Calling the Doctor's Office

I think we can all relate to this today, even though it happened in 2001.

I was at work on Thursday, July 5. I had had pain in my ankle every day since I had fallen and twisted my ankle. The orthopedist I had seen nearly a month earlier had said I had a “non-union” in my ankle. I guess that made me pretty special, because he said that during his career he had seen about 3,000 ankle fractures but maybe only one non-union.

Well, my non-union was hurting like hell and I decided I would have to face the music and call his office for an appointment.

“Please pay close attention, because our calling options have changed. If you are having a true medical emergency, please hang up and dial 911 now. If you are a physician or other health care provider, press 1. If you would like to reach the billing department, press 2. For office location, fax number, and office hours, press 3. If you would like to schedule an appointment, press 4.

I pressed 4. A new recording reported that everyone was already busy and I should stay on the line for the next available person. After just a few seconds (!), a real person answered. 

“I’d like to schedule an appointment with Dr. Klimkiewitz.”

The real person briskly asked me for my name and date of birth. I’m not sure why she needed that, because she then said, “The first available appointment he has is August 7.” Maybe they don't give that information out to people whose dates of birth they don't know. 

Disappointed with the month-long delay, but knowing it was probably futile to try to get in sooner, I said OK.  But then, realizing my referral might not be valid that far down the road, I added, “This is for a follow-up—could you check that my referral from my primary doctor will still be valid?”

“Do you have the yellow copy we gave you? It gives the number of covered visits.”

“Not with me,” I said.

“Hold on, let me transfer you to his secretary.”

A new person answered. I told her I was scheduling a follow-up visit with Dr. Klimkiewitz and wanted to be sure my previous referral was still valid.

She started to tell me that referrals are good only for a certain length of time, but interrupted herself and said “What insurance to you have?”

“Capital Care.”

“Just a minute,” she said. Then I got a dial tone.

I sighed. I looked up the number again (this was before I had a cell phone). I dialed again.

“Please pay close attention, because our options have changed. . . .”

I couldn’t remember which option I has used, so I had to listen to it all again.

I pressed 4 and got the recording that everyone was busy “helping other people,” which by then I was quite certain was a lie. 

This time a real person did NOT answer within a few seconds, and I got the on-hold torture: “Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line. This call may be monitored for quality assurance purposes.”

PLEASE, I prayed to the god of phone trees, PLEASE make this call monitored for quality assurance purposes. Eventually the first person I talked to, so long ago, came on the line.

I tried to sound chipper: “Hi, this is Marian Wiseman again. You transferred me to Dr. Klimkiewitz’s secretary and she . . .”

“What is your date of birth?”

I considered pointing out that we had gone through this before, but I suppressed that urge and gave her my DOB.

“Let me transfer you to his secretary. Her direct line is 546-8613. Her name is Charlintsia.” Then she transfered me. Again.

The call was answered by a woman sounding very much like the woman I talked to before..

 “Hello—Charlintsia?”

“Yes?”

 “This is Marian Wiseman again. We got disconnected when we spoke before.” Please note, readers, that I did NOT say “YOU disconnected me.”

 I repeated my request about the referral.

“When was the last time you saw Dr. Klimkiewitz?” 

“May 9.”

“Was this for your knee or your shoulder?” She had apparently pulled my file and found—I can’t deny it—that I had previously seen Dr. Klimkiewitz for numerous body parts.

“Actually, it was my ankle.”

In what can only be called a tone of superiority, she said, “The referral you had, if anyone had looked at it, was dated for 2000, and was valid up to July 19, 2000.” I pictured Charlintsia, smiling smugly like a frog that just caught a grasshopper. 

I responded sweetly. “Well, let’s just ignore the year part, because we know that was just a mistake and was supposed to say 2001, since I didn’t hurt my ankle until this year. So, I’d like to see Dr. Klimkiewitz before July 19, 2001, which is still two weeks away.”

“He isn’t available next week.”

“What about today or tomorrow?” I would have willingly cancelled  my lunch date and skipped two scheduled meetings to avoid needing to get a new referral from my primary care doctor. Believe it or not, the phone tree and recordings and unreturned phone calls of my PCP’s office made the current interaction with Dr. K’s office seem positively streamlined.

“Today he has clinic, which is double booked, and he doesn’t see patients on Fridays.”

“What about the week after next?”

“I don’t have the schedule for that week.”

I knew that she meant I had to go back to the appointment desk and start over. I decided Charlintsia definitely looked a lot more like a wart hog than a frog. I was pretty sure Dr. Klimkiewitz could have surgically repaired my ankle in the amount of time I had already spent on the phone.

I decide to play the long shot. I did, after all, have a non-union and was prepared to tell Charlintsia that I  was very special to Dr. K.

“I’d like Dr. Klimkiewitz to call me.” 

Nothing daunted, she said, “What about?”

“About my ankle.” I didn’t even use a sarcastic tone of voice.

“What about it?” she asked. Was she kidding? Can warthogs make jokes?

I used small words: “To talk about the pain I’m having and decide what the next step is.”

“What’s your number? Dr. Klimkiewitz returns calls within 48 hours,” she said. 

Wow! Maybe Charlintsia was really a warthog whose inner piglet just wanted to get out.