Rant time!
Jun. 26th, 2008 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sethrakThis is going to be extremely long and, at least for my male friends, appallingly obstetrical. So hang on for dear life if you click through.
Okay, first, to clear up confusion on my sil's part and anyone else who found my post about Friday unclear. After I got the call from the patient advocate telling me, contrary to Unnamed Dr. From L&D, that my one hour glucose test from April was NOT abnormal, and I did NOT need to take the three hour test on Monday, I emailed![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
davner.
He called me back, after talking to a senior sgt in his office who'd had similar issues with the WHC during her last pregnancy, and said I should call back and get the exact numbers from that test back in April. The cut off for the one hour test is 140. If I was below that, then we'd go ahead and cancel my appt for the three hour. If I was over 140, no big deal, I was already eating the high carb diet the lab prescribed, I could just keep doing it. I'm entitled to the exact numbers, after all, it's my own patient record. But we needed to get clear and exact numbers, in the face of this back-and-forth about whether my results were abnormal.
I called the WHC, and got a receptionist, who said she could not tell me the results herself, because she's medically unqualified to do so. Fine. She said she'd leave a message for the nurse and they'd get back to me. Also fine.
Except by late that afternoon they hadn't called back. And this was Air Show weekend, which meant everybody was going to be leaving their offices early and fleeing the base before the civvie tourists came stampeding in for the first evening's events.
So around four, I called again, and got another receptionist. She repeated what the first had said about being unable to tell me anything herself, officially, but in a confidential tone, after some rustling and keyboard tapping, said that it looked like my results were fine and I shouldn't worry about taking the three hour on Monday. This was faintly reassuring, but as it was only unofficial, I still wanted the exact numbers, and asked her to make sure the nurse called me by the end of the duty day. She said she'd take another message.
The nurse never called back.
Dav was about as pleased with this as I was, when he came home. We decided I'd go ahead and stick with the carb diet for the weekend, and Monday morning I'd stop by the WHC and try to get my April results in person. If they were abnormal or if I just couldn't get them, I'd go ahead to the lab for the three hour test. If Dav didn't see or hear from me by 9 am, he'd assume I was taking the test and not bother getting ready for work. He already had permission from his senior sgt to take the whole day off.
This wasn't a big hardship. I just had to eat extra helpings of rice or noodles with dinner, eat extra bread at breakfast and lunch, and so on. Fasting after midnight Sunday was more of a trial, but at least I was able to still drink water, and I felt fine driving to base by myself Monday morning.
On Monday, I get to the WHC right about 8 am, which is when the lab told me I should be there so I can get everything done as promptly as possible and resume eating at lunch. I went to the WHC reception desk and explained what I wanted; they took my ID and said they'd send someone to speak to me soon. I settled in to wait. A few minutes later, a woman in civilian clothes with no nametag or other identifying items, not even a labcoat or nurse scrubs, came up to me with my ID. She said that because the order for the three hour glucose test had come from a doctor not associated with the WHC, but with Labor & Delivery, no one in the WHC could countermand the order, and I *had* to take the test. She would not tell me what my April results were. She simply said I had to take the test, and returned my ID. I asked her why the order coming from another doctor had anything to do with it. She repeated that I had to take the three hour test, and went back into the offices.
What the hell...?! I thought. Eh, it wasn't going to hurt me, so I just gathered up my things and went to the lab.
Things took a while to get started. There was another lady doing the three hour test, and a lot of other people taking varied tests at that hour of the morning. Also, I found out they wanted me to do a urine sample before anything else got started. The baseline blood draw really sucked. It used the largest needle, and took the most blood. The glucose drink was all right; they had orange back in stock, luckily. Then I settled in with my cross stitch project to wait for the next draw in an hour, and another an hour later, and the last at 12:15. The remaining three draws weren't bad. The needles were much tinier, or so the techs said; I never look. They felt smaller, anyway.
Then I wobbled to the vending machine room on the other side of the building, and wolfed down a bottle of mostly-orange juice-punch and a package of cheese-flavored cracker and peanut butter sandwiches. It was the healthiest option I had. Made me feel much better; good enough to drive home without a wobble.
Got home, told Tom the news; ate lunch and drooped across the couch. At some point Tom called the WHC in an effort to get the info we'd been trying to get since last week, regarding my April tests, and if possible my three hour test results too. From what I heard of his end of the conversation, he got a lot of guff about HIPPA and "Oh, sir, I can't tell you because I'm just the receptionist" and so forth. He got more and more wrathful, and finally handed the phone over to me.
