(Garbled Garbled) Hurt Guy

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow. I hate doctors and I'm sick of seeing them. I'm just going to have my teeth cleaned, but it's all the same to me. I've got appointments coming up with my dermatologist (for my annual skin cancer check) and my opthamologist (for my annual macular degeneration check). I don't have firm dates, but I always see these doctors in June or July. I know they'll be calling me soon. I have oncology appointments in June and August. (I love that word "oncology." It sounds so much better than saying cancer.) I don't understand why I can't simply call a temporary halt to any further medical examinations.

Here in Crazy Land, I've already waded deep into the jungle of absurdity. I got a call from one of my local hurt guys while I was having a conversation about the database with The Shunner. Now that's the way to start your morning. No hesitation, no procrastination--just full throttle nutty right off the bat.

The Local Hurt Guy (as opposed to the Hurt Guy With Crappy Law Firm in another state) injured his ankle over a year ago and only recently reported that he's still having pain from it. He went to the nurse's station at our client's site on the day he hurt himself. I reported it to our insurance carrier and they decided to deny the claim. Hurt Guy also went to a local clinic to have them look at this ancient ankle injury, but they sent him back to work with no restrictions. That day. I'm guessing that's at least part of the reason the claim was denied by Carrier.

The clinic people, like all clinics and doctors these days, thoroughly understand the love affair our country has with litigation. It's like a national hobby. Therefore, they passed him off to someone else who could more definitively say whether Hurt Guy has an injury. And so he could sue them if it came to that. The doctor referred him to an orthopedic physician (or surgeon). This is where it all gets a bit murky. Either the original treating physician ordered an MRI or the orthopedic doctor ordered one...or something. Somebody wanted a damn MRI.

I'm guessing that our insurance carrier declined to pay for that, too. When the Hurt Guy called me this morning, he said he'd gotten "a whole buncha" letters from the insurance company and another "whole buncha" letters from the State Workers' Comp Commission. I was a little puzzled as to why he was calling me. But you know, being perplexed is a daily feature of my life here in Crazy Land.

"Well, if you can't understand what (carrier's rep) is telling you about it, ask to speak to someone else. I don't know why they denied the claim or even if they denied the claim." I said that in a much gentler tone than it seems when I see it here on the screen.

"I'm at the (garbled garbled) clinic. (Something something) Julie."

"Well then tell Julie to call them." I said

Then he starts in again on the "buncha papers" thing. Eventually I managed to get him off the phone. Just so you know, the closer I get to blood work day with my oncologist, the more irritable I become. When I hung up the phone, I did not rip it out of the wall and throw it across the room.

That was lucky, because I needed the energy for more aggravation. Hurt Guy decided to drop by the office with some paperwork from the (garbled garbled) clinic. Crazy Employee buzzed me from the front desk, informing me that he was here. She told me that he was scheduled for an MRI and he'd been referred to a podiatrist.

"Wait," she said to me. I hear more garbled, unintelligible (what I believe to be) speech from Hurt Guy. "He's not scheduled for an MRI..."

"I'm coming," I said. I actually hoped that, if I talked with Hurt Guy in person, I could figure out what the hell was going on with him. I know. Ever the optimist. Or the lunatic.

Nope. Didn't work. I still don't know a damn thing about what's going on with him. (I can hear you laughing, so stop it.) I took his papers from him and made some copies to fax to the insurance carrier. He held out his hand for me to shake and it was that limp, barely touching you shake that gives you the willies. You know, if you don't really want to shake my hand, then don't stick yours out there in my direction. I told him thanks for stopping by.

I did not go back to my office, pick up my computer and hurl it across the room. As a matter of fact, I didn't throw anything. Instead, I made the rounds to all the offices in Crazy Land, being disruptive and causing general hilarity (but not about Hurt Guy-- he's not funny at all). I dropped by Owner's office to distract him from whatever he was doing. He wanted to know what the good mood was about. "Anxiety," I told him.

He made me promise to go back to my office and settle down. But he wants me to drop by his office tomorrow and Friday. I'm irresistible when I'm aggravated.