scrubjayspeaks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scrubjayspeaks) wrote2021-08-26 06:50 pm
scrubjayspeaks) wrote2021-08-26 06:50 pm
Entry tags:
Today's Keyboard Smash
Every year, my work insurance has this third-party ~health~ service that creates fun hoops for us to jump through. It's a way to make getting your annual physical both more inconvenient and less avoidable. Presumably, their end goal is to make the annual physical both mandatory (instead of just imposing a financial penalty for skipping it) and a week-long torture session, at which point they will have reached the pinnacle of American healthcare.
To say that I dread this--more than I already dread all doctor appointments--is an understatement. And people wonder why my blood pressure goes up twenty points just by stepping foot in a doctor's office. But I got it done, leaving work early to accommodate their increasingly restrictive hours of operation. The third-party service has added even more metrics than the one we used last year, so I also had to suffer through the indignity of a slender white man taking my waist measurements with a paper tape measure that was barely long enough to calculate my ring size, to say nothing of my glorious girth. Got the paperwork all filled out and, allegedly, faxed in.
Went home and began my yearly shame spiral. Then discovered they screwed up on the paperwork. Spent my lunch break today on hold (because gods know, they were gone from the office by the time I got home yesterday) to find out they were "pretty sure" they had scanned in the paperwork, but they couldn't find it. So I had to go in after work--again--to take them my copy, so they could check the ticky box they missed. They then faxed it while I was there. Which was interesting, because I got an email confirmation that the third-party service had received it timestamped within minutes of that. So I now know they abso-bloodly-lutely did NOT fax it yesterday like they said.
On the plus side, the seething rage I feel toward the doctor, his staff, the third-party service, the insurance company itself, and *checks notes* all of humanity has gone a long way to dispelling the murky depression of my shame spiral. Nothing more clarifying than being reminded that other people are, in fact, shit and not to be used as a metric against which to measure my worth.
Unfortunately, the doctor wants a follow-up in six weeks, during which time I am expected to magically fix my blood pressure by way of weight loss. Just block off the middle of October for shame spiral #2. Go ahead and pencil that shit into my schedule.
I'm buying myself a set of decent dumbbells as a consolation for putting up with this, and no one can stop me. *grumbles* Not that they pay any blessed attention to how stronk I might be, no, no, just wanna know if I've eaten chips today, tedious motherfuckers...
To say that I dread this--more than I already dread all doctor appointments--is an understatement. And people wonder why my blood pressure goes up twenty points just by stepping foot in a doctor's office. But I got it done, leaving work early to accommodate their increasingly restrictive hours of operation. The third-party service has added even more metrics than the one we used last year, so I also had to suffer through the indignity of a slender white man taking my waist measurements with a paper tape measure that was barely long enough to calculate my ring size, to say nothing of my glorious girth. Got the paperwork all filled out and, allegedly, faxed in.
Went home and began my yearly shame spiral. Then discovered they screwed up on the paperwork. Spent my lunch break today on hold (because gods know, they were gone from the office by the time I got home yesterday) to find out they were "pretty sure" they had scanned in the paperwork, but they couldn't find it. So I had to go in after work--again--to take them my copy, so they could check the ticky box they missed. They then faxed it while I was there. Which was interesting, because I got an email confirmation that the third-party service had received it timestamped within minutes of that. So I now know they abso-bloodly-lutely did NOT fax it yesterday like they said.
On the plus side, the seething rage I feel toward the doctor, his staff, the third-party service, the insurance company itself, and *checks notes* all of humanity has gone a long way to dispelling the murky depression of my shame spiral. Nothing more clarifying than being reminded that other people are, in fact, shit and not to be used as a metric against which to measure my worth.
Unfortunately, the doctor wants a follow-up in six weeks, during which time I am expected to magically fix my blood pressure by way of weight loss. Just block off the middle of October for shame spiral #2. Go ahead and pencil that shit into my schedule.
I'm buying myself a set of decent dumbbells as a consolation for putting up with this, and no one can stop me. *grumbles* Not that they pay any blessed attention to how stronk I might be, no, no, just wanna know if I've eaten chips today, tedious motherfuckers...