Friday, December 15, 2006

I'll send them my cardiology bill

Someone needs to open emergency yoga clinics for people suffering acute anger.

I'd be there right now trying to exchange the hostility and belligerence I have bubbling out my mouth for an iota of calmness.

Disclaimer: I have a terrible temper and I am a royal bitch when I'm pissed off. I know this and hate this about me. I would love to be one of those calm types that is able to keep their wits about them and always act with grace and dignity.

But right now, my blood pressure is so high, I'm feeling a little faint.

Here lemme tell you why:

A year and a half ago, I gave into a moment of vanity and made an appointment to have what I thought was a mole removed from my face near my left eye.

The ugly mole turned out to be more than just an ugly mole. It was basal cell carcinoma — skin cancer.

When the pathology revealed that a portion of my skin was eating away the rest of my skin, I was referred to the only doctor on the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains to do a specialized surgery that would removed all the cancer and leave the healthy tissue behind.

I had the surgery which really wasn't so bad and I try not to focus on the half inch scar that sits on my lid near my eye.

A while ago, I was giving it a good lookin' at and noticed that a white mole just like the one that was chock full o' cancer had sprouted out of the scar.

I was a bit perplexed because I had paid big money to have the specialized surgery to make certain that the skin cancer would not return.

So I made an appointment with the only doctor on the Western Slope that does this specialized surgery so he could take a gander.

As you can assume, being the only doctor on the Western Slope who does this specialized surgery (it's called Moh's Surgery — I do remember it being named after one of the Three Stooges), he's very booked up. So I had to wait several weeks to get an appointment.

Today being my lucky day, I got to go to the skin doctor. I had been told that I should come 15 minutes early so I could re-fill out all the paper work I had filled out the first time I went there so they could have something with which to light their money cigars or something.

I arrived early and filled out my paper work. Then the receptionist came over and said, "Um. Yeah, the doctor is running a little late."

I gave her a raised eyebrow and she continued, "Yeah, he's going to be at least 30 minutes late."

Then you could hear the sound of my jaw smacking the carpet. I came 15 minutes early so I could wait an extra 30 minutes.

Nope, I don't think so. Fridays are my busiest days. I told her I'd have to reschedule.

I gathered myself and returned to the front counter where the receptionist began to shake her head. "I just don't know when we can fit you in."

Now, I was on the verge of full-fledged pissedom. "Please understand that if you had called me, I would have happily come in a half an hour later."

"Oh," she replied, "we're never sure how late he's going to be until right before the appointment."

My blood could have boiled a nice bisque at this point.

I told her that I was frustrated that I even needed to be seen again and now I was being asked to wait at least an additional 45 minutes because they don't know how to keep a schedule.

Now I understand that things happened, unexpected things, and people run late. But they are not doing me any favors by letting me see the doctor. I pay to see the doctor. My money pays their salaries. I am doing them a favor by choosing to come see the doctor. They should be, at the very least, courteous to me and definitely not condescending and put out.

At this point, the receptionist turns to her co-worker and says, "I just don't know what I should do."

I helped her out. "Just cancel the appointment," I spat as I walked (OK, stormed) out of the office. Bill had just pulled in and found me seething in the parking lot.

I gave him a colorful, f-bomb filled recap.

He convinced me that I'd feel better if I ate, so we had some really good Italian sandwiches.

I enjoyed eating the sandwich, I'm still having trouble chocking down the crappy customer service.

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