19 days
Part of the purpose of a shelter is to connect you to resources in the community to reduce your reliance on outside help. Or their help, I guess.
One of the things they're having me do is apply for a health care plan. I had insurance, back when I was pregnant and it ended after the second full month after my baby's birth. The local county cialis has a "health plan" for which you can apply and get reduced-cost health care. In some cases (I think mine qualifies) you get it for free. We have no income, yet. (I've had one interview since we've been at the shelter.) I haven't filed for divorce so there is no order for child support. I have applied for government assistance...it'll be 2 weeks ago Friday...and I am waiting for them to mail me a letter and tell me when my appointment is.
Back to the health care.
I have an injury that requires medication. My doctor finally found something that works well for me. I didn't have it refilled before my insurance ran out. I called the pharmacy to see if I could just pay for it myself. That medication is $210 for a 30 day supply. How can that even be? For that much money, it should heal any and everything wrong with me, acne and stress knots in my back included.
So, I've sat in this eligibility office trying to get on the "Local County Hospital" health plan for a total of 5 hours over two days. It is a scary place. Every seat in the waiting area is full. There was a man there who looked like a skeleton, his wrists almost indistinguishable when viewed from the side. There is another man with a prosthetic leg. He keeps taking it off and fanning himself with it. Nobody wants to be there and they are calling us back at the slowest possible pace, about one case per hour.
I'm finally seen and she signs off on the paper saying I qualify for this health insurance. I remember my prescription and ask how to get it filled through this health program. Apparently, I have to be seen by one of their doctors. The fact that I have two refills waiting for me at the pharmacy is not good enough.
She directs me to the Urgent Care Clinic on the ground floor of the "Local County Hospital". I'm skeptical. I've dealt with this government stuff before. I imagine it crowded and dirty and probably not something that I can do in my allotted child care time before I have to go pick up the kids.
But I want to be responsible and try to take care of everything. So, I drive over. I find parking at the very top of the parking garage, in the bright summer sun. I take an elevator that smells like pee all the way down. It doesn't let me off in the hospital part of the hospital, but underground where the giant carts of soiled linens go. It reminds me a bit walking down a jetway to get on an airplane except the walls were cement blocks with sickly pink peeling paint. I walked and walked and walked...probably three miles total, working my way up from beneath the hospital. I finally came to a bank of elevators, 2 of which were out of order. I remembered how tall the hospital tower was. I pressed the button to go up but since I just needed to go up one floor, I looked around for stairs.
I found two fire escape maps that had a staircase on them nearby. I walked around trying to find the stairs, but couldn't. I went back to the map. It looked like they should be right here...ah, the doors with the sign on them saying that the basement exit is now closed and not useable. ("What do they expect us to do if there IS a fire down here?", I thought.) I came back around the corner to the elevators just in time to see the doors closing and the car going up.
Crap.
Another ten minutes standing around and I finally got on an elevator. I tried to mentally calculate how long it might take to be seen. How many people could there possibly be? I imagined other urgent care clinics I'd been to. They sat, what, maybe 30 in the waiting room? And if all 30 spots were taken? It'd be a couple hours probably, but how bad could it be?
I had no idea.
When the elevator doors opened at the first floor, a swarm of people flooded into the elevator. I barely got off in time. I walked around looking like a tourist in the big city for the first time, trying to find some sign to point me in the direction of the urgent care clinic.
I walked through a waiting area three times the size of my high school cafeteria. Please, god, let this not be it. There was no sign attached to the area. "Maybe it's something else", I thought. I kept walking.
I came to another waiting area, just as big. And, like the one before it, every seat was full. There were at least 250 people sitting around, children bored and cranky and running around. Adults fanning themselves, complaining about the wait. There was no sign here either. Up ahead, I saw some windows, like a bank teller would use. They were on the other side of another giant, completely full waiting area.
I walked up to the empty window. "Can I help you?", the lady behind the glass drawled.
"Yes, is this the urgent care clinic?", I asked.
"Mmhmm.", she replied.
"Ok, well, I-"
"Step back behind the line until your name is called.", she snapped.
"Uh...what?"
