A day on the phone = frustration.
Lately it’s been one medication scare after another. It’s bad enough The Curmudgeon’s cards keep changing along with whatever pharmacy that works with them, but then we get the phone call scares.
The service calls–robotic–at the speed of light it rattles off a number to call back and tells us it is important that we respond. Now I’m pretty darned quick at taking down a number but when I have to find a pen while the machine is jet propelling through the number, I don’t get the number down before the damned robot hangs up.
Thus the panic sets in because I have no idea whose medications they were calling about. The robot never said. Were they mine or The Curmudgeon’s?
I call the mail order service network. I ask is it mine or his. Well then they start with the Hippa regulations–look honey, we signed all those papers I can know his stuff and he can know mine get over yourself.
We are not incompetent, or incapable of taking care of ourselves. Neither are we doddering elderly mentally incapacitated people so do not treat us as if we are. Do not give me BS. Give me answers!
Posted on January 11, 2013, in MS related and tagged Author, Caregiver, Disability, Doggoned, Family, Life, Love, Multiple Sclerosis, Writer. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.
It can be so disheartening not to get the answers you are seeking.
–JW