chart and file. Over the next three weeks, I called both Dr. S’s office to request they fax my file (each time they said “I faxed it to them yesterday!”) and Dr. A’s office to set up an appointment (and each time they said “I’m sorry, I don’t have your file yet. Call Dr. S’s office and ask them to fax it again.”) This got really, really old.

I was also quite annoyed because at my last visit, Dr. S had said I had a pretty bad UTI, which is pretty common in pregnancy. He said to take the antibiotics he’ll prescribe twice a day for 10 days.

Except he never gave me a prescription for it.

Remembering this the day after my appointment, I called his office and requested that I pick up the prescription script. The girl I had been speaking with about the faxes told me there was no copy of a prescription in my file, so she’d have to talk to the doctor. Each time I called about those faxes, I asked her about my prescription. “I”m sorry, he hasn’t given me one,” she told me each time.

By the time I finally got to Dr. S’s office yesterday, I was just so happy to see Squishy I didn’t care about all the hassle. Besides, I’d just tell the doctor about it and he’d straighten it out, right?

But not without chewing me out, apparently.

I should have known the day was doomed by how quickly we were let in. Normally, if our appointment is at 2, we are ushered into the exam room at 2:45ish and wait for another half hour for the doctor to pop his head in. By the time we actually leave his office, it’s nearly 4 pm. Well, my appointment was at 2 pm and within 15 minutes we were brought into the exam room. The nurse came in and checked my blood pressure - a text book 120/80 by the way - and asks the few standard questions before I interjected excitedly,

“We’d like our ultrasound today,” I said, barely containing my excitement.

The nurse looked confused. “Do you have an appointment at the hospital?”

“No… the other nurse told us last time we were here to request the ultrasound when we got here and that it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t do that here. We don’t even have an ultrasound machine.”

Husband and I exchanged a look and our faces dropped. Seeing our disappointment, the nurse bailed and promised the doctor will be in momentarily. And sure enough, he was. We exchanged the usual pleasantries before he rushed right into it.

“So how did it go at Dr. A’s?” he asked, skimming my file.

“It didn’t.” He looks at me startled. “I couldn’t get in; they kept telling me they didn’t have my file and I can’t set up an appointment until they have it. I also wanted to know about getting my ultrasound-”

“HE was supposed to do that. We don’t even have a machine here and I know we faxed your file over to them. I know we did…” he sighed, his face pinched. “Is your UTI gone?”

I smile placidly. “You never gave me a prescription.”

Enter ye dark clouds. He suddenly went on a little tirade about how I need to be taking care of these things because my pregnancy is moving along, these MUST be taken care of!

Really? I didn’t know that. Silly, pregnant me.

“This is what we’re going to do. Hang out here and I’m going to fax your file to Dr. A’s office myself and get you set up with an appointment.” He scribbled out a script and handed it to my Husband. “And that is for the antibiotics. Get it filled TODAY.”

Husband and I exchanged a look again as Dr. S walked out the door.

“When did he suddenly become a douche bag?” he asked in a whisper. I just shrugged.

Suddenly, through the open door we hear a mild commotion. “I JUST faxed it to you, check again,” I heard Dr. S say. Husband and I giggled - he really was faxing it himself! After a few more minutes of mild cursing and insisting this needs to be done now, the nurse walked back into our exam room.

“Next Monday at 3 o’clock okay?” she asked.

“Perfect,” I smiled.

Looks like my countdown starts yet again… 5 days 20 hours and 38 minutes… *sigh*

Continue the saga at Part 3.