"Back behind the line until you hear your name called."
I walked back to the roped off area she'd referred to as the line. (There was no one standing in it.) I stood there for a bit. My mental calculations of how long I'd be sitting there were off the charts. How would I get out before midnight? I had to be back to pick up my kids by 3:30. It looked like there were enough people there to keep a hospital full of doctors busy for a week. "That's what you get for being poor", I thought.
Then, I realized, I didn't give that lady my name. How would my name ever be called? Just then, a tone sounded and a computerized voice announced "Now serving A106". It reminded me of the afterlife scenes (I realized I couldn't remember if it was supposed to be heaven or hell.) from Beetlejuice. I knew right then I could not handle staying there a second longer.
I turned and started the miles long walk back to my car. (Funny side note: My injury is in my leg and it is worsened by walking.) I was angry, muttering to myself, hoping someone who worked at the hospital would stop me and ask me what's wrong so I could tell them what I REALLY think of the "Local County Hospital".
In the car, I called some of the clinics the lady had given me contact information for. I knew that it would probably technically take longer to get into a clinic than into the urgent care place...but seeing the waiting areas for the urgent care place, I wondered if it wouldn't actually take about the same amount of time. At least if I made an appointment, I'd be able to spend weeks waiting at the shelter with my kids instead of in the giant waiting room.
I have a car and no qualms about driving anywhere to be seen. (To avoid a $210 charge for medication, I will go almost anywhere.) I worked my way down the list, one location at a time. Busy signal. Automated system that then transferred me to a busy signal. No answer. Busy signal.
Finally, one answered quickly. I told them I need to make an appointment. "Please hold while I transfer you." Yes! This is the place to be seen! I bet their waiting room is tiny!
I was able to drive all the way from "Local County Hospital" back to the shelter, stopping on the way to get a chicken sandwich because I'd missed lunch before anyone answered my call. I was overjoyed when someone finally picked up the phone. "I need to schedule an appointment", I said.
"I will take down your name and mail you an appointment as one becomes available", the lady said.
"Can you give me an estimate of what kind of time frame we're looking at?"
"At least a month."
That's what you get for being poor.
One of the things they're having me do is apply for a health care plan. I had insurance, back when I was pregnant and it ended after the second full month after my baby's birth. The local county cialis has a "health plan" for which you can apply and get reduced-cost health care. In some cases (I think mine qualifies) you get it for free. We have no income, yet. (I've had one interview since we've been at the shelter.) I haven't filed for divorce so there is no order for child support. I have applied for government assistance...it'll be 2 weeks ago Friday...and I am waiting for them to mail me a letter and tell me when my appointment is.
Back to the health care.
I have an injury that requires medication. My doctor finally found something that works well for me. I didn't have it refilled before my insurance ran out. I called the pharmacy to see if I could just pay for it myself. That medication is $210 for a 30 day supply. How can that even be? For that much money, it should heal any and everything wrong with me, acne and stress knots in my back included.
So, I've sat in this eligibility office trying to get on the "Local County Hospital" health plan for a total of 5 hours over two days. It is a scary place. Every seat in the waiting area is full. There was a man there who looked like a skeleton, his wrists almost indistinguishable when viewed from the side. There is another man with a prosthetic leg. He keeps taking it off and fanning himself with it. Nobody wants to be there and they are calling us back at the slowest possible pace, about one case per hour.
I'm finally seen and she signs off on the paper saying I qualify for this health insurance. I remember my prescription and ask how to get it filled through this health program. Apparently, I have to be seen by one of their doctors. The fact that I have two refills waiting for me at the pharmacy is not good enough.
She directs me to the Urgent Care Clinic on the ground floor of the "Local County Hospital". I'm skeptical. I've dealt with this government stuff before. I imagine it crowded and dirty and probably not something that I can do in my allotted child care time before I have to go pick up the kids.
