Entering Stage Left, Dr. Finch

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a REFERRAL!

Last week, I did battle with my insurance company. And maybe won just a little. Okay, that’s not quite true. What happened is that my insurance and healthcare providers actually functioned the way they are supposed to. Whatever, it feels like a victory so I’ll take it.

At the beginning of the week, I called The Worst Insurance Company Ever.  The doctor I had been seeing while on Clomid was my gynecologist, not my PCP. (My insurance requires that I get a referral from the PCP for everything except gynecology. Thank you for at least acknowledging that ladies are grown ups and know when our bits need to be checked out. <End Rant.>) Was it okay to get a referral to a fertility specialist from my gyno, or do I need to go all the way back down the food chain?

Turns out, I needed to go back to my PCP. Which is a problem.

I will spare you all the gory details, but I have been without a PCP for about 8 months. It is a grand combination of insurance company screw ups and the ridiculous waiting time to see a new doctor. Every one I called was booking at least two months out. I had picked a new one, Dr. Finch*, but was not scheduled to see her for our first visit until late July. And there ain’t no way I was waiting that long to get my referral. (That misuse of grammar hurt me more than it did you.)

I called Dr. Finch’s office and explained the situation. I needed to get in soon for a quick consult so I could get my referral, but I wasn’t technically a patient there yet. Would this be a problem? Much to my surprise, NO. Dr. Finch saw me on Friday afternoon. Is this what it feels like to have a functioning healthcare system? God bless ‘Merica!

My visit with Dr. Finch was great. She’s great. I can’t even handle it. My previous PCP was a bit of a tool. She was nice, caring, and had excellent bedside manner, but she simply didn’t listen to me. I kept asking her to see a specialist, she kept telling me that this was “normal.” Not that she was wrong, really– as in, there is nothing “unnormal” about my reproductive bits with the exception that the mysteriously aren’t working. Ahem.

Back to the visit with Dr. Finch- She asked me the usual litany of questions. Are you ovulating regularly? Are you and your husband having appropriately scheduled sexy time? Yes, yes, and all the other yeses. Thanks to the wonders to technology, Dr. Finch was able to get my records from my gynecologist (they are sister medical facilities) and looked at my blood work. Yes, that’s all fine too. After about 15 minutes, I walked out with a referral. Sweet mother of JESUS.

Two things that came out of the visit are bothering me a little, however:

1) When she learned that I am a runner, Dr. Finch suggested that I take it down a notch. I mostly think this is horse shit. I run no more than 20 miles a week, normally more like 15. Though I realize there is a correlation between women who over exercise and infertility, 15 miles a week hardly seems extreme. Besides, I sorta resent the idea that I’m doing this to myself, that physical fitness is somehow harmful to a lady’s delicate constitution. Not that this is what Dr. Finch was implying, but I still don’t love it. She recommended I cut back on the running. I’m debating whether or not to listen to her.

2) After hearing that my sister was diagnosed with not one but two autoimmune diseases, Dr. Finch recommended that I get tested and ordered the blood work. I haven’t really thought about it, and will even admit that I am avoiding thinking about it. I’m not showing any of the symptoms my sister did, but you never know. Until you get tests run, then you do know. It’s a sort of weird feeling, because these tests will just tell me what is already true. I’ve either got one (or two or three) or I don’t. The only difference will be in the knowing– I can’t change any of it.

I’ll be calling about the consultation today. Cross your fingers.

 

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And because I like picking out bird names.

 

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