Vascular Surgeons, Hammers, and Guns

I had an appointment today to have some tests run on my balky leg and then to see what the doctor had to say.  He's a vascular surgeon.  You know it isn't going to work out very well when you have to have a consultation with a surgeon who is so specialized he has to have a qualifier added to his title.  What ever happened to just plain doctors?  Everyone has to do something so narrowly focused that it would be hard to listen dubiously to the consultation and then say something like: "Fuck you say?"  You know - burn them big time on some bullshit.

I had to coordinate the logistics of the test procedure and the consulting services of the surgeon with my All Powerful Insurance Company.  There are places that run the tests and there are surgeons that would slice up my leg and sometimes both are affiliated, in the same office, but apparently your average surgeon wouldn't take the test results from an alien testing services and use them to swab out a urinal.  They might even take the results -  if you were to have the courage to hand them over  - just so they could say something witty like: "Fuck is this shit?"

I'm a smart guy, right?  I call the vascular surgeon to verify that he accepts my insurance, getting a big thumbs up.  I stroll confidently into the office 15 minutes early - I'm a thoughtful guy, right? - only to be told that my insurance wasn't even remotely welcome at this particular office and I could pay cash and bill the out-of-network insurance plan on my own or I could take a fucking hike.  Maybe they'd pay me directly - maybe they wouldn't.  Not our problem was the distinct undertone.

So here I am looking for test results - that I assumed were going to be paid for almost entirely by my excellent insurance - on an optional procedure that I didn't have to miss any work to have done.  It didn't work out very well.  I'm a borderline psycho, right?  I'm a short click away from taking a hammer and smashing out store windows half the time is what I am.  I was going to say something about going up into a high tower with a rifle but I'm afraid of guns and get upset if I have to step on a spider - preferring to walk them outside on a piece of paper - so the analogy would have sucked.

It was just very frustrating.  I had to sit down for 20 minutes and listen to my breath.  I had to take what was happening out of the Very Fucking Important file and put it into the Are You Seriously Kidding Me? file.  I had to stop with the anger over something solvable and not that important anyway.  It's the stupid, illogical stuff that really riles me.  I did ask for clarification at the office about what happened with the "your insurance is golden" part of my day.  They admitted to the mistake but - in my opinion - lied about why they made the mistake, alleging that they verified my insurance eligibility but not that the office - you know - accepted the particular insurance plan, nearly prompting me to say something along the lines of: "Fuck you say - you verify eligibility on plans you don't accept?"

They were blissfully unaware of what was going on inside my head with the hammers and guns and everything.