But I want to be responsible and try to take care of everything. So, I drive over. I find parking at the very top of the parking garage, in the bright summer sun. I take an elevator that smells like pee all the way down. It doesn't let me off in the hospital part of the hospital, but underground where the giant carts of soiled linens go. It reminds me a bit walking down a jetway to get on an airplane except the walls were cement blocks with sickly pink peeling paint. I walked and walked and walked...probably three miles total, working my way up from beneath the hospital. I finally came to a bank of elevators, 2 of which were out of order. I remembered how tall the hospital tower was. I pressed the button to go up but since I just needed to go up one floor, I looked around for stairs.
I found two fire escape maps that had a staircase on them nearby. I walked around trying to find the stairs, but couldn't. I went back to the map. It looked like they should be right here...ah, the doors with the sign on them saying that the basement exit is now closed and not useable. ("What do they expect us to do if there IS a fire down here?", I thought.) I came back around the corner to the elevators just in time to see the doors closing and the car going up.
Crap.
Another ten minutes standing around and I finally got on an elevator. I tried to mentally calculate how long it might take to be seen. How many people could there possibly be? I imagined other urgent care clinics I'd been to. They sat, what, maybe 30 in the waiting room? And if all 30 spots were taken? It'd be a couple hours probably, but how bad could it be?
I had no idea.
When the elevator doors opened at the first floor, a swarm of people flooded into the elevator. I barely got off in time. I walked around looking like a tourist in the big city for the first time, trying to find some sign to point me in the direction of the urgent care clinic.
I walked through a waiting area three times the size of my high school cafeteria. Please, god, let this not be it. There was no sign attached to the area. "Maybe it's something else", I thought. I kept walking.
I came to another waiting area, just as big. And, like the one before it, every seat was full. There were at least 250 people sitting around, children bored and cranky and running around. Adults fanning themselves, complaining about the wait. There was no sign here either. Up ahead, I saw some windows, like a bank teller would use. They were on the other side of another giant, completely full waiting area.
I walked up to the empty window. "Can I help you?", the lady behind the glass drawled.
"Yes, is this the urgent care clinic?", I asked.
"Mmhmm.", she replied.
"Ok, well, I-"
"Step back behind the line until your name is called.", she snapped.
"Uh...what?"
"Back behind the line until you hear your name called."
I walked back to the roped off area she'd referred to as the line. (There was no one standing in it.) I stood there for a bit. My mental calculations of how long I'd be sitting there were off the charts. How would I get out before midnight? I had to be back to pick up my kids by 3:30. It looked like there were enough people there to keep a hospital full of doctors busy for a week. "That's what you get for being poor", I thought.
Then, I realized, I didn't give that lady my name. How would my name ever be called? Just then, a tone sounded and a computerized voice announced "Now serving A106". It reminded me of the afterlife scenes (I realized I couldn't remember if it was supposed to be heaven or hell.) from Beetlejuice. I knew right then I could not handle staying there a second longer.
I turned and started the miles long walk back to my car. (Funny side note: My injury is in my leg and it is worsened by walking.) I was angry, muttering to myself, hoping someone who worked at the hospital would stop me and ask me what's wrong so I could tell them what I REALLY think of the "Local County Hospital".
In the car, I called some of the clinics the lady had given me contact information for. I knew that it would probably technically take longer to get into a clinic than into the urgent care place...but seeing the waiting areas for the urgent care place, I wondered if it wouldn't actually take about the same amount of time. At least if I made an appointment, I'd be able to spend weeks waiting at the shelter with my kids instead of in the giant waiting room.
I have a car and no qualms about driving anywhere to be seen. (To avoid a $210 charge for medication, I will go almost anywhere.) I worked my way down the list, one location at a time. Busy signal. Automated system that then transferred me to a busy signal. No answer. Busy signal.
Finally, one answered quickly. I told them I need to make an appointment. "Please hold while I transfer you." Yes! This is the place to be seen! I bet their waiting room is tiny!
I was able to drive all the way from "Local County Hospital" back to the shelter, stopping on the way to get a chicken sandwich because I'd missed lunch before anyone answered my call. I was overjoyed when someone finally picked up the phone. "I need to schedule an appointment", I said.
"I will take down your name and mail you an appointment as one becomes available", the lady said.
"Can you give me an estimate of what kind of time frame we're looking at?"
"At least a month."
That's what you get for being poor.