I just completed a telephone questionnaire required for life insurance. I’d been putting it off for a few days because they always call when I’m in the bathroom – seriously, they had an eerie sense for my digestive processes. The interview was mostly focused on my medical history, a bit more in depth than the questions asked by the nurse who did our blood work. It was, in a word, irritating. This woman, who I will call Grumpers, clearly hates her job and has very little understanding of medical jargon. Grumpers was asking me ridiculous questions (through no fault of her own, obviously).
She opened with “have you been to any medical professional in the past five years.” At this point, I realized that this was perhaps not the ideal time for this conversation, as my memory was terrible, I was in the parking lot of a coffee shop, and it’s cold outside. But I forged on.
She ran out of boxes. RAN OUT. I know my medical history is colorful, but seriously, it’s not that bad. Just a bunch of minor things – a little wrist reconstructive surgery here, and little tonsilectomy there. Some wacky optic neuritis stuff. Maybe some bronchitis. You know, whatevs.
Grumpers wasn’t sure what to do when she ran out of boxes. So she just went on ahead. “Have you had any diagnostic procedures in the past five years?” I’m sure all the other patrons on the porch were wondering if it hurt for me to roll my eyes that much. It’s bizarre, they literally wanted this information off the top of my head – names of physicians, dates of treatment, specific drugs, for the past five years. And I am more conversant in this medical crap than most people I know – I do know drug names, procedure names. I can say and spell triangular fibrocartilaginous complex without stumbling.
Anyway, it took 30 minutes instead of the alleged 10, I uttered the phrase “vaginal ultrasound” in a coffee shop parking lot, and now I’m quite glad to have it over with so I can get back to finishing up with editing the ol’ dissertation and waiting for periodic updates on the first day of work from the Husband.
Oh, and regarding my emo post from last week – my ankle is mostly better, my tear ducts are still stupid, Husband is safe and sound and bored in WA, and I spent all weekend knitting and pretending grad school didn’t exist. I am much, much calmer now