Its Official. She's Broken.

Today pretty much sucked.
When you are a parent, the last thing you want is to see your child hurt or hurting, and know there is nothing you can do to change it.
When your child breaks a limb, there really isn't anything you can do to fix it.  You can hold them.  You can snuggle them.  You can whisper in their ear and tell them it will all be ok, but none of that really makes it better, or takes the break away.
Today, we found out The Biggest One really did break her ankle.  It sucked.
First, I had to deal with Balboa.  Not a happy camper.  An appointment that we were told would take about 30 minutes lasted 2 hours and 45 minutes.  I was overwhelmed by their inefficiency once again.  I got argumentative with the Physician's Assistant who ended up taking me into a room and going over the x-ray with me very slowly to make her case.  If she had only led with the statement that the ankle was broken, versus "we treat it like a break no matter what" I might have been more receptive.  She didn't though.  We were shuffled around for what seemed like forever, between exam rooms, x-ray, back to the lobby, again to exam rooms, back to x-ray again, etc.  When it was all said and done, though, what mattered is that she broke her ankle.
     She was a trooper at first.  She was ok until they sent us for a second set of x-rays, to be sure she hadn't broken her foot, too.  As we sat down, she lost her composure completely.  I got her up, sat down, and pulled her on my lap.  "I'm too big to sit on you, Mom."  She didn't want to hurt me.  "Never", I told her. I pulled her to me, and just hugged her.  I told her that I knew it sucked.  It was terrible, but it was simply part of life.  Things happen.  Balloons pop.  We would just have to get through the sucky part, to get back to the good part.  She was so unhappy.
We got a cast put on, and thankfully, they decided she could have a walking cast.  That was a serious blessing, because not being physically gifted to begin with, the crutches were just another accident waiting to happen.  Seriously.
Walking out made her happy.  She walked funny, but she could walk.
Then, we got home, and she started to worry.  She worried about what people would say to her.  She was honestly worried about people picking on her for having broken her leg.  We talked.  We snuggled some more.
Sometimes, being a parent is just heartbreaking.
I wish I could take it away.  I wish I could make it better. I know that I can't, though.
She will be fine in a few weeks.  It is going to suck.  It is going to be a crappy thing to get through, but she will get through it.  When she comes out, she will be a stronger person for having dealt with it all, too. At least, that is my hope.

The Final Appointment ReCap

Today was my last normal OB appointment before the baby comes.  My Dr and I discussed everything, and she "poked around" quite a bit, trying to see if there could be any other complications before we get in there.  We had a nice long chat.  It is a little difficult, because I have two Drs, with two totally different specialties, doing two totally different surgeries, and we need to be able to meet the needs of both.  AS far as my OB is concerned, though, it should be pretty simple for her.  The general surgeon will open and close.  As she told me today, her only concern is my uterus, and what is in it.  Everything else will be up to the other Dr.

The biggest concern for her today was surprisingly anesthesia.  She isn't sure they can do anything adequately, except knock me out.  Before she examined me, she talked about spinal anesthesia, and I explained that I received a spinal during my last c-section, and that it started to wear off.  So, I would prefer an epidural.  As soon as she looked at my scar, she said she wasn't surprised that it wore off.  The height of the scar is too high for pretty much any spinal anesthesia, and that there would have been problems, some thing that was argued before the butchers at Balboa ended up doing what was, according to the anesthesiologist himself, physically easier for him to do.  My OB said that when I speak to anesthesia, they may have concerns, and that they may end up needing to give me general anesthesia.  I hope not.  My hope is for the epidural, and if need be, then they can knock me out after the baby comes.  I don't do well with general anesthesia, though.  I have low normal blood pressure (shocking for a fat girl, but true), and I think that may be part of why I don't wake up well.  I also get really sick from it.  So, if we can possibly avoid that, I want to, but I also don't want to repeat the terror of my last c-section, laying there realizing that I was starting to get feeling back while people are actually cutting on me.

I have faith, though, that this time, the Dr.s there will have my best interests in mind, and not the ease of the procedure, when they make decisions.  I also intend to push for what I want, as long as it is safe, at each step of the process.  That's all I can do.  Now, we wait for Thursday.  I have one more monitoring appointment on Tuesday, which is pretty much nothing, and then we will have her Thursday morning.
I'm excited, and nervous.  I ready or at least as ready as I can be mentally and emotionally.  Ready to start the next chapter of our lives.

