3.5 hours instead of 10 minutes

Note: The Following is a Slight Exaggeration
Me: YAY! I'm leaving the USA! Going on adventures! *High-pitched, embarrassing squeal of excitement*

Government: NO! Not until you pass all my tests! Muahahaha! *evil laugh* You must have numerous tests to see if you be human. We withhold the right to tell you no even if all tests be 'normal'; we know not this 'normal' you speak of. You must also sell us your right to time, peace of mind, and ability to function for the next two months while we discuss your virtues. So DANCE PUPPET! DANCE!

Me: Crudmonkeys! Darn you government.

Note: The Following is NOT an Exaggeration
This crudmonkery made me get a physical, blood test, urine test, TB test and paperwork galore. Ah the glories of target practice in a cup and needles stuck in my arm with the resulting bruise; give me paperwork any day!

The trouble came with TB test check day. As you might know, a TB test is punched under your skin like a tiny blister filled with medications on day 1. You can go have your arm petted by doctors on day 3, so I went expecting the usual 10 minute schpeal:
  • "You are bruised." Yes. I know.
  • "You have a hematoma under the bruise." Yes. I know there is a bump.
  • "You do not have raised skin showing the presence of TB." Yes. Thank you.
  • "I will sign your records negatively." Yes. That would be awesome. Thanks again.
You can imagine my chagrin, surprise, and relative alarm when the RN petted my arm over and over again with a growing look of consternation and worry overspreading her face. The test didn't look any different from the last ones I had. I was positively sure it was not positive, but with every passing minute, doubt seeped through my ears and into my mind. Finally, the RN recommended that I go to an urgent care place to have more opinions and the option of a chest examination if it was necessary.

Intermission
...Explaining to Mom because I am too nervous to drive in Atlanta without 
copious amounts of caffeine....Drive to an urgent care place...

I didn't even have to check into the urgent care facility sporting an empty lobby, in fact, all that was necessary was for me to walk to the desk and tell them my problem. Immediately, three RNs looked at, petted, and discussed my arm to the end that all agreed it was negative. The day seemed to be looking up, then the thunder clap. The urgent care facility staff could not sign off on the TB test because they had not given it. Choices presented as follows:
  • Go back to the RN who didn't know, carry our evaluations by word of mouth, and hope she will then sign off on the negativity of your test.
  • Officially sign in to the urgent care, have the doctor do a chest exam, pay your month's wages, and have him sign a negative on the case of TB.
  • Wait two weeks and become a pincushion. Again.
Seeing that the cheapest and most convenient course lay in returning to the original clinic, we departed with mingled relief and laughing frustration. Back at the clinic, the original RN petted my arm again, made calls to superiors, struggled to find forms, wrote a book on the episode, and FINALLY signed me negative for TB.

Recap: Pincushion Katelin - Arm Petting - Worry - Driving - Arm Petting - Relief - Driving - Arm Petting - Signed Paperwork

What should have been 10 minutes turned into 3.5 hours of Runaround Sue. In the words of John Smith: "This? I've gotten out of worse scrapes than this. Can't think of anything right now, but..."

Comments

  1. Nice to know I'm not the only one playing this game. I had my annuals this past April. I'm prone to pre-cancerous cells, so I'm poked and prodded every six months. The specialist running the tests sent me for a second opinion. I was then sent for a third and fourth before returning to the original specialist for treatment.

    Eleanor Briones @ U.S. HealthWorks - Milpitas

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Power of Pine

The 60km Race That Was 40 Miles