Why just bust? Might as well double bust.

Attempt 1: Help me help you (also know as, I'll tell you what, next time I'll save my $10 copay and just help myself)

As an adult I've learned that one of the greatest things about being a grown up is that you can pay someone to listen to you complain about your problems without having to worry about them judging you, or getting bored, or comparing your problems to their problems.  This person is a therapist.  After 9 months of Asher not feeling good I decided that I might benefit from starting my rant afresh with a stranger.  Yeah it would cost me, but I was feeling the need for some tools and coping skills that therapists go to school for, so I figured I would receive some benefit.  Wrong.  False.  Uh uh.  Nope.  Dammit.

First, my therapist had big goofball hipster reading glasses (my apologies to any fashion-forward readers who own and proudly wear big goofball hipster reading glasses).   Here's the thing.  If I'm talking to you at Starbucks I might think your glasses are cute (er funny).  But it is impossible to sit across from a professional and take them seriously when these big glasses are eating their face.  Impossible.  She kept trying to help me and all I could think was, Someone has to help your face!  and Mr. McGoo called, he wants his glasses back.  They looked like this:

After I assimilated to the glasses, which took the first four minutes in the room, the therapist excused herself to take a call.  She came back in and sat down and in the middle of me saying, "And then he was hospitalized..." she left to take another call.  Not feeling the love McGoo.  Not. Feeling. The. Love.

It took thirty minutes to go through Asher's health from start to finish.  Then another 10 to go through my health.  Which left us 20 minutes for game plan time.  She started the game plan by asking, "Why are you here?" to which I said, "I have situational anxiety from the health issues me and my son are up against.  I like being in control and I am not in control and I can't be in control.  I would like to be validated about how I am feeling and also get some tools for coping."   The therapist nodded, tapped her pen against her notepad thoughtfully, and then said, "How do you feel about puppets?"  I looked at her and said, "For Asher?"  And she said, "No, for you.  Have you ever thought about using play therapy?  Talking things out with puppets?"  I blinked.  Crossed my legs.  Leaned back into the couch.  Thought about what to say next.  Thought about what I could have just done or said in our first forty minute together to make her think that it was appropriate to forgo standard adult behavioral therapy and opt instead for make believe solutions for real world problems. Then I just waited.  Silence would be my answer.  "Not puppets then?"  Again, silence.  I know that isn't the ideal client, and maybe lent more credit to her thinking I was 5, but come on, a grown woman just explained to you exactly what she needs and you want her to have Mr. Horsie ask Mr. Moo Cow why he thinks Baby Asher won't eat his yum yums and get big and strong?  Try again McGoo.  So she did.  "Okay.  Your homework is to make a 'feelings' collage."  This time I spoke. "Nah."  She pushed on and said, "This is an activity you and your son can do together.  Sit on your living room floor, look through magazines, cut out pictures."  Rather than explain the last thing any sane person would do is let Captain Precarious (aka Asher) man a pair of scissors, I returned to the silent treatment.  "Another thing you can do is drink tea and light candles if you are feeling anxious."  I took this opportunity to say, "I have an idea.  How about some anti-anxiety medication?"   She said, "Mhmm" wrote down a note and then smiled and chattered "Our time is up!  I can see you again on July 29th!".  

Encounter number 2: Trying to reach Asher's GI doctor (also known as, it would be easier to communicate with someone on Mars)

After an evening this past weekend of upset stomach (we think from dairy) I had wanted to touch base with the GI provider here about doing a blood test for a dairy allergy when he gets the rest of his labs done next week (otherwise we have to wait until July 30th at his allergy appt).  Here is the problem with trying to reach his GI provider: there isn't technically a GI clinic because all of the doctors left the state.  So if you call the GI Department at the Children's Hospital, the voicemail literally tells you no one works there and you should go to Phoenix to receive care.  If you call the Children's Hospital, get transferred to the pediatric clinic, and get to the GI outpatient clinic, you will have the option of choosing 1 of 5 mailboxes for physicians who no longer work there.  The only way I have been able to actually get a message to his provider has been to find the one person who is willing to write down my information and pass it by hand through a chain of nurses and receptionists until it reaches someone who can call back.  They don't have electronic medical records and they don't use pagers.  And apparently this provider, who is covering the GI clinic, doesn't have an office phone.  As I said, this has worked one time.  But I realized this afternoon that she never called me back about a test he had done three weeks ago, and in light of his continued weight loss I wanted to check in again about our plan.

So I called the Pediatric Specialty Clinics.  

Here is what happened:

"Hi I need to leave a message for Becky V. in the GI clinic."

"We don't have a GI clinic."

"I know but Becky V. is covering.  She is a nurse practitioner."

"Hmm, I don't think so."

"You don't think she is covering or you don't think she is a nurse practitioner?"

Giggle.

"My son Asher saw her on June 11th.  He is scheduled to see her again on July 16th.  I have questions about labs and it is important that I talk to her."

"I will transfer you to the GI clinic."  (oh so now you have one?)

"No, please don't do that.  When that happens I have to choose a mailbox of a doctor who no longer works for you and no one will call me back.  I need to either speak to a real person or leave you a message that will get to her."

"Hmm, I don't know what to do."

"I understand it is confusing.  If I leave you a message can you get it to her, or leave it on the GI desk?" (these people are all in a small outpatient building)

"I don't know who Becky is."

"Do you know where GI is?"

"Hmm, no."

"Can you look up her pager number or phone number and I'll call her directly?"

"What's her name?"

"Becky Vaughn."

typity type type type...smack gum, gum smack, smack gum, gum smack...

"We don't have a Becky Vaughn who works here."

"Rebecca?"

typity type type type...smack

"Nope.  Not her either."

"This concerns me.  You are telling me the UNM provider seeing my son is not a UNM provider?"

"Well, I mean, I don't know, I can't find her in the computer.  Maybe she works here.  But I've never heard of her."  This is when I start to get frustrated.  And not so friendly.

"Do you understand why I might be having a hard time with this?  I need to speak to my son's specialist, and you are telling me you don't know how, and that therefore, I don't get to speak with her and she will never know I called."

"Hmmm, no."

"Okay.  So do I need to drive down there tomorrow and walk around until I find her?  Is that how I get my message to her?"

"Oh yes!  That would be so much easier for me!  That would be great."

"No. No no no.  That is ridiculous."

"Oh here, I found her, I'll transfer you now."  (no more smacky smack)

You have reached Adam Johnson, social worker in the audiology and speech clinics....

That B just transferred me to a random person to get me off the phone.  Faaaaaantastic.

On a pleasant note, this is what my evening looked like.  Super worn out baby after practicing jumping at Renae's all day (best childcare provider in the history of childcare providers...I love my Renae).  And this is what our sunset looked like as a giant thunderstorm rolled in over it.  Very beautiful.