Facefire
Well. Despite the US fancy-pants private health-care system here, one still can't get a same-day appointment with a specialist. Ha! You have to wait three weeks just like in Canada! However, I did manage to find a same-day appointment with a physician's assistant, which walks like a dermatologist and talks like a dermatologist and seemed good enough for me. So I guess the American medical system wins that contest.
What I got for Erik's money (well, mostly Erik's insurance company's money) was a prescription, a whack of blood tests, orders to get a chest x-ray, and two injections in my, um, "hips." The injections were supposed to stop my reaction immediately. I knew they wouldn't (they didn't), but thought it was worth a try. Actually, I was secretly hoping I would be facefire-free within hours, so maybe I was a little disappointed when the reaction continued to spread and worsen for three more days. Hm.
The chest x-ray illustrated everything great about private health-care. I went to a walk-in imaging centre nearby with a big waiting area that had lots of reading material, coffee (shockingly, Timothy's coffee) & tea, and a large-screen TV playing Shark Tale. I tried to distract Isabel with the books I brought, but dumb old Clifford is no match for a movie about FISH! The best feature, though, was a woman who was there just to help people through the process. She brought coffee or water to people who were tired or weak, and it turned out she has a daughter just a few months older than Isabel. So she played with Isabel while I got ready, and she took Isabel as close to the x-ray room as it was safe for them to go, and read her a story while I was in getting scanned. I was so impressed and pleased (I had pictured Isabel crying with her faced pressed up against the door) I couldn't be more thankful. It's so extravagant I felt guilty, but at the same time it's nice when there is enough money in the system for people to think about how to make medicine a pleasant experience.
What I got for Erik's money (well, mostly Erik's insurance company's money) was a prescription, a whack of blood tests, orders to get a chest x-ray, and two injections in my, um, "hips." The injections were supposed to stop my reaction immediately. I knew they wouldn't (they didn't), but thought it was worth a try. Actually, I was secretly hoping I would be facefire-free within hours, so maybe I was a little disappointed when the reaction continued to spread and worsen for three more days. Hm.
The chest x-ray illustrated everything great about private health-care. I went to a walk-in imaging centre nearby with a big waiting area that had lots of reading material, coffee (shockingly, Timothy's coffee) & tea, and a large-screen TV playing Shark Tale. I tried to distract Isabel with the books I brought, but dumb old Clifford is no match for a movie about FISH! The best feature, though, was a woman who was there just to help people through the process. She brought coffee or water to people who were tired or weak, and it turned out she has a daughter just a few months older than Isabel. So she played with Isabel while I got ready, and she took Isabel as close to the x-ray room as it was safe for them to go, and read her a story while I was in getting scanned. I was so impressed and pleased (I had pictured Isabel crying with her faced pressed up against the door) I couldn't be more thankful. It's so extravagant I felt guilty, but at the same time it's nice when there is enough money in the system for people to think about how to make medicine a pleasant experience.