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Coloring Mandalas: A Rant

***** Warning… I’m on a rant **** I read a blog post this morning about adult coloring pages/books with mandalas being a tool of Satan.  Normally, I read things like this will a jaded eye and go on my merry … Continue reading

People are Just People

People are People So, I’ve pretty much had it with people dumping on people because there is something, just a little something, that they don’t like. Hair color, nationality, sexual orientation, gender, whatever… People rag on other people for lots of reasons. None of them are really good reasons.
I don’t know if I’m getting old, or I’m just flat out weird, or maybe a combination of a lot of things, but (as I’ve been watching out the window of the bus navigating the highways and byways of Ecuador) I realize that that People are People.
The people you pass on the street? They may not be JUST like you, but they really are just like you. They have their own problems. They have their own opportunities. They hurt, they get angry, they get happy, they love.
Life is so full of ire and anger and stress, why is it that people find it necessary to spend so much energy and effort on judging and hurting other people.
Cliche? yeah… I know.. but… seriously… why can’t we all just get along?
I watch the people… they are going to work, carrying their children, waitng in line at the bank, packed like sardines (more cliche? full of it today, aren’t I?) in city busses.
What is it about people that compels them to judge, to hate, to malign? Energy would be much better spent focussng on making yourself less stressed and more content rather than expending it on hate against others…

okay… soap box over.. you can go back to your regularly scheulded programming.

Methotrexate… a rant…

Okay, so I gave you fair warning.  This is a rant.  I try not to let it eat at me and fester, but there are just some things that are so irritating that I have to let lose.  THIS is one of them.

Methotrexate has always been kind of a sore spot with me (not to… you know… make bad jokes about stomach shots and stuff).  For a while I had a hard time finding a store that had sufficient available Methotrexate (liquid) to fill my prescription.  It isn’t a profitable drug.  Passe.  So the makers don’t always manufacture sufficient.  Or there is a mass recall (this has happened more than makes me comfortable).  Add to that, my DOCTORS have suggested that I would be better off using the “with preservative” kind and have written my scripts as such.

Most pharmacies don’t have a problem filling what is written.  Most… If they have it.  I’ve had trouble with one chain in more than one city… in more than one state… in more than one TIME zone… when it comes to this drug.

In Texas it was ‘suggested” (okay… they told me flat out) that they don’t carry my medication as it is written.  I need to go BACK to my doctor and MAKE her write my script either as pills (which make me really REALLY sick) or as the injectables that they DO carry because the company they happen to chose to use doesn’t carry the with preservative vials.  So… I said that they wouldn’t be my pharmacy, I trust my doctor and it is HER job to write what she wants me to take… not theirs to prescribe what they want to sell me.

Now I find myself insured with a company and the pharmacy that I HAVE to use for maintenance drugs (which, despite the fact that I take MTX every week and have for three or four years now, apparently this isn’t… ) is… yep yep yep… the one that doesn’t like my MTX script.

Skip forward to yesterday.

Dr called in my refill.  One month supply, 4 shiny little vials (except the doctor thinks she’s calling in two moth supply… blood test to blood test) came from the pharmacy.  Bear and I got into a lengthy text message conversation about the meds.  He said the bottles didn’t look like what I’ve been taking.  They didn’t.  They say preservative free on the vials, so I got a one month supply, half of which I would be throwing out, and the vials are bigger and a different shape than what I use.  OH… and they are twice the dose I use.  The ones I take are 25mg/ml the ones they filled are 50mg/ml.

Now, I’m not a pharmacist or anything, but I’m good enough at math (it was one of the dual minors on my undergrad degree) to know that 50 is kind of a bigger number than 25.

I called the pharmacy.  They don’t carry my script and TECHNICALLY the doctor didn’t say it HAD to be with preservative.  They GUESS (they guess???) they can TRY to get what I take to fill my script NEXT month, MAYBE, but only if the doctor SPECIFICALLY says they HAVE to.  Otherwise they will give me what they like to sell not what I take.

What do I do with the drugs I won’t take?

Toss them they guess, they can’t do anything with them.  WE left the store.

The guy on the phone laughed at me.  He thought it was hilarious that I was calling him about this.

I called the insurance company.  The part of the company that handles the prescriptions.  The part of the INSURANCE company DIRECTLY AFFILIATED with the pharmacy (which is why I HAVE to use them for maintenance drugs) because I was concerned with being laughed at and being told that there is NOTHING they can do until they get a different prescription.

And I had questions about why (maybe the doctor changed what dose she wants me to take even though I’ve been mostly controlled and even though when I was there she verified my dosage) it was 50mg rather than 25mg.

The insurance company showed that 25mg had been billed in Feb and (GHASP) yeseterday.  25… 25… yeah… the right dose.

I was also informed that MTX is apparently not considered a maintenance drug, so I can get THAT filled anywhere I like.  So I’m going back to where I can get what I take without argument or stress.

I don’t understand why they think it is okay to mess up my meds.  And I know it isn’t personal.  They mess up meds for lots of people or it wouldn’t be such a joke.

My MTX… taking twice the strength might make me feel crappier than usual for a day, but it probably wouldn’t do any real lasting damage.  But other people take other meds.  They RELY on pharmacies filling the scripts RIGHT.  They might not realize the dose is doubled.  What then?  Not everyone has a George Bailey looking out for them.  Not everyone triple checks the labels every time (okay, MOST times).  What happens with them.

he he he… ooopsy?

shake my head… you are dealing with LIVES… it’s really not that funny.