My mood was shortly no better than his. It was earnestly explained to me that they couldn't tel my husband anything because I'm over 18 and HIPPA forbids it; once my son turns 18 they won't be able to tell me his info either. I said fine, I understand that, but that doesn't explain why *I* can't get my own information in a timely manner. "Oh, but ma'am, we DID tell you your results Friday!" Um, no, you said my April results were "fine", but gave me no reason to trust your word over the dr from L&D; you did not give me the exact numbers; and in any event, I'd rather like to hear the results of today's test if they're done. She said she'd have the nurse call me back. I asked her name, the name of the nurse on-call who'd be calling me, and asked her to promise we'd be getting called by the end of the duty day.
We got called back after 5 pm.
The nurse was oh so perplexed as to why I was so eager to get these results, and why I didn't trust the word of the patient advocate on Friday. I explained my reasons, and told her about the civilian-dressed woman that morning who'd told me I *had* to take the test, with no explanation.
(ok, here my memory is getting fuzzy, in part because of wrath. I really should have written more down soon after it happened.)
She gave me the April results - 138, which is under the danger cut off of 140. She gave me the results from the three hours - covered in the previous entry. She told me, without details, that my 24 hour urine test from the previous week was perfectly normal - which I'd already heard from Dr. Janoffsky, the day I turned in the sample. Then she got oh so condescending, under the guise of concern, about the whole thing. "You're fine, ma'am, you need to stop worrying so much, there's nothing wrong, and no news ALWAYS means good news!!"
*I* need to stop worrying so much?! I wasn't worried at all until that L&D doctor started talking about GD and hypertension and such, and even then I wasn't too worried until you people started giving me conflicting information as to whether he was even right! :sputters in rage: Hell, if you'd just bothered to call me back Friday afternoon, I'd have had a perfectly peaceful weekend, and not needed to let the lab vampires suck on both my arms all fucking morning! I wouldn't be feeling wobbly from lack of food for over twelve hours, either!
Bitch.
Forward to today.
I figured it'd be another nice normal prenatal visit. Blood pressure, fetal heartrate check, fundal height measurement, general "How do you feel?" questions, and out the door. So I took mark along, and didn't ask Dav to accompany me. I figured at worst, I *might* get another NST, and have to call Dav to come supervise our little Zodling.
Bwahahaha. I should know better by now.
First sign that this was not a normal visit was when the nurse, after weighing me, started laying out the padding and lap robe associated with a pelvic exam of some kind. "Crap,", I thought, "it must be the week I'm due for the group Beta strep swab." Last time, they diagnosed me from a urine sample back in my first trimester, so I never got the swab later on. I moved a chair in front of a side door - which in every office *ever* in that clinic, is generally blocked on the opposite side and also locked, turned Mark's stroller to the wall, and get ready. Mark was NOT pleased. Not even a little bit. Singing did nothing to soothe him.
Much to my astonishment, when the doctor knocked, she then tried to open the very door I had put the chair in front of to make room for Mark. I asked her to wait, and moved it out of the way.
I soon discovered why this doctor didn't follow normal door-opening procedure for the clinic.
Some of you may remember me bitching, after my six weeks' postpartum appt for Mark, about a civilian doctor with a vaguely European accent thick enough to cut kielbasa with. A lady who insisted she knew better than *I* did where my labor-caused lacerations were, and that I was complaining of pain where no nerves existed. A lady who, upon hearing I wanted to use condoms until I weaned my son, and *then* go on hormonal birth control..... interpreted this to mean I thought breastfeeding was a form of birth control. And would NOT be swayed from this belief no matter how I tried to explain it to her. It was like talking to an NPC from an old school RPG. "Breastfeeding is not birth control!" "Yes, Ma'am, I know..." "Breastfeeding is not birth control!" "That's why we're using condoms..." "Breastfeeding is not birth control!" Etc., etc., etc. I was so tempted to respond with "Welcome to Corneria!", but she wouldn't have understood. I was too eager to get out of there to notice her nametag; and frankly I'd hoped she'd been transferred in the intervening years.
Well, now I know her last name, so I can do my best to avoid EVER getting her again. (Although I was told by the person setting my appt I was supposed to be getting Dr. Janoffsky again today...)
It was not a fun visit. Mark decided to have a meltdown. The one saving grace was that Dr. Dimotte decided to do the GBS swab immediately, since Mark was so unhappy.
