OK, here’s the story- and let me preface this as I AM NOT HAPPY. I started back at work the other day- the same day that I had to schedule a Cat Scan-before it gets too late. Anyhow, I had my pre-cert ready, the diagnosis code and I thought that was that…. in terms of what info. I needed to provide.
Me: I’d like to make an appointment for a CT Scan.
Lady: OK, do you have your pre-cert number?
Me: Yep! It’s…..
Lady: Are you also getting an MRI?
Me: (am I?) I don’t think so.
Lady: OK. And is the diagnosis code bla bla bla?
Lady: And how much do you weigh?
*Pause the f here! Let it be known that when I do have to get weighed (since ever) I go on backwards, without shoes, shit and thoughts. I want to appear as light as possible for weigh-ins. Again, since FOR.F.EVER.
Me: (chuckling to myself since I wouldn’t even know where to begin guessing)….I uh….. I think…..
Lady: Oh, 170; it says it right here.
Me: (hyperventilating) I’m sorry, what was that?
Lady: At your last appointment in August, you were 170.
Now, at my heaviest- I was 135 and on my small frame, that’s barely tolerable but tis what it is. So imagine my heart failure when the lady casually spouted off this seal-like number- as if I didn’t have enough to be upset about.
Needless to say, if anyone needs me I’ll be the one in the hunched down position-rocking in the corner- since fetal positions are for skinny people.