"It's good to see you Mr. Hobobob," Snow White said with a huge smile.
Good to see you too, Snow. She gets up and walks out of the room. "Let me get your file." She is short, with a slim, petite build. She re-appears carrying my neat and clean folder. I like that in an organization. Neatness and cleanliness. I think of my folder in ICD. It is swollen, beaten, battered, dog eared, exhausted. They are either working very hard on me, or just piss poor in taking care of records. Snow White flips through the papers in the file. "So how are you doing?" I'm fine. I squirm in my seat. What's coming up. "And your psychologists, are they out of the building?" I nod. "Your primary care physician, him too?" Yes. She nods. "You're seeing everyone regularly?" Yes, I am. I see my doctor every Friday. She looks at me. "Your PRIMARY care physician?" Yep, I have issues with my heart, kidneys and blood pressure. She nods wide eyed. "Wow." Snow White returns to the folder. "Have you heard of Fountain House?" I nod. I've heard of the self help clinic that provides a lot of the services that I already get in ICD. "So you know that they provide services, right?" Yes, but I already get them through ICD. And I have a lot to do in any event socially. "Yeah? What's that?" I'm a poet. I go around the poetry circuit. Read and write poetry. Do stuff like that. "Wow, that's amazing," she beams. "Well do you come downstairs to get breakfast?" No. I'm on a strict diet and can't eat things like bagels and rolls with butter. She nods thoughtfully. "Well you should come down, to at least get lunch. I mean it's free." Is this mandatory. "No, not at all. But why should you pay for lunch or breakfast when you can get them for free down here." Well, I have a little touch of social anxiety. "Come down later, around 9:30. The place is all but cleared out by then. Just come and get your lunch. Why waste it? Do you want lunch today?" I turn quizzical. Lunch? Really? "Yeah, let me get you a lunch."
She hops up and I follow her little frame out across the hallway to the lunchroom. She knocks on the door, asks for lunch, and one is handed to her. She hands it to me in a paper bag. "There you go. Well you have a nice day, Mr. Hobobob, and I'll see you next month." That's it? "That's it." She flashes a genuine smile and walks off. Shit. If I thought that it would be that easy. I was expecting more rules and regulations, and got a bag lunch instead. This place is outta sight.
But now there is my meds. I go to the Duane Reade and request my meds and get the usual confused search and wandering until the pharmacist comes out and says: "It didn't go through. Your insurance company is still rejecting the prescriptions. What? I just got a letter in the mail saying that I have 40 units of Pharmacy visits. The pharmacist goes back to his computer, plays with it and comes away with: "There's something wrong with your birthday. You'll have to call them up and tell them to straighten out the problem." Another woman, a smirking Black woman whose seen me come back and forth for the past few days now hands me the paper from ICD that I gave them yesterday. What's this I ask. "It's your paper," she says and walks off. Gee, thanks. This is supposed to help me here. "Yeah," the pharmacist says, "You'll have to call them up." Thanks. I take my paper and head home. I'll call them up at that and get to the bottom of this shit because I am so tired of Duane Reade with their bullshit for the past three days.
I go to my computer, SKYPE the number at the bottom of the letter that I received from Albany and talk to Irma, on the other line. This is like pulling teeth. I want to know if I have units because my pharmacy is saying that there is something wrong with my birthdate. I should not have said that. She keyed on bithdate, and spent the next two minutes trying to shuck me off to Harlem Hospital Medicaid office. NO LADY. I WANT TO KNOW IF I HAVE UNITS. She interrupts me to tell me again about Harlem Hospital. Listen, you're not listening, you're interrupting me, which is very rude. I want to know if I have UNITS IN MY HEALTH PLAN FOR PHARMACY. Finally I breach the concrete block around her head and she regards the computer screen. OH, her bad, she just noticed that I don't have any units until February 1st.
Thank you lady, no I think I'll call back and speak to someone there that can do their job. I hang up, and actually call back...and I get her again. I hang up and wait some time, emailing and the such before trying again and this time getting Chris. This guy knew what he was doing. The problem is that it takes three weeks to process my form, but my benefits kick in for the new year on February 1st. So I have no other option but to wait till then. I look at the note in my hand that says that I have 40 units, but if I would have looked more carefully, I would have seen the statement that said that it's effective February 1st. February 1st. Ten days from now. No other options. Well, now it's time for me to take stock in my pills and to prepare for the leap. I have enough to ration and bridge the gap. We'll just see how to do this the right way.
Ten days is not long, especially since I do have SOME drugs. The three week wait would be over the top and dangerous. Duane reade was right. I'm still not covered. Great.
Oh, and I opened an email from OBSIDIAN yesterday which read:
YO HOBOBOB, GOT BADD NEWS...I WON'T B RETURNING TO NYC UNTIL SATURDAY NIGHT...I CHECKED MY TICKET & REALIZED THAT MY SISTER PAID FOR A ROUND TRIP-WITH A RETURN FOR SATURDAY 4PM... I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THE RETURN WAS FOR FRIDAY 4PM...SO, LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE GONNA HAVE 2 HOST IT ALONE AGAIN...OR FIND A CO-HOST [ will DJ be available again?-whomever you choose]...SORRY ABOUT THAT BRO...I'LL TRY 2 TAG U EITHER SAT NIGHT-WHEN I GET BACK...OR SUNDAY...PEACE
-OBSIDIAN
Well, ain't that some shit.
Looks like the ol' cowboy is gonna ride into the OK Corral alone.
Yeeeehah!
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/01/only-in-bad-dreams.html
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