Prime Example

People joke about how inefficient the government is.  We all know its true.  When you get smacked in the face with a prime example of just how ridiculous things are sometimes, though, it still manages to shock you.

I am still embroiled in the fight for health care.

Today, I spent the most inane day chasing a fictitious person or department that I think I have ever spent, and to no avail.  I think my time would have been better spent buying lottery tickets or chasing the end of a rainbow to look for a pot of gold.

Actually, my chase started yesterday.  I called my insurance, Tricare, again, to check for a change in my status.  There was none.  I ask specifically who I needed to speak with at Balboa, as the number on my referral paperwork didn't answer.  I was told to speak with the "Referral Management Center", but they had no number aside from the main appointment line to give me.  Fine.  I can go from there.

I called the number on my paperwork a few more times to no avail.  Instead, I opted for the Quarterdeck.  For those who don't know, the Quarterdeck is the main reception desk, if you will, at any command.  Balboa is a military command.  I called and the the typical answer that sounds like "Wahwahwah..whahwahwhahwawawah..Sir or Ma'am".  In reality, each command says the same thing when they answer the phone.  They state the name of the command, their name and rank, that it is a non secure line, and ask how they can help you, "Sir or Ma'am".  All I ever understand is the "Sir or Ma'am" and I know that is my cue to start speaking.   I told the Quarterdeck person who I was looking for, and was put on hold.  She came back, ask again, and put me on hold again.  After a bit of a wait, a man answered, and I only got the Sir or Ma'am.  So, I assumed another person sitting at the desk picked up, and I just started talking again.  Turns out, she had transferred me.  I still don't know where, but this guy must work somewhere she thought I should be talking to.  After I told him who I was looking for, he put me on hold.  He came back and ask me exactly what I was trying to do because he couldn't find any department labeled "Referral Management Center".  After he sort of understood, he put me on hold again.  We did this questions and answer session followed by a hold period about 4 times.  After the second, I could hear a female voice trying to assist him when he came back on the line.  Then, we hit a break through.  He realized what I was trying to reach, and told me he knew that they existed, and where they were located on the (very large) campus, but he had no name for the department or phone number.  I ask for the location and was given building 6, third deck, aka third floor.  Finally, they came to the realization that there was no further information they could give me.  They only had the location, and were never going to be able to find the phone number or name of the department.  That was it.  That was all I was going to get.
  
 So, today, armed with that mother load of information, a paper copy of my referral, and the anger of a wet hen, I headed down there to clear all this up.  The whole family went.  I felt it prudent to take someone with me, and with that someone being My Husband, the kids got in on the show, too.  Once we got there, my husband pulled up as close to building 6 as possible and let The Big One and I out while he went to park.  We go in, and head to the third floor.  We step off the elevator, and immediately my day gets worse.  The entire floor is children's mental health.  Now, had it just been mental health, I might have thought it was a dig at me, and may have even stayed to chat at that point, after all someone needs to know that Balboa is creating additional patients for that department themselves.  However, it wasn't.  Not to be deterred, I went to the reception desk, and told them that the Quarterdeck had sent me there, and who I was looking for.  They were a bit perplexed.
They conferred for a minute and decided it was just a little screw up.  "Oh.  Its the 4th deck that you need.  All that admin stuff is up there."
So, The Big One and I got back in the elevator and she hit 4.  I texted My husband to tell him he could then find us on the 5th floor.
The door opened, we got out, checked out the signs, and I think my blood pressure raised 10 points on either side.  None of the offices listed seemed to be what I was looking for.  After all, I have no name, but I was hoping I could figure it out.  Again, not deterred, I had to find someone to ask.  There was no receptionist, only individual offices.  So, I peeked around the corner to speak to whomever was in the break room.  I again explained the whole deal.  If you read my blog much, and are familiar with my struggle, you might be able to guess what she told me.  I needed the 5th floor.  That department must be there.  Of course they must.
We headed for the elevator.  I repeated my last text with the 5th floor change.  There was a reception desk.   I ask the lady there, who looked completely confused.  She took me to an office where Woman 1 sat.  Having the story down pat, I quickly explained what I needed.  Woman1 said she couldn't help me, but was going to take me to someone who could.  WE went into Man1's office.  Man1 said that wasn't his department, but that he knew who I needed.  Across from his office was Woman2 and Man2.  Woman one goes in there, starts to look up the info that I need with Woman2, as Man1 discusses the whole thing with them.  After a while, Man1 gives up, but not the two ladies.  They went to town trying to figure it out.  I was amazed, they actually kind of got what I was trying to do, and were determined to help me find the right people.  After, no joke, 25 minutes of ridiculous phone calls, they finally found the right department.  They had a name, location, and phone number.  They were amazed.  They couldn't believe it had been that difficult for them to find.  Turns out, the department was in building 6, but floor 2, right before construction started.  Since their floor was completely closed for renovations, they had moved to a building all the way across the campus.  They had also changed their name, to Utilization Management, but must not have put that out too well.

