What do YOU think?
Today I had a dental appointment. Now, before you get all excited thinking how lucky I truly am, I want to tell you exactly how the appointment went. New dentist, mind you, so I was expecting a whirlwind of paperwork, small talk, chit chat, "how many kids do you have" and things of that nature. Here's what happened...I went in and started filling out paperwork. Before I could even start the privacy act stuff, they call my name to go back to the dental chair. They want to get started. The hygenist comes in and takes x-rays of my head and other dental-related things like that. (Here's where the funny stuff starts. Funny to me, at least.)
She checks my chart and sees that I have written that I had gastric bypass surgery in January of 2003. She says, "How did that gastric bypass work?" I look at her...Now, mind you, I'm topping off at over 280 pounds. No, that's not a mis-type. Over 280 pounds. Gastric bypass didn't work for me. Now, before all the bypass Nazis come after me, I want to mention this leeeeeettttlllleee fact: My gastric bypass didn't work. I didn't fail. I didn't eat it out of working. I didn't "stretch my pouch". I didn't do ANYTHING. See...mine is what they call a mechanical failure. At my nine month check up, after surgery, my doctor casually mentioned that he "found" in my records that he had to make the pouch considerably bigger because I had mysterious existing scar tissue. Fine. $40,000 down the drain. I lost (brace yourself) 17 pounds in a year. SHOUT IT AT THE ROOFTOPS! 17 freakin' pounds!!! So, I'm a little sensitive about the gastric bypass questions. I told her, a complete stranger, what I've just told you, a complete stranger. It kinda made me laugh. She was a bigger girl herself, and I think she was hoping for a better story. I know I was.
Anyway, here's the BEST part. The dentist (whom I love) gets done with what she needs to do and they want to clean my teeth next. Fine. The problem? It's 10:30 a.m. and the "cleaning lady" doesnt' come in until....11:30!!! That's right, an hour! So, they tell me to go ahead and watch TV until she comes in. I turn on the TV. {insert crickets chirping here} I stare out the window. {insert picture of a tumbleweed flopping by}. I clean my fingernails with my other fingernails. {insert low, howling wind sound here.} I sing, in my head, every Christmas Carol I know. {insert Christmas Carol of your choice here.} I watch the end of the Price is Right. {Insert echoing sound here.} You get the picture. I SAT THERE FOR AN HOUR WITH NOTHING TO DO. I couldn't even pry myself out of that torture chair to get the friggin' people magazine off the wall.
I think I'm going to submit 1 hour of my precious, precious time to the insurance company. See how they cover that, the bastards.
She checks my chart and sees that I have written that I had gastric bypass surgery in January of 2003. She says, "How did that gastric bypass work?" I look at her...Now, mind you, I'm topping off at over 280 pounds. No, that's not a mis-type. Over 280 pounds. Gastric bypass didn't work for me. Now, before all the bypass Nazis come after me, I want to mention this leeeeeettttlllleee fact: My gastric bypass didn't work. I didn't fail. I didn't eat it out of working. I didn't "stretch my pouch". I didn't do ANYTHING. See...mine is what they call a mechanical failure. At my nine month check up, after surgery, my doctor casually mentioned that he "found" in my records that he had to make the pouch considerably bigger because I had mysterious existing scar tissue. Fine. $40,000 down the drain. I lost (brace yourself) 17 pounds in a year. SHOUT IT AT THE ROOFTOPS! 17 freakin' pounds!!! So, I'm a little sensitive about the gastric bypass questions. I told her, a complete stranger, what I've just told you, a complete stranger. It kinda made me laugh. She was a bigger girl herself, and I think she was hoping for a better story. I know I was.
Anyway, here's the BEST part. The dentist (whom I love) gets done with what she needs to do and they want to clean my teeth next. Fine. The problem? It's 10:30 a.m. and the "cleaning lady" doesnt' come in until....11:30!!! That's right, an hour! So, they tell me to go ahead and watch TV until she comes in. I turn on the TV. {insert crickets chirping here} I stare out the window. {insert picture of a tumbleweed flopping by}. I clean my fingernails with my other fingernails. {insert low, howling wind sound here.} I sing, in my head, every Christmas Carol I know. {insert Christmas Carol of your choice here.} I watch the end of the Price is Right. {Insert echoing sound here.} You get the picture. I SAT THERE FOR AN HOUR WITH NOTHING TO DO. I couldn't even pry myself out of that torture chair to get the friggin' people magazine off the wall.
I think I'm going to submit 1 hour of my precious, precious time to the insurance company. See how they cover that, the bastards.
posted by Nebraska Angie @ 7:43 PM
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