One of the things I was really looking forward to doing while here in Florida was to make some doctor’s appointments to take care of some health issues.  Exciting huh???  Well I was pretty stoked to know that I could finally see a doctor and clearly explain, in English, what issues I have been having.  So one of the appointments I made was with a Rheumatologist for some specific joint issues that I have.  No problem…I have spent my life in and out of hospitals and doctor’s offices so this is no biggie for me.  I call the office of the Rheumatologist and I set up an appointment.  I gave the receptionist my name (and spelled it for her), the name of the referring physician, my chief complaint, and a contact number.   Yesterday I showed up for my appointment, I was on time and in pain.  I stepped up to the window where the first thing I see is a big sign that says “Due To Privacy Issues Please Do Not Knock On The Window.  We Know You Are Here.”   Now I know what that is supposed to mean because I have vast knowledge regarding HIPAA from my work in the fields of both mental health, and health care.  What I don’t get is all that happened after reading that sign.  Let me start with the sign-in sheet that I had to put my full name on.  You know, the one with the full name of every patient that was there that very same day, yeah, that one.   Then there was the clipboard hanging on the wall with every patient that was there for physical therapy, and one for those who came for injections.  OK…this is not a big deal for most people, but I’m not most people.  This KILLS me!!!  Violations everywhere.  Well, let me get on with the story, I have a lot more bitchin’ to do.  So, the magical glass partition opens and there is a girl standing there looking at the sign-in sheet with a face that you would normally see on a three year old child who just smelled stinky cheese.  You know the look.  I knew by that very look that she was about to butcher my name…and I was right.  I step up to the window and she asks why I am there.  Now remember I am in pain and when I am in pain I have no tolerance for stupidity.  I tell her calmly (maybe with a condescending tone) that I was there for my 2:30 appointment.  She again looks at the sign-in sheet, then looks at the computer screen, and then at me…still with the stinky cheese face.  I knew this wasn’t going to be easy…here’s how it went:

Me:  “Is there a problem?” 

Receptionist:  “Who made the appointment?”

Me:  “I did”

Receptionist:  “Can you give me your name, the reason for your visit, and your referring doctor?”

OK, so there I am standing there in the middle of the waiting room (so much for privacy) and I give all of my personal information…again!!!

Receptionist:  “There is a 2:30 appointment but it’s not yours.”

Me:  “Of course it’s me, I made the appointment.”

Receptionist:  “I’m sorry, I’m looking right at it and it’s not yours.”

Me (becoming increasingly agitated):  “Then whose appointment is it?”

Receptionist:  ”It’s from the same doctor and they have the same chief complaint but it’s not your name.”

Me (now sounding like a lunatic):  “WHAT’S THE NAME?”

Receptionist (looking like a deer in the headlights):  “I can’t tell you the name because of privacy and confidentiality regulations.”

 Now at this point I am holding myself back from goin’ Jersey on this chick.

Me:  OK, perhaps you can tell me why I would make an appointment in another name?

Receptionist:  I don’t know why you did it.

Me:  OK, I didn’t do it!  I gave all of my information to the girl that took the appointment, including my name.  I even spelled it for her. 

Receptionist:  I’m sorry, but there is no appointment for you.  Who said they made you an appointment?

Yeah, she asked again.

Me:  Listen, I am about to go nuts here.  I don’t care who screwed this up on your end but I need to see the doctor.

Receptionist:  Well, I’m sorry for the mix up.  The only thing I can do is give you some paperwork to fill out and if the person who is scheduled for that appointment doesn’t show then I’ll have you meet with the doctor.

Me:  OK, I’d like to go on record as saying that the person scheduled to see the doctor will not show because they don’t exist.  I made the appointment and the person who took the call screwed up and put in some random name.  Now I will go sit down to fill out my paperwork.

So now I’m totally fit to be tied.  As I sat there filling out my paperwork I remembered that I received a reminder call on my cell phone the day prior.  So in my very G way (needing to be right) I take my cell phone up to the magical glass window and knocked…yeah, I knocked!  

Me:  OK…here is the call I received yesterday from this office confirming my 2:30 appointment for today.  You know, the one I don’t have.

Receptionist:  Let me see that.

Now, more confused than ever, the girl looks at my phone, looks at the screen, then looks at me.

Receptionist:  What is your phone number?

So I tell her.

Receptionist:  Oh, it’s the same number, I guess you’re not crazy after all.

Me:  I’m sorry did you…

Receptionist:  I’m sorry Miss…I didn’t mean that the way it sounded…I…

Me:  Stop talking…please.  Can I just pay my co-pay now?

Receptionist:  Yes, that will be $30.

I give her my co-pay, which in my opinion should have been waived for the pain and suffering I had endured, and then I get my receipt.  On my way back to my seat I look at my receipt and what do I see?  How about the name of the man whose vacation home I am renting. 

At that point I lost it…I went back up to the window and knocked. 

Receptionist:  What’s the problem now?

Me:  I really don’t like your attitude.  I want to speak to the office manager.

Receptionist:  I’m sorry Miss, but you don’t need to get upset.  

Me:  I want to see the office manager.

Receptionist:  She’s out today.

Me:  Then I want to see her boss.

Receptionist:  Miss, what is the problem?

Me:  The problem is I have been in the office now for 1 hour and 45 minutes during which time the only thing I accomplished was getting the you to understand that I had a valid appointment.  Then you take my money and hand me a receipt with someone else’s name on it because the idiot girl who originally took my appointment over the phone wrote the name that came up on her caller ID instead of my name, which, by the way, I spelled for her very slowly.  During this entire ordeal you have the audacity to act as if I am bothering you.  None of this will go unreported to your boss and my insurance company.  I want my money back and my entire file…and I want the original file.  Your customer service skills are deplorable and I do not want to see a doctor who is OK with having incompetent and rude staff.  Now please get my money and my file.

Receptionist:  I’ll be right back.

Well chickie never came back but another girl did and she gave me my co-pay and my file.  I left the office and immediately phoned my insurance company to file a complaint against the doctor, and when I got home I wrote the doctor a lovely letter. 

 

 

 

Today I had my return visit to the Questura to get my digital finger prints done…again. Now remember I was given strict orders on what I needed to do to regenerate these prints of mine. Well I did. My hands became my religion. For the first time in my life I can actually say I was compliant with my treatment plan. So, I returned to the officer who helped me two weeks earlier and she started to enter my information into the computer. As I was being fingerprinted l questioned what happened next in the process. I was told that my file would be sent to Rome where my PDiS would be processed and my shiny new credit card sized Permesso would be issued in a few months. “A few months!?!” Whatever…I was just happy to have 10 shiny, new fingertips to show this officer. So, let the finger printing begin…OK, now you can let it end. I still don’t have readable prints. Are you flippin kidding me? How is this possible. I don’t garden, I barely do any real cleaning, and I certainly don’t have dishpan hands, I use paper plates for God’s sake. How can this be??? “THIS SUCKS!” The officer told me to continue to do the same ritual with the creams and the gloves, and come back in another two weeks. OK…I was on the verge of a stroke and I can’t even imagine how I looked as I was about to “go Jersey” on this officer. Appearantly it wasn’t pretty, in fact, I think I scared the shit out of her because it was at this point that she decided to tell me I could just have my application processed at the Questura and get the “old fashion” PDiS which is just a letter sized sheet of paper with my picture on it and my PDiS information. “What”, no shiny new, credit card sized PDiS? Then suddenly the world turned silent and this sweet angelic voice said to me “come back here in 4 weeks and you can pick that one up”. Can I get an Amen!!!