If some well-meaning person said to me, “Just be nice, Jan”, I’d probably feel a bit like gagging (wouldn’t you?) especially in the context of what appeared to be an incredibly botched medical appointment. Bear with me while I take a dip into my inner drama queen, trying to avoid being fully immersed in her oh-so seductive quicksand.
Here we go! Got up at the break of light, dressed quickly, out the driveway, 7 miles down to the medical facility. Managed to find a place in the already crowded, paid, parking deck. Walked on the very L-O-N-G walkway to the building, admitted with proper ID, moving to the first registration point. After offering (twice) all the requested information, I knew I was in trouble. No, there was no appointment for me in the system. (Uttered a very guttural “argh” that only my inner drama queen could hear.) Was sent to the basement lab for a second-check of my appointment where I was also deemed persona non-grata. Teeth clenching, returned to main registration and was told I had NO ALTERNATIVE for keeping the appointment I needed.
Fortunately, the occasional adult who lives inside of me stepped up and took me by the hand to the second floor’s clinical practice. Managed to speak to a scheduler who, once she understood I was not trying to snooker her, reinserted a lab appointment. Back AGAIN to the first floor‘s main registration point. NO APPOINTMENT SHOWS UP. Another 10 minutes of internal diva chatter, and lo and behold, I am no longer persona non grata in the appointment system. HOWEVER, I could not use the quick computer sign-in because I had a “brand new appointment” and needed to be processed by a real human being (whose cubicle I could not find.) Finally, made it back down to the basement lab…
SO, how does all this relate to my first sentence of “Be nice, Jan.” I mean, would you be feeling nice if you felt bounced around like a pinball for a necessary medical appointment? (Uh, oh, I can feel an inner drama queen resurgence happening. Down girl!)
A reframe. I had no idea where the problem with my missing appointment originated. It’s a busy facility and omicron, the bully in the room, sucked up a lot of resources - way, way too many resources. So, yeah, I gave way to my inner drama queen/victim, but for the most part, only I could hear her (and thank god for that!)
We’re all living with a plague. Externalizing my emotional plague would help no one, including moi. But, you know what, there’s (drum roll…) a new bug going ‘round - the civility bug. Now that’s a bug I can live with. Sure, I was a bit short in my first two encounters at the facility, but the civility bug bit rather quickly after that. Let’s be honest, I became a superspreader of the civility bug during the rest of my interactions in the building. And you know what, I felt better, oh-so much better. It was also noticeable that those with whom I came in contact perked up like flowers plopped into a vase of water. So go on, be a civility bug superspreader - you’ll feel better and just about everybody else in your orbit will, too. Not bad, not bad at all…
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Thursday I spent an hour and a half, going up the complaint ladder, reiterating the issue to any attendant I could get to listen. As an almost 13 year winner of the cancer battle, I've spent the last two years unable to see my oncologist in person due to bureaucratic red tape. Both said doctor and myself had complained before but we agreed during our last telemedicine five minute visit that I would go up the chain of command as high as I could go to stimulate the clerical shift that was necessary to fix the issue. An oncologist can palpate a lymph node to know if it's a problem and I was not going to endure more toxic "contrast" during a CT when I already know the lymph is there but not growing. In person he could palpate and keep track without the more expensive, toxic, and time consuming medical testing. Less than 24 hours later, doctor's medical assistant called to let me know I could now come into the office. Blessed relief. I wish I had read your piece before I aggravated myself during that ninety-minute ordeal.
Bravo for drawing on that well of patience that at times like this feels so dry