HAY GUYS DID EYE MENTION WE HAVE A FUNDRAISER GOING ON?
I'm supposed to be moderately sedated right now with a swans cath sitting in my heart. But I'm at home typing this and listening to my parents teach Rich how to use a gas-powered lawn mower in the front yard. This is better by a mile.
I thought it suspicious yesterday that I'd not heard from my coordinator about my admission time this morning. When I called, I could immediately tell something was catty-wonkus because Fran (my coordinator) was using terms like "circle jerk" and "cluster....youknowwhat," and such. She is extremely professional and extremely frank about the short-comings of our current medical care system. And I trust her implicitly.
Apparently, my insurance company has decided that the frequency of my visits are, well...too frequent. They requested a "peer to peer review" which essentially means two of my doctors have to confer and agree that I absolutely need to be admitted every six weeks. Insurance will also ask to see my numbers - ejection fraction, cardiac output, etc.
The timing of my admissions aren't necessarily based on my health at any given moment (though they will be before this is over), but rather on when someone can keep the boys, when Christie can get off work...ya know, LIFE. Six weeks seems about right for my health too because it's around that time that my fluid retention goes haywire and I benefit from the IV inotropic medications.
If the insurance company looks strictly at my numbers, they will see a 43 year old male who is the picture of health. HELLO, THIS IS HCM - EVERYTHING LOOKS GREAT UNTIL YOU DROP DEAD ON THE BASKETBALL COURT. But wait, I'm sure they learned that in medical school. What's that, you say? Insurance coordinators don't attend medical school and they may not understand the subtleties of non-obstructive diastolic hyper-tropic cardiomyopathy with low graidents as well as an actual, medical school educated cardiologist? I'm shocked. SHOCKED, I say.
The only time my numbers freak out is when I exert myself - like walking, or sitting up, or digesting food. Not that I do those things on a regular basis. That would be crazy! So as long as I stay away from things that humans do, I should be fine until the insurance company can afford for me to be admitted next time. I understand. Blue Cross/Blue Shield is strapped for cash these days - their CEO only "earned" $12.9 million (NOT a made-up number) in 2013. Just kidding. By "earned" I meant, "went to some meetings and had cocktails after." If I'm goofing around and having heart failure all the time, how is the poor guy going to afford to keep his labradoodle in fresh sweaters, or pay for his mistresses' hair removal treatments? SOMEONE PLEASE, THINK OF THE CEO'S!!
So while this assboat is out playing golf with his bad haircut, I'll just take more and more meds this week in a vain attempt to keep the fluid under control. No idea how that is going to play out - hopefully the docs go to bat for me justify the frequency of my admissions.
On top of that, the patient population at Penn State was ridiculous today, so I would have been more than 24 hours getting a room (likely). Since my parents are visiting this week and Christie's schedule is more flexible this week, we just let them bump it to next week.
Know this: if the hospital is overpopulated, the nurse to patient ratio is off-kilter, which runs them ragged and reduces the quality of care for the patient. Yet, despite the rip-roaring business the hospital is seeing this week (and many other weeks, because this is a common problem) - it will not result in pay raises or better perks for the nursing staff. And then they will moan and cry about the nursing shortage. While the CEO likely makes $12.9 million (TOTALLY a made up number) this year.
So I'll enjoy my freedom for one more week and get back to you all with my 5-point plan to end Blue Cross/Blue Shield's reign of opportunistic terror. It begins with a strongly worded letter writing campaign filled with pejoratives and words like "succubus" and "rat-vulture." Sharpen your pencils and meet me back here tomorrow.
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