Just another day
I see #5 on the urine cup and realize that was for me. The surgery center chosen by my GYN to remove a uterine polyp and a few small fibroids is dirty. I knew I should have brought the organic wipes sitting in our bathroom at home.
The waiting room is full. Not a single person is talking. They all stare at my husband and I when we walk in. I’m Italian from both of my parents’ lineage so I label myself an Italian complainer. It’s more comic relief than anything. That trait came from my father. My husband is reading his phone and accidentally forgets to mute the video. I also notice the dirty well worn fabric chairs.
I am called to the front check in desk immediately. About an hour earlier the same very sweet front desk young woman called to ask me to come in as soon as possible. The doctor was hoping to leave early today. I said of course. What else was I doing but not eating and regretting the 2 cookies and ice cream from 11 pm the night before.
So here I am. Four hours early so the doctor can go home early. The cynical side of me which also comes from my father thinks he wants to leave early to play a round of golf. Today is the first day it hasn’t rained in over a week. Or wants to go home and fuck his trophy wife before he plays a round of golf.
This young woman running the front desk is remarkable. She talks to me straight in my eyes and is filing and scanning documents at the same time. She takes a break to answer the phone. Then looks at me and continues to explain the forms I am signing. I see the doctor in a room directly behind her. He’s got his legs crossed. He’s smiling while he taps on his phone. Hmmm. Maybe he is texting his mistress to give her time when he will come over before his round of golf.
The paper she takes a big gulp of air before her summarization to me is the the one that reads $500 co-pay. Before answering I use my therapists recommendation for the last 2 years to count to 10 before I respond. I make it to about 3 and ask her what if I couldn’t pay it? She did not wait to count to 10. Or even 1. She told me she would ask her boss to get an answer. I told her there’s no need. I have a credit card and I can pay it today. I wanted to know what if someone else couldn’t pay for it.
I look around the half wall and notice that the full waiting room is staring at me. I don’t think they are listening in to find out the answer if someone can’t pay. I think they just want me to shut up.
My husband looks up from his phone and begins recounting many of our conversations about our country’s health care system ranked almost last in the world for successful outcomes. He reminds her how pharmaceutical companies, big for profit organizations buying up hospitals only care about cutting costs and making money, and how our country should know better.
The sweet multitasking young woman I would guess is in her very early 20’s is silent. I can tell she just wants to get through the next 10 hours of her day and get in car and either cry or stay completely silent.
I give her our Amazon credit card which shame on my husband and i for owning one and caring about fast shipping and discounts from Prime and putting local business out of business. The hypocrisy is glaring when she gives me back the $500 receipt to sign with our Amazon credit card.
She tells me I can go around the corner and a nurse will meet me for pre-op. I tell my husband to go right out the door and grab coffee and avoid sitting back down in the lobby. He tells me the people in the lobby are fine. I remind him of something both he and I know. I am more intuitive. He shakes his head vigorously and gives me the biggest kiss.
I meet the nurse in the prep area and ask where should I go?
“let’s go to curtain number 5. You will be here until we are ready for you.”