How to Keep Sane During Phone Calls Related to "The Systems of Care"

 A dear online friend mentioned my "fuck you stare" yesterday, which I was completely unaware that I possess. Another dear online friend private messaged me that I did not possess a "fuck you stare" but had "beautiful black eyes" and "the weight of the world." She also told me that I had plenty of "fuck you" writing. I sent the former the photo above and the latter a message saying that the former meant no harm and that lately a "fuck you" stare at men in general was very much in order. I'm talking about YOU, John McCain and that clot behind your eye that you're dealing with by using the "best healthcare system in the world" that we provide for you, and YOU, Mitch McConnell and your bullshit healthcare bill that you've deferred yet again. The weight I carry, though, is far less than others' in this world, and I'm not talking poundage. I'm thinking we should all join together, find a good ambulance-chaser attorney and file suit for emotional distress related to the healthcare shenanigans in our congress.

This morning, I spent the better part of two hours on the phone using my tiny little mother mind™ to navigate the various Systems of Care. That's a euphemistic phrase for The Neurologist's Office, The MediCal, The Blue Shield, the Social Security Administration, and the Wheelchair Company. With the exception of a successful refill for The Drug That Doesn't Work But That Sophie Is Horribly Addicted To, the rest of the calls were unproductive fools' errands. I've been throwing around the term fool's errand a lot lately. It captures quite perfectly what dealing with the Systems of Care is like on some days. Most days. I won't regale you with details because I'd feel responsible if you felt violent as a result, and I don't have a way to dispense Tootsie Roll pops to mitigate any damages.

Anyhoo.

Today, I found myself unwrapping a Tootsie Roll pop and sucking it furiously while on hold. About when the insurance company's Automaton/human came on, I'd gotten to the sticky tootsie roll part and enthusiastically crunched the candy into the chocolate while dictating social security numbers and case numbers and weight and marital status and my feelings about John McCain's eye clot.* Just kidding on the last three. See below for thoughts on the last. Where I ended up after said conversations was Brazil,** where I was given a list of different numbers to call for seemingly intractable problems and issues. I placed those numbers in a little pile on the hot pink plastic file bin on the top of my desk, right under the Shrine of Doodads and Tchotchkes.

The Tootsie Roll pop helped which probably means I have some kind of oral fixation issues.

Actually, it helps to curb invective so I can work on my "fuck you stare."

What also helps is to surrender and call it a day even though it's before noon.

What are ya'll doing today?












* I know I'm not alone in remarking on the irony of the estimable Senator McCain who suffers from a clot above his eye and who is currently getting excellent (The Greatest Healthcare System on the Planet) healthcare, gratis (thanks to his bosses, US), which has pushed the "healthcare" vote off yet again (because his vote is said to be a resounding YES). Imagine my "fuck you stare" here.

** I can still conjure the feeling I had after seeing the movie Brazil, not only because my tiny little mother mind™ has a memory like a steel trap, but because the events of my life mimic them nearly every day.

Clusterf*$%kery, part 4,345,678

Despite all the recent excitement with the press beating on my door as I attempt to muddle through the clusterfuckery that is The Cannabis System, we need to get back to our regular programming. I just spent the last 15 minutes on hold with Medi-Cal and then 45 minutes in conversation with a very helpful, very clueless gentleman at Medi-Cal. You might wonder how someone can be both very helpful and very clueless? The ability to hold opposing thoughts and ideas in unison -- equanimity, if you will -- is a skill I've perfected over the last couple of decades (ok, to be honest, it's only happened in the last five years or so), as is the very careful walking of the tightrope, swinging from the trapeze and other grand carnival acts.

So, you can take my word that the gentleman I spoke with on the telephone was very helpful and very clueless.

I called because as of February 1st, Sophie was added to our health insurance policy (Healthnet), and we dropped her Anthem policy. Sophie also has Medi-Cal, which is secondary to her private insurance, but at present, Medi-Cal is LINKED TO ANTHEM. I called Medi-Cal (my fifteenth attempt, I should add) to ask them to:

1. Drop Anthem Blue Cross 
2. Add HealthNet
3. Link Medi-Cal to HealthNet

My aim is to ensure that when medical claims are filed with HealthNet, Medi-Cal picks up the uncovered stuff, LIKE IT'S SUPPOSED TO.

Well, the helpful but clueless gentleman informed me that I needed to fill out form -- let's call it AGNES because I don't want to stress you out further with the amount of numbers I'd have to type out to indicate which form -- proving that I was indeed authorized to act as Sophie's conservator. In other words, since Sophie is over 18, her privacy is protected and Medi-Cal can't authorize the release of information. If you remember the other, now distant clusterfuckery that was gaining Conservatorship, I am officially Sophie's conservator (in addition to being her mother). God forbid this sort of snafu should have been taken care of back then with the Social Security office. He very helpfully directed me to Form AGNES but upon perusal of it, he decided that it was maybe Form GLADYS that I needed. He then directed me to Form GLADYS, and we both realized that Form GLADYS was actually the wrong form, so we moved on to FORM MILDRED after he checked with someone.  

Form MILDRED it is, and I was instructed to fill it out and send to the address at the bottom of the form. I said, There is no address at the bottom of MILDRED, and he said, Oh. Let me go and see where you send her. 

And I said OK and then I did a little pirouette on the high wire and smiled down at the admiring crowd. When the helpful but clueless man came back on, he gave me an address and thanked me for my patience. I now must fill out MILDRED, send her to Sacramento, hope that she is received and processed, upon which I will call back Medi-Cal to request that they do Numbers 1 and 2 above.

Did you get that?

I'd really, really appreciate if you, dear Reader, moved that net right under me as I do believe I might be plunging to my death at any moment.