On Bedside Manner

I’ve been struggling with the bedside manner of doctors and their assistants for the last few days.  I’m not sure if that class isn’t required in medical school (you know the class, your patients are humans, they have feelings and you might want to remove your foot from your mouth BEFORE you speak and make everything worse) but I know there are a whole bunch of people who obviously flunked it.

I have a shiny new ENT.  I needed the ENT because without his approval that I don’t have Staph any longer and that it wasn’t MRSA and I’m good before I could get the Orencia infusion I was scheduled for last Tuesday.  I went.  I listened.  I answered all the questions honestly (I think that was my first mistake).  Dr looked me over and promptly told me that my face is deformed and that makes it defective.

Really?

They taught you that in medical school.  Tell your patients that they are deformed?  My new theme song is Hunchback’s Outcast.  Actually… it pretty much was before that… I’ve come to embrace my freakdom and realize that sometimes being an outcast is a really good thing.  It means I UNDERSTAND… but I digress (go figure).

So… one doctor told me I was deformed and defective.  Fail

Called my Rheumy office THREE TIMES to make sure they got the ENT’s report so I could get in to get my infusion just one week late (Like the Rheumy promised when I left without it LAST week).  The PA finally actually CHECKED the fax machine… Friday… oh wow, it’s here.  Sorry… grrrrr… well, you won’t be worked in this coming Tuesday, we are already double booked, and next week doesn’t look too promising either and we already cancelled your next two appointments because you didn’t get your last infusion on time. Sorry.  I will talk to the doctor and find out when we will be able to get around to working you back into the rotation.

It would maybe have come off better if she had SOUNDED like she gave two shits about me getting back in or the fact that the antibiotics the ENT gave me kicked me into the mother of all flairs.

The “gee, sucks to be you” tone sent me into a good thirty minutes of crying in the car (sitting in the parking lot of the boob squisher’s where I made the call to the Rheumy.  I know they have to double book the lady who does infusions.  I knew I was taking my chances of getting in anyway.  But the “I really don’t give a shit” tone just sent me over the edge.  It wasn’t MY fault I didn’t get my infusion. I was there, I was healed from the Staph, I was more than willing to get my infusion.  YOU people sent me away.  I did what I was told.  I’m DOING what I was told. Curb the bitchy attitude and learn that you are the PA not the principle at a Catholic School reprimanding me for being a bad person.

Okay, I understand that I frequently take things badly and that I react to the way things are said.  BUT I know that I’m not the only one.  AND I know that you CAN learn how your words sound.  I know that these people have a LOT of education.  I just wish that people skills were a little higher on the list of must have classes even if your dossier does say that you can part the red sea and turn water into whine (yeah… whine, not wine… bite me… it’s my homonym!).

Reflections on Jury Duty

So… yesterday I reported to jury duty.  Actually… TECHNICALLY, it wasn’t to jury duty, it was to see if I was to be called to possibly sit a jury panel.  Turned out I wasn’t one of the people who got to be called to sit a jury, but it was definitely a day of education, regardless.

They call probably 600 people to report every Monday to possibly be on a jury. The first couple dozen leave because they have kids 12 or under who would not have adequate supervision if they had to sit a jury.  The next couple hand fulls leave because they have other qualifying situations (over 70, something else) that allows them to exempt being a juror. The next small herd left because they were disqualified by their status (they were convicted of a misdemeanor theft).  The last chunk to leave had a qualifying (given they were listening to their conscience) hardship that meant they didn’t have to stay, too.

People all around me murmured and muttered about how they could suddenly find a way to  get out of potentially sitting a jury.
Oh man and mine is even lower than yours.  Damn.

I got a low number on my summons.  My boyfriend said that low numbers always get picked.

I can’t afford to be on a jury.

I don’t want to take all of this time out of my normal life.

The three panels were picked.  26 for each of the two county trials, 56 for the district trial.  Most of the people were crestfallen as their names were called to go to a trial.  People, as they lined up to leave mostly seemed to be doing the “woohoo I got out of it” dance.

Then when I got home and started to look through the way other people apparently feel about jury duty, I was even more enlightened… People will do almost anything to get out of jury duty.

I wasn’t jumping up and down having a party when I got my summons.  Especially when it just so happened that I might end up having to serve on a jury on the day of my doctor appointment that I scheduled 8 weeks ago.  But after the initial “oh man” I just figured I should probably go into it thinking that it wasn’t meant to be an inconvenience in MY life (even though it appears that many people seem to think that it is personal and the world seems to be just out to get them).

If I were accused of something that I knew I didn’t do, I would want a jury to hear my case.  I would want at least a few of those people to take it seriously not just be there bitching and whining the whole time because they couldn’t get out of it.

On your way into the Jury inpanelment room (where the huge herd of potential jurors hang out to find out if they are going to be on a panel) you pass the statue of a soldier who died guaranteeing our freedom.  You walk RIGHT past his statue.  We take so much for granted.  All we (in this case) are being asked to do is sit our butts in a chair in a room for anywhere from 3 hours to a week depending on whether or not we sit a jury.  A week.  Sitting on our butts.

Yes, there are people for whom this will cause issues and I totally get that.  But for most of the people in question it is an inconvenience.  that’s all.

Would it have been an inconvenience?  Yeah.  I would have had to reschedule some doctor appointments.  I would have had to make sure people knew not to panic if they couldn’t get hold of me for a few days.  I would have had to worry about making sure how I would need to schedule my meds and I would have had to make sure I had some naproxin in case things got really ouchy.

But geeze.

What is really the bid deal in doing this?