Now, as an aside, I want to point out that it was difficult for them, and they work in that system.  They actually know people, faces, and positions, and they were getting a terrible run around trying to figure it out.  How am I supposed to be able to navigate this system if even the people who work in it can't?

Woman2 was speaking with someone, and said that I was standing right there.  She handed me the phone.  I got on the phone and ended up speaking the department head.  I had to explain my self for the zillionth time.  She understood and told me she couldn't help me.  She pulled up my information, and the way the man I last spoke with in December, who scheduled appointment for Balboa, had closed out my referral, she couldn't do anything.  They had said to have me start a new referral 4 weeks out for my delivery.  That won't work for us.  I might have organs falling out of my body by then.  She told me that I needed to go to the surgery department, get them to fix it, and release me.  If they couldn't, we needed to start all over again with a brand new referral and hope that Balboa didn't screw up.  As long as I talked to her before Balboa got to the referral, she could take care of it.

Wow.
Just wow.

They really only know how to screw things up, and not to fix it.

I did go over to surgery, and to sum up, the man who made the appointment took notes, because he didn't understand what I as saying medically, and said he would speak to the department head.  If the department head agreed to release me, he would let me know the next day.  That's it.  That's all that can be done.

All that time, all that effort.  Just to wait for a phone call.   Tomorrow morning, either he calls me as promised, or I will call him, and his department head, or whom ever else I need to.  If I need to throw in an Admiral somewhere, so be it.  Let's just get this party started.

I know this has been a long post, but thanks for sticking with me.  You see how much time government inefficiency waists.  Had they not been such screw ups, we could have all been done with post and moved on already.  In fact, I think my coffee is cold and I need to reheat it now.  Just More unnecessary waist of our resources as a result of government bureaucracy.

I So Should Not Be Surprised

So, I posted that I got my medical records, which is great.
Problem is, they aren't correct.

Reading through those records, I was shocked to see just how riddled with inaccurate, incorrect, and biased information they were.

There were little things that were misleading.  There were big things that were incorrect.

Little things like not being able to believe that I didn't have chronic high blood because I'm overweight, even though every single appointment it was fine, and refusing to believe I didn't have gestational diabetes, because fat people who have big babies must, were just the opening offences.

The big error, and the one that concerns me the most, is that if I understand how to read and compare the sight of my own abdomen in the mirror to labeled pictures of incisions on Google, the site of my incision is listed incorrectly.  That would seem to be a pretty big error to me.  Maybe not to some people, but honestly, if you can't even list the correct position that you cut, when it was such a big deal and uncommon procedure that room full of people gathered to watch, then I think we have a big problem.

I don't want to go into my detailed information right now, but let me assure you, that there were more things to make me upset, than there were to reassure me in there.

The only nice thing is that the OB I saw through the pregnancy, not the one who delivered, did mention how nice I am and what a great disposition I have.

Moral of that story; nice people finish last.  When it comes to medical stuff, mean people who push their own way, and piss off doctors are probably the ones who get the care they want, even if begrudgingly.  Lesson learned, and I suppose I won't be nice to anyone there ever again, just in case.

One Hurdle Down, One To Go

So far, we have had tow major hurdles with Naval Hospital Balboa, and getting everything we need for this pregnancy done.  One is to get my medical records, and the other is get them to drop me so that I can see a surgeon elsewhere.

Today, I got over one of the hurdles.  The whole family and I went to Balboa to get my records.  I brought my husband because I felt like I needed someone to be able to pull me from a fight pretty quickly, or at least be ready to bail me out.  The kids just got to come along for the show.