She seemed to think my cervix was unusually high. I don't know why. She seemed to think my cervix ought to be soft or slightly open by now. I'm a month away from my due date. I'd be more surprised if it *were* ready or even starting to be ready for labor. She insisted, over my yelps and Mark's screams, that the only reason I was feeling any discomfort was because my estrogen levels were higher than normal during pregnancy. She kept repeating to me what she was doing, over and over and over again, as if it would make me stop feeling pain, and I kept trying to explain that I *knew* what she was doing, but that didn't mean it was remotely comfortable for me. She couldn't seem to grok that routine OB procedures do not equal painless OB procedures last time, either. ::sigh:: She asked me at one point if I'd ever had a cesarean; it seemed to be connected to her belief my cervix was too high. I bit back a sharp retort about why she hadn't bothered to read my chart properly, and simply said no, I'd never had a cesarean. Hell, in my state of semi-dress, she should have seen quite clearly the lack of a c-section scar on my belly.
Have I made it clear yet how much I dislike Dr. Dimotte?
She checked Jack's heartbeat, which was fine, and my fundal height, also fine.
Then she started talking about my blood pressure and a 24 hour urine test, as if I'd never had one before. She insisted I needed one, and started explaining it in the kind of detail you give to a patient who's never had such a procedure.
I interrupted her and said I'd already had one last week, and the results were fine. She looked terribly puzzled, and said it wasn't in my chart. I said Dr. Janoffsky had ordered it, and it should be in there somewhere. She said she'd check the computer in her office, and left.
Came back a few minutes later - and told me the 24 hour urine test results from last week were NOT normal.
::head-desks a bit::
She insisted, without showing me a printout, that my protein levels had been high, and I needed to take a second 24 hour urine test. I need to stop by the lab two days before my appt. next week, and get the gear, then turn it in the day of my appt.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. WHY cannot this hospital's staff make up their collective minds about whether I am in danger of hypertension or not?!
Hell, as I was on the way out of the clinic, she hunted me down and said, if the results of this second 24 test are abnormal, I'll "have" to be induced.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. I don't WANT to be induced.
I want to bite things. If Dav hadn't gotten rid of that Conan game, I'd be trying to figure out how to operate the XBox 360 so I could work off some of this rage and worry by eviscerating brigands and demon-creatures.
"You need to stop worrying so much ma'am!!", my ASS.
Wow, this took a while. I started writing at 1:23, and it's now 2:22.
Well, I emailed Dav, and tried calling the main patient advocate number again. Got their answering machine; left a message. We'll see what happens. >_<
Right now I need to lie down and try to relax. Mark's theoretically asleep in his crib; I ended up tossing him in there around 1 pm because he was steadfastly refusing to nap, and I needed a break.
Okay, first, to clear up confusion on my sil's part and anyone else who found my post about Friday unclear. After I got the call from the patient advocate telling me, contrary to Unnamed Dr. From L&D, that my one hour glucose test from April was NOT abnormal, and I did NOT need to take the three hour test on Monday, I emailed
davner.He called me back, after talking to a senior sgt in his office who'd had similar issues with the WHC during her last pregnancy, and said I should call back and get the exact numbers from that test back in April. The cut off for the one hour test is 140. If I was below that, then we'd go ahead and cancel my appt for the three hour. If I was over 140, no big deal, I was already eating the high carb diet the lab prescribed, I could just keep doing it. I'm entitled to the exact numbers, after all, it's my own patient record. But we needed to get clear and exact numbers, in the face of this back-and-forth about whether my results were abnormal.
I called the WHC, and got a receptionist, who said she could not tell me the results herself, because she's medically unqualified to do so. Fine. She said she'd leave a message for the nurse and they'd get back to me. Also fine.
Except by late that afternoon they hadn't called back. And this was Air Show weekend, which meant everybody was going to be leaving their offices early and fleeing the base before the civvie tourists came stampeding in for the first evening's events.
So around four, I called again, and got another receptionist. She repeated what the first had said about being unable to tell me anything herself, officially, but in a confidential tone, after some rustling and keyboard tapping, said that it looked like my results were fine and I shouldn't worry about taking the three hour on Monday. This was faintly reassuring, but as it was only unofficial, I still wanted the exact numbers, and asked her to make sure the nurse called me by the end of the duty day. She said she'd take another message.
The nurse never called back.
Dav was about as pleased with this as I was, when he came home. We decided I'd go ahead and stick with the carb diet for the weekend, and Monday morning I'd stop by the WHC and try to get my April results in person. If they were abnormal or if I just couldn't get them, I'd go ahead to the lab for the three hour test. If Dav didn't see or hear from me by 9 am, he'd assume I was taking the test and not bother getting ready for work. He already had permission from his senior sgt to take the whole day off.
This wasn't a big hardship. I just had to eat extra helpings of rice or noodles with dinner, eat extra bread at breakfast and lunch, and so on. Fasting after midnight Sunday was more of a trial, but at least I was able to still drink water, and I felt fine driving to base by myself Monday morning.
