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What is it again that paves the road to hell? Best laid plans? Good intentions? Whichever, because I have all of that stuff in SPADES. Tomorrow, my sister and I are taking four children, two minivans, one mother and 800 cubic yards of supplies (ramen noodles, bubbles, peanut butter, etch-a-sketches and wine, along with a few other, less important things) to the coast, where we will meet up with two aunts to enjoy the February weather and the sand and surf. While we are gone, Lloyd will be moving about a million pounds of furniture, ripping up carpet, tearing out the hideous asbestos-laden tile underneath it, and refinishing the fir floor that is the bottom layer. What could possibly go wrong?
Oh, AND I have two giant boils for which I cannot receive medical attention unless I waste a half a day at the emergency room because after four business-hour phone calls, multiple web attempts, three emails and an aborted 'live chat', we have so far been unable to change our medical benefits to the appropriate status so that I can go to a regular doctor. Or at least one that is desperate or altruistic enough to accept the poor substitute for health care coverage that is foisted on military families. This is called 'Tricare', if you are lucky enough to be unfamiliar with it. I could, of course, go to a military facility. The question is, do I want to die at the hands of a military quack, or would I rather keel over and have a stroke from the skyrocketing blood pressure associated with trying to even SEE a civilian quack? Or just wait and die from the untreated boils? It sure is great to have so many choices. I'm tempted to put up a poll so you guys can help me make up my mind but I think I better go to bed. I can't be sure but I think I might possibly be starting to get just the slightest bit irrational, and that's no good when you're trying to make such major decisions. Or when you're setting out on the highway to hell. There's plenty of time for that when we get there. See you in a week or so! If I'm not dead, I mean. Of course. But if I am I will be so totally pissed if you don't all come to my funeral. Now I'm starting to scare myself. You can't really die from boils, right? RIGHT? Okay, I'm going to bed for real this time. I mean it. Right now. Goodnight.
What, are you still here? I said I was going to bed, and I meant it. Seriously.
Art mystery possibly solved?
2 days ago
2 comments:
Given the options I'd say your best choice of the ones you have is to take your chances in the ER. Depending on your Tricare plan, you may end up being space available at a military facility which is code for "no chance in hell will you ever get an appointment here." And your chances of actually getting Tricare to switch your coverage to what you need it to be can take eons. I doubt your husband wants you to die for nontreatment unless he has enough insurance on you to cover a nanny. Sounds like between your trip and dealing with Tricare you may want to buy stock in wine.
Tricare should be able to preauth you for an urgent care place (not ER). That's what we always do. (Every single time we travel....) It does involve a conversation and not just a little bit of argumentative stamina, but I think you can do it. A couple of phrases I find very helpful are..."You really want me to go to the ER for a boil?" and "Let me speak to a supervisor."
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