Once we got there, and found a place to park in that ridiculously over crowded area, we headed in towards where i thought records would be.  My Husband wanted to stop in the OB/GYM building and ask for it.  I told him that my records wouldn't be there any more, but he wanted to ask.  I waited outside.  I didn't even want to go in for multiple reasons.  The first reason is that I hate that place, and just being on the campus brings back horrible memories.  I started reliving a lot of the trauma I experience just being there, walking the grounds.  Another reason is that should I ever, and I mean ever, run into that OB who butchered me again, I don't know that I could maintain myself.  I expect that I would lose complete control.  I'm sure I would unleash a verbal assault on him the likes of which he had never seen before.  I just don't see that being a good situation.  Though, if I were given that opportunity, I think I would feel better in the long run.  It would be a little like confronting a person who attacked you.  After a couple of minutes, My Husband came to the sliding doors and motioned me in.  I had to go in and give them my ID.  I ask him if he had told the guy how long ago  I had been there, and he indicated that he did.  The uniformed man at he desk ask me to sit while he looked for my records.  I sat, waited, and just hoped it would all end quickly.  I think sitting in that OB/GYN waiting room was far more uncomfortable that any pap smear or other OB/GYN visit I have ever had.  Finally the guy came back to the window, and ask me how long ago it had been since I had been seen there.  When I said 3 years plus, he said he misunderstood, and I had to go to medical records.  Thanks for the unnecessary pain, yet again, people.
     We walked over to the medical records department, and the older lady behind the desk ask if she could help us.  I told her I needed a copy of my records.  She immediately said to fill out a form and it would be 10 weeks.  I immediately told her I had sent in the request twice, and I didn't have 10  more weeks to wait.  She backed off and said that I would have to speak to the young woman beside her.  I needed to sign in and sit down.  The young woman looked at me, and ask for my ID, no sign in necessary.  She wrote down my info, told me to sit, and went back to helping the older gentleman she was with.
     After a few minutes, she was done helping that man, and called me up.  She ask me again if we had sent in the request, and I told her my OB's office had done it twice, more than 12 weeks ago actually, and that I needed my record.  Another young woman came up, told me the requests were not in the system, and they would have to pull everything again.  I can't help the fact that the requests weren't where they were supposed to be.  More than likely, my complicated last name situation with both my maiden and married meant that they couldn't locate me in the system and they didn't bother on following it up.  That always happens there because my last name is technically different than my husbands, and all of my info is based on him.  Anyway, they gave me a little grief about how much of my record that I needed, and then started to work, not telling me that I could sit and wait, or how long it would take.  They ask for my ID again, realized that they had the info, then just ignored me.  After about 10 minutes, the second girl came back in, and the first one finished printing.  They had my entire record ready to go in about 15 minutes.  Amazing considering that they always tell you it takes 10-12 weeks to get anything.
Regardless less as to how ridiculous it was that I had to physically go down there, I have my record.  It hopefully has everything my OB team needs so that they can begin to make some plans.

There was some good news with all of this.  I tried to get through just enough of the record immediately to see where the incision was on my uterus.  If I understood it all correctly, with a little help from google, the cut was made in the better position so that The Littlest One can stay in longer.  We were worried they may have to take her really early.  Now, with some good luck and preparation, she should be able to stay in a bit longer and be ready to come out before they take her.  We will take all the good news we can get.

Now The Battle Begins

I got a letter in the mail today from my insurance.  They were letting me know my referal went though, but with modifications.  The referal for the surgeon.  It said, as we know, that I was to be seen at Balboa.  It was also dated the same day that I got a call from Balboa.
So, I called them.  I explained why that I couldn't be seen at Balboa, and was told there was nothing they could do for me.  It was my "choice" to be seen outside, and while I may not want to be seen there, I have to go back to Balboa to get them to drop me.  Thus far, Balboa has put in no further paperwork to drop me, or push the referral on, and I am pretty much stuck.
I don't have time to be stuck.

They seem to be missing something.  My life, and the life of my child, could potentially depend on this.  This isn't funny.  While my life may be a bit over an over exageration, it is possible, and my organs are certainly in peril.
I don't think they get that I don't have time to play games.

Nor shall I.

If they want me to take on the system, I can and will.  There is no choice.  There is no rolling over.  Something has to be done somewhere, and apparently, I'm going to get it done myself.