Last week when this whole drama at the clinic was unfolding I was chanting to myself “not-now-not-now-not-now” because I was fucking BUSY and I had a race to run and I REALLY did not have time to fall into a hole and I KNEW that’s where it was all headed.
Yesterday my first FB status read “why can’t I just leave” because all I’ve done for several days with the exception of race day is sit around and cry and stare at the computer screen wishing I could focus on anything long enough to work or bathe. I can always tell when I’m going downhill when I start to just wish people would stop asking me for things. Like juice, or to answer their phone calls.
And then Jack threw up all over me, answering the question quite eloquently while simultaneously yanking me out of the hole I’d been in for almost a week. Since I thrive on crises and problem solving, this was an excellent detractor from my own thing. (what’s it like for bipolar people without something to pull them out of the muck?)
Jack’s illness and my being the only person, literally, who can care for him means that there is no possible way that I can continue to remain in my depressive state. The Graham-brain takes over and I strip the