One day in late March, I went to the Columbus Clinic to see
Ms Taylor, who works with Dr. Verson, et
al, in the neurology department. The purpose of the visit was to go over
the wheelchair assessment that Lance, from NuMotion, and Paulyne, from Amedisys,
had done a few days before. Ms Taylor flipped through the twenty-some pages
NuMotion had faxed to the Columbus Clinic and said she was impressed with how
complete the assessment was. She would do whatever had to be done to prepare it
for Dr. Verson’s signature, return it to NuMotio, who would send it to the
insurance people.
A few weeks later, Lou from NuMotion called to tell me the
Scrooges at Humana had decided the diagnostic information in the assessment was
not sufficient to warrant a wheelchair of the type Paulyne, Lance, Ms Taylor,
and Dr. Verson all said I needed. Lou said he would send everything back to the
Columbus Clinic along with Humana’s concerns, and he suggested I make an
appointment to go over them with Dr. Verson or whomever.
On the afternoon of April 27, Russ and I made our way to the
Columbus Clinic. We were led to an examining room, where a nurse took my blood
pressure, listened to my heart, and assured us Ms. Taylor would be along
directly. When she arrived, Ms Taylor was again going through a sheaf of
papers.
“Everything they say they need is already in here,” she
said. “Who did you talk to at NuMotion?”
“Lou.”
“Well, I’m going to give Lou a call and find out what needs
to be done,” she said, and sent us on our way.
A week later, Lou called to say NuMotion hadn’t heard from
the Columbus Clinic. These things need to be done within a certain time, he
said. and if they didn’t get the assessment back to Humana soon, we’d have to
start over. He asked that I give the Clinic a call. I did, and they assured me
it would be taken care of.
On Friday, May 13th, ominously enough, Lou called
again. NuMotion had called the Columbus Clinic neurology department several
times but had not received a call back. “You’ve got to call and be your own
advocate,” he told me.
I called the Clinic, and as soon as a human came on the
line, replacing the recorded assurances that the Columbus Clinic cared about my
call and would answer it as soon as the phone answering person got out of the
restroom – or words to that effect – I became the whining, crying, begging me. OK,
I might have thrown in a “what the hell is wrong with you people?” or two. But,
I spent most of the phone call pleading. Again, I was told that it would be
taken care of.
On Tuesday the 17th, the phone rang as I was
sitting on the toilet. By the time I fished the phone out of my pants pocket, the
call had gone to voicemail. The phone told me it was Lou who had called. The
message Lou left was familiar: NuMotion hadn’t received anything from the
Columbus Clinic; I needed to make an appointment to see Dr. Verson one day that
week. “When you get the appointment, let me know. If it is at all possible, I
want to be there."
Tuesday wasn’t my day. I hadn’t slept well Monday night, and
I felt like crap. More to the point: I felt like I needed to take a crap, and I
spent most of the day sitting on the porcelain throne urging my bowels to move.
To pass the time, I found crossword puzzles online, printed them and did them
while trying to do the other thing. By 4:30 that afternoon, there were five
completed puzzles lying atop the hamper. The last thing I wanted to do was talk
to the people at the Columbus Clinic. And I didn’t.
Wednesday morning, after a good night’s sleep and an early
morning bowel movement, I was ready to go, and at 8:45 I got started by calling
Lance. I wanted to apologize for not calling him back and to get whatever
additional information I might need before calling the Columbus Clinic.
“Hello, Lance, this is Tom Harris.”
“Oh, Mr. Harris, we’ve got everything we need. The doctor’s
office sent us the stuff. We’re in good shape.”
An hour or so later, Cory, a nurse in the neurology department
of the Columbus Clinic, called to apologize for the delay in getting the
material to NuMotion. According to him, Ms Taylor had been out of the office
for some time, and he was unaware of what was going on with NuMotion, Humana
and Me.
That was a week ago. Apparently, Humana didn’t dropped
everything else in order to consider my request for a new wheelchair. I wish
they would; I’m getting anxious.
* *
*
Not all of my dealings with the folks at the Columbus Clinic
have been so frustrating. In March, when I saw Dr. Miller, my primary care guy,
for the annual checkup, I left some blood and urine for his perusal. The next
day, a nurse from his office called. The lab report showed that I might, or
might not, have a urinary tract infection. “Do you think you have a UTI?” she
asked. I wasn’t sure. At times, I thought I might; other times, I was pretty
sure I didn’t.
“Do you want Dr. Miller to give you a prescription?”
“Better safe than sorry, I guess.”
“OK, I’ll tell him that and see what he wants to do.”
As it turned out, he wanted to give me a prescription. I
found that out when the call came from a recorded voice. “This is the Publix
Pharmacy in the Milgen Plaza,” it said. “A member of your family has a
prescription ready for pickup.” When I was one day from taking the last of the seven-day
allotment of prescribed pills, the nurse from Dr. Miller’s office called.
“We got a report from the lab. You have a urinary tract
infection.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to send in a prescription.”
“I already have a prescription.”
“You can stop taking that. It won’t even touch this.”
Who am I to argue? I didn’t ask any questions about either
the infection or the pills. When the friendly recorded voice from the Publix
Pharmacy on Milgen Road called, I called Russ, he took me pick up the
prescription, and I used them as directed. And they did a wonderful job. My
balance is much, much better than it has been for months. It is so nice to wake
up in the morning, sit on the side of the bed and bend over to put my socks on
without feeling I’m about to have an intimate moment with floor. So many little
things are less work now. It’s easier to do a lot of things when I’m not
afraid of falling out of the wheelchair.