On Monday, I get to the WHC right about 8 am, which is when the lab told me I should be there so I can get everything done as promptly as possible and resume eating at lunch. I went to the WHC reception desk and explained what I wanted; they took my ID and said they'd send someone to speak to me soon. I settled in to wait. A few minutes later, a woman in civilian clothes with no nametag or other identifying items, not even a labcoat or nurse scrubs, came up to me with my ID. She said that because the order for the three hour glucose test had come from a doctor not associated with the WHC, but with Labor & Delivery, no one in the WHC could countermand the order, and I *had* to take the test. She would not tell me what my April results were. She simply said I had to take the test, and returned my ID. I asked her why the order coming from another doctor had anything to do with it. She repeated that I had to take the three hour test, and went back into the offices.
What the hell...?! I thought. Eh, it wasn't going to hurt me, so I just gathered up my things and went to the lab.
Things took a while to get started. There was another lady doing the three hour test, and a lot of other people taking varied tests at that hour of the morning. Also, I found out they wanted me to do a urine sample before anything else got started. The baseline blood draw really sucked. It used the largest needle, and took the most blood. The glucose drink was all right; they had orange back in stock, luckily. Then I settled in with my cross stitch project to wait for the next draw in an hour, and another an hour later, and the last at 12:15. The remaining three draws weren't bad. The needles were much tinier, or so the techs said; I never look. They felt smaller, anyway.
Then I wobbled to the vending machine room on the other side of the building, and wolfed down a bottle of mostly-orange juice-punch and a package of cheese-flavored cracker and peanut butter sandwiches. It was the healthiest option I had. Made me feel much better; good enough to drive home without a wobble.
Got home, told Tom the news; ate lunch and drooped across the couch. At some point Tom called the WHC in an effort to get the info we'd been trying to get since last week, regarding my April tests, and if possible my three hour test results too. From what I heard of his end of the conversation, he got a lot of guff about HIPPA and "Oh, sir, I can't tell you because I'm just the receptionist" and so forth. He got more and more wrathful, and finally handed the phone over to me.
My mood was shortly no better than his. It was earnestly explained to me that they couldn't tel my husband anything because I'm over 18 and HIPPA forbids it; once my son turns 18 they won't be able to tell me his info either. I said fine, I understand that, but that doesn't explain why *I* can't get my own information in a timely manner. "Oh, but ma'am, we DID tell you your results Friday!" Um, no, you said my April results were "fine", but gave me no reason to trust your word over the dr from L&D; you did not give me the exact numbers; and in any event, I'd rather like to hear the results of today's test if they're done. She said she'd have the nurse call me back. I asked her name, the name of the nurse on-call who'd be calling me, and asked her to promise we'd be getting called by the end of the duty day.
We got called back after 5 pm.
The nurse was oh so perplexed as to why I was so eager to get these results, and why I didn't trust the word of the patient advocate on Friday. I explained my reasons, and told her about the civilian-dressed woman that morning who'd told me I *had* to take the test, with no explanation.
(ok, here my memory is getting fuzzy, in part because of wrath. I really should have written more down soon after it happened.)
She gave me the April results - 138, which is under the danger cut off of 140. She gave me the results from the three hours - covered in the previous entry. She told me, without details, that my 24 hour urine test from the previous week was perfectly normal - which I'd already heard from Dr. Janoffsky, the day I turned in the sample. Then she got oh so condescending, under the guise of concern, about the whole thing. "You're fine, ma'am, you need to stop worrying so much, there's nothing wrong, and no news ALWAYS means good news!!"
*I* need to stop worrying so much?! I wasn't worried at all until that L&D doctor started talking about GD and hypertension and such, and even then I wasn't too worried until you people started giving me conflicting information as to whether he was even right! :sputters in rage: Hell, if you'd just bothered to call me back Friday afternoon, I'd have had a perfectly peaceful weekend, and not needed to let the lab vampires suck on both my arms all fucking morning! I wouldn't be feeling wobbly from lack of food for over twelve hours, either!
Bitch.
Forward to today.
I figured it'd be another nice normal prenatal visit. Blood pressure, fetal heartrate check, fundal height measurement, general "How do you feel?" questions, and out the door. So I took mark along, and didn't ask Dav to accompany me. I figured at worst, I *might* get another NST, and have to call Dav to come supervise our little Zodling.
Bwahahaha. I should know better by now.
First sign that this was not a normal visit was when the nurse, after weighing me, started laying out the padding and lap robe associated with a pelvic exam of some kind. "Crap,", I thought, "it must be the week I'm due for the group Beta strep swab." Last time, they diagnosed me from a urine sample back in my first trimester, so I never got the swab later on. I moved a chair in front of a side door - which in every office *ever* in that clinic, is generally blocked on the opposite side and also locked, turned Mark's stroller to the wall, and get ready. Mark was NOT pleased. Not even a little bit. Singing did nothing to soothe him.
Much to my astonishment, when the doctor knocked, she then tried to open the very door I had put the chair in front of to make room for Mark. I asked her to wait, and moved it out of the way.
I soon discovered why this doctor didn't follow normal door-opening procedure for the clinic.
Some of you may remember me bitching, after my six weeks' postpartum appt for Mark, about a civilian doctor with a vaguely European accent thick enough to cut kielbasa with. A lady who insisted she knew better than *I* did where my labor-caused lacerations were, and that I was complaining of pain where no nerves existed. A lady who, upon hearing I wanted to use condoms until I weaned my son, and *then* go on hormonal birth control..... interpreted this to mean I thought breastfeeding was a form of birth control. And would NOT be swayed from this belief no matter how I tried to explain it to her. It was like talking to an NPC from an old school RPG. "Breastfeeding is not birth control!" "Yes, Ma'am, I know..." "Breastfeeding is not birth control!" "That's why we're using condoms..." "Breastfeeding is not birth control!" Etc., etc., etc. I was so tempted to respond with "Welcome to Corneria!", but she wouldn't have understood. I was too eager to get out of there to notice her nametag; and frankly I'd hoped she'd been transferred in the intervening years.
Well, now I know her last name, so I can do my best to avoid EVER getting her again. (Although I was told by the person setting my appt I was supposed to be getting Dr. Janoffsky again today...)
It was not a fun visit. Mark decided to have a meltdown. The one saving grace was that Dr. Dimotte decided to do the GBS swab immediately, since Mark was so unhappy.
She seemed to think my cervix was unusually high. I don't know why. She seemed to think my cervix ought to be soft or slightly open by now. I'm a month away from my due date. I'd be more surprised if it *were* ready or even starting to be ready for labor. She insisted, over my yelps and Mark's screams, that the only reason I was feeling any discomfort was because my estrogen levels were higher than normal during pregnancy. She kept repeating to me what she was doing, over and over and over again, as if it would make me stop feeling pain, and I kept trying to explain that I *knew* what she was doing, but that didn't mean it was remotely comfortable for me. She couldn't seem to grok that routine OB procedures do not equal painless OB procedures last time, either. ::sigh:: She asked me at one point if I'd ever had a cesarean; it seemed to be connected to her belief my cervix was too high. I bit back a sharp retort about why she hadn't bothered to read my chart properly, and simply said no, I'd never had a cesarean. Hell, in my state of semi-dress, she should have seen quite clearly the lack of a c-section scar on my belly.
Have I made it clear yet how much I dislike Dr. Dimotte?
She checked Jack's heartbeat, which was fine, and my fundal height, also fine.
Then she started talking about my blood pressure and a 24 hour urine test, as if I'd never had one before. She insisted I needed one, and started explaining it in the kind of detail you give to a patient who's never had such a procedure.
I interrupted her and said I'd already had one last week, and the results were fine. She looked terribly puzzled, and said it wasn't in my chart. I said Dr. Janoffsky had ordered it, and it should be in there somewhere. She said she'd check the computer in her office, and left.
Came back a few minutes later - and told me the 24 hour urine test results from last week were NOT normal.
::head-desks a bit::
She insisted, without showing me a printout, that my protein levels had been high, and I needed to take a second 24 hour urine test. I need to stop by the lab two days before my appt. next week, and get the gear, then turn it in the day of my appt.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. WHY cannot this hospital's staff make up their collective minds about whether I am in danger of hypertension or not?!
Hell, as I was on the way out of the clinic, she hunted me down and said, if the results of this second 24 test are abnormal, I'll "have" to be induced.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. I don't WANT to be induced.
I want to bite things. If Dav hadn't gotten rid of that Conan game, I'd be trying to figure out how to operate the XBox 360 so I could work off some of this rage and worry by eviscerating brigands and demon-creatures.
"You need to stop worrying so much ma'am!!", my ASS.
Wow, this took a while. I started writing at 1:23, and it's now 2:22.
Well, I emailed Dav, and tried calling the main patient advocate number again. Got their answering machine; left a message. We'll see what happens. >_<
Right now I need to lie down and try to relax. Mark's theoretically asleep in his crib; I ended up tossing him in there around 1 pm because he was steadfastly refusing to nap, and I needed a break.
