It seems that I was one of those whose tonsils collected bacteria (tonsil stones) and I was through with having to reach in my mouth several times a week to press on my tonsils and release foul gunk. Someone without cavities shouldn’t be cursed with a gross routine procedure like that, but I was.
So I got insurance through my employer, made a big deal about my tonsils blah blah blah and got the approval for a tonsillectomy. It wasn’t easy if you consider how my doctor rejected the idea at first, told me “tough” and “to learn to live with it”. It took a little fighting and cleverly worded expressions, but after another round with a different doctor I had the green light for removal. Don’t tell Autumn ‘no’. I thought everyone knew that by now. Stupid.
My surgery was on my boyfriend’s “snow day” which excused students and staff from school, so he was able to do his job and be my driver. Daniel called it God’s Will; I called it What Should Have Always Been the Plan, To Take Your Girlfriend to the Hospital. I freaked out as they tried several times to hook me to an IV, told me I didn’t have any veins (great food for that ‘I’m Not a Normal Human’ complex), and was in a stupid hospital robe about to be put under anesthesia. That all sucked, and waking up from surgery sucked due to the deep pockets of pain that replaced my tonsils.
Daniel found a pharmacy that would fill my script for painkillers and paid the bill without his normal “you don’t have to write me a check right away” attitude, and that really touched me. I think he’s learning that he doesn’t have to walk around guarding his dick all day. I’m not gonna screw this guy. Stepping up his game only adds security to that.
Then I couldn’t get a hold of my doctor. An entire weekend went by and her staff said she didn’t work Mondays. On Tuesday I entered the office and for the millionth time, said the same shit I’d been stressing over the phone (slurred and difficult to understand):
- I was out of pain medication and wanted to die. (I had a co-worker ask me if I “tortured people in my basement for fun” because I am a relatively tough-seeming person…but this surgery had me drowning in mucus, crying from referred ear pain, and I made huge fists that slammed against something whenever I had to swallow. I NEEDED pain meds.)
- My employer and I were told that a couple of days of vacation should cover my post-op recovery time, but by the end of that I was unable to speak, eat or sleep let alone work. The workplace needed information before they fired me.
- PAIN MEDS, GIVE ME PAIN MEDS. I was willing to drive drunk on medication and stand at my workplace with throat scabs and blood spilling from my mouth if it meant I wasn’t in pain and I could be back “where I was supposed to be”. Sad.
They just looked at me and argued that I didn’t have an appointment. In front of the waiting room’s sick children I threw a little Irish Bitch fit and started crying because my doctor was inaccessible and I was in severe pain. I threatened to go to the hospital and report every one of them, then I murmured through my swollen vocal chords that I could probably just crush Tylenol in a glass of water and save myself a LOT OF MONEY –
“CAN YOU COPY MY FILE? DOES MY DOCTOR HAVE TO DO THAT TOO? Can you write on a little piece of fucking memo paper that I had surgery done my boss doesn’t think I was SKIPPING WORK AND FUCKING OFF ON FACEBOOK ALL WEEKEND?”
I lost my credentials with the cursing and the insults, so I finished with a more composed, “I apologize for making a scene but I have called repeatedly, over the course of several days, and you never ONCE called me back to so much as say that you had TRIED to communicate with my doctor.”
One of the fucking little whores behind the counter actually said out loud to another fucking little whore, “I wasn’t ready for today to be stressful.”
Oh. My. God.
So they handled me by telling me I could see my doctor after she arrived some 3-4 hours later that afternoon. I said I would accept the appointment (nice, over $100 for a sit-down with a specialist). I was trying to figure out if I had vacation pay left in my bank to cover it, if I just called this fiasco of a day a “sick” day, could I go back to work the following day if I just ran to the bathroom every time I had a drowning/choking/mucus fit…
On my way back to that place for the second time that day, my doctor called me. I was literally outside of her office looking at the locked door, the little clock that said “be Back at 1” as my phone went from 1:01 to 1:02, and she spoke in to the phone,
“I’m sorry. No one ever told me, not once, that you needed to get ahold of me. I’ll be having a word with my staff.”
No need for an appointment, my papers were waiting for me with the fucking little whores. I told them it was great to be back, and thanked them for the items that had caused so much stress.
When I dropped my prescription off at my pharmacy, the Arabic pharmacist looked me up and down, at my long black jacket, at the script, at my ID, and said, “Sorry. This is classified medicine. We do not have it.”
“Please tell me who does.”
“I cannot. It is classified because of these doses. Maybe you should try your pharmacy.”
“You ARE MY PHARMACY. You gave me my flu shot yesterday. This is my first time having insurance and having a script to fill. I just had my tonsils taken out. What IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE TODAY DO I LOOK LIKE A METH ADDICT MY TEETH ARE PERFECT.”
I could see him take in to consideration, my fucked up voice. YES, I AM A REAL PATIENT.
“You must be in a lot of physical pain.”
“I just want to go home. Today has been a nightmare.”
“I have one bottle left for someone who did not pick it up. I will take a chance.”
Take a chance? Jesus Christ. I dress like a fucking criminal. I didn’t even have my knit hat and oversized hoodie on. Just the good ol’ mafia coat. And I’m STRESSFUL TO OTHERS.
Well, it was all ya’ll motherfuckers’ faults because you told me NO.
Yesterday I took a swig of that syrup, waited for the pain to subside so I could swallow some calories before I starved to death, got my leave of absence accepted and passed. The fuck. Out.
There you have it. When I’m recovered and on the other side of YES, you’ll know what I had to go through to get there.
Don’t give up.