If found, return to Kaiser

"No need to put it around your wrist," the nice young man told me who signed me up this morning to get my head examined. "You can just carry it."

Being a contrarian, I began to wonder why I shouldn't put it around my wrist. These things are called wrist-bands, after all. It has my name, my date of birth, my preferred language, my Kaiser member number (at Kaiser, you're "members," never "patients.") The only thing missing is the directive: IF FOUND, RETURN TO KAISER OAKLAND. 3600 Broadway, to be specific. They'll know what to do with him.

I woke up pissed as hell this morning because my doctor is taking so long to get me to see a dermatologist. I'm sputtering to myself, "All these so-called gate-keeper doctors do is make sure you don't get through the gates. On December 17, I contacted her with a request to see a dermatologist. I had three complaints: a scaly scalp (psoriasis?), an ugly growth on my back, and jock itch. All problems too gross to talk about in polite company. 

Because it was Christmas season, getting an appointment wasn't happening. She was on vacation, I was told, but would get to me as soon as she returned. Fair enough. Who am I to downplay Christmas? When I finally did get to see her it was another of those bum's-rush sessions, where you know doctors only allow themselves ten or fifteen minutes per patient. I got a whole twenty so I convinced myself I wasn't supposed to complain.

Clickety-clack, she goes, as she always does, not looking at me but at the computer screen as she goes down the list of latest maladies and seeks quick and efficient solutions. Have to give her that. She's nothing if not quick and efficient.

Scaly scalp? My assistant will take pictures and send them to the dermatology department. Thing on your back? That's a benign growth. If you want it removed Kaiser will bill you between $200 and $800 for the job. Jock itch? Try this cream.

Can I see a dermatologist, please?

Now here's where the story gets complex. The scaly scalp isn't fun, particularly when what might be normal dandruff begins to look like a snowstorm. The thing on my back will have to go on the back burner (sorry for the clumsy semi-mixed metaphor). If I had been thinking clearly, I would have said, "What really driving me crazy is this damned jock-itch! I am scrupulous about hygiene, shower two to three times a day, apply the salve religiously. But directions say, "if the condition persists for more than two weeks, see your doctor." It has been going on for more than a month. I see my doctor and what does she say?  "Apply the salve for three weeks." If I could go back in time I would have rung down the curtain and said, "Now listen here. You're not paying attention. I don't need a further diagnosis; I need something to stop the itching and the salve isn't working!"

I think the reason I didn't get aggressive is 1) I still suffer from an age-old belief that doctor-knows-best and you never get aggressive with doctors; 2) she's a young woman and I'm frankly not keen on the idea of pulling down my pants, lifting up my testicles and saying, "SEE!  LOOK AT THAT!!!", and 3) I didn't see any reason to be concerned about #2 because I could take that up directly with a dermatologist. No need to flash the jewels twice.

So she's out the door leaving me with her assistant to take photos of my scalp. End of session. I go home feeling like I've been duped. 

I write her (Kaiser has an internal e-mail system) and tell her my complaint and accept responsibility for not stressing that it's the jock-itch that's driving me crazy and should have been highest priority. She takes a couple days to respond.

Meanwhile I get a call from Kaiser to schedule a brain scan. I do that, completely passively, still annoyed at the fact I haven't heard from a dermatologist.

This morning I go in to have my head examined - radiation to the brain on Friday the 13th?  - did I really agree to that?

"That'll be $195 co-pay, says the nice young man." "No way," says I.  I have Medicare, and I pay $100 a month on top of that for Kaiser supplemental, and you want another two hundred bucks? It dawns on me then that I'm acting like a pin-ball, merely bouncing wherever the flippers want me to go. 

Nice-young-man looks it up, "It's for your vertigo," he says.

Oh. Cue Emily Litella. Never mind. I pay the $195, have my head examined and vow to go home, calm down and wait for dermatology to call and schedule me in for a closer inspection of the naughty parts.

Life was much less complicated when I was young.