Have you ever had one of those days where, were it legal, you might be inclined to make some of the people you encounter in to pies.
I had an epic pie day this week.
We have been planning to make a trip down to Ann Arbor for sleep studies and genetic clinic visits for about 6 months now. We had the appointments made and just last week firmed up how we are getting down there and where we are staying. I was feeling pretty confident about it.
And then we got the appointment confirmation in the mail. In the corner was a little, yellow sticky note that said,
“Your insurance won’t cover this visit. You should give us a call.”
Never has a piece of self-adhesive stationary filled me with such dread.
I called the clinic in panic mode and they explained we should have gotten on a supplemental insurance program for children with special health needs and that it takes forever to get on so, we’re screwed. I was flabbergasted. I asked why we hadn’t been informed of this months ago when we made the appointment and got a lame, “We tried to call you many times!”
Uh, no. You didn’t. I have one of those snazzy, new-fangled answering machines. It magically answers the phone when I am not home and leaves me happy little beeps and flashing buttons to discover when I return home. The magic continues when I push the button and the little people trapped inside tell me who called and what the business of their call was!
Your people assuredly did not call my people. Don’t tell me you did your job when you really, REALLY didn’t. This isn’t like, “Oh, forgot to tell you we would like you to bring an extra pair of socks! Cold floors at the clinic!” This is a BIG DEAL. This is a ridiculous amount of money that I don’t have and you want. This is something that really warranted some kind of communication other than a last-minute sticky note!
Anyhow, I went immediately to find out about this other program and told my story to the lady in charge there. She was baffled because our original insurance should cover the boys just fine. We called together and they assured us that with the proper referral, we’d be peachy. I made sure our doctor sent through another referral and thought we were golden. (PS, I have the best family care doctor and nurse on the planet. They are ALWAYS ridiculously patient and helpful. I was so confused and freaked out by the potential cost of these appointments, I made absolutely no sense.)
I called the clinic triumphantly. I had won! My insurance would accept the cost! This clinic claimed to accept my insurance so, YAY! The receptionist scoffed at me and told me that the insurance company was wrong and I would end up with a huge bill.
I frantically called the insurance company back. Again. And they told me we would be fine. I found out some trivia involving this “bill”. It’s definitely not coming, and if it does, someone is in DEEP legal trouble. They might be eaten by bears. Or attorneys. Or a bear who is an attorney.
“I find you in contempt of courrrrrrrt.”
That was my bear-lawyer impression.
So, the moral of this story is, there are some really snotty receptionists out there who freak out mothers and should be made in to pies. That will be fed to bear-lawyers.