I was scheduled to go in for my super-special, difficult-to-administer, hard-to-reach cortisone shot from a referred orthopedist on Monday afternoon — a full 17 days after an MRI revealed my ridiculously inflamed ischiogluteal bursa. I drove back from my long weekend trip to Cincinnati on Monday morning, changed clothes and was preparing to leave for my appointment when I got a call from the orthopedist’s office.
“We have to cancel your appointment for today because not enough time was scheduled for the procedure.”
Excuse me, what?!?
“The next available time is Feb. 27 at 1 p.m. Does that work for you?”
NO. NO IT DOES NOT.
I was flooded with anger. How does this happen? How?!?
“I’m going to be out of town Feb. 27 to March 8. There seriously isn’t anything available before that? Your office is the one that messed this up, and you’re telling me you can’t make any accommodation? I am in pain.”
“I’m terribly sorry, but no, Dr. Weber only performs these procedures on Fridays. The next available appointment then would be 1 p.m. on March 13.”
I was in shock. My eyes flooded with tears. My hands were shaking.
“I’m going to call my orthopedist and ask for a different referral. This is unacceptable.”
I called my doctor and reached his personal secretary, Anita. “Can you refer me to anyone else?”
I breathlessly explained the situation, my voice cracking. She informed me that, unfortunately, Dr. Weber is the only orthopedist in their group who performs this particular procedure. She transferred me back to the first woman who had called to cancel my appointment. Through clenched teeth, I scheduled a March 13 appointment.
Five minutes later, Anita called me back. “Maggie, you can get in to see one of the specialists at the hospital. I already faxed over your information, and here’s the number you need to call.”
I called, left my information, and about an hour later, someone called me back and I was finally able to schedule another appointment. For Feb. 26.
I promptly ordered a mountain of sushi on GrubHub and ate my feelings.
So, two more weeks of pain — which now has gotten so bad that I have to put a throw pillow on my kitchen chair while I eat dinner — thanks to some outrageous incompetence. I’m really tired of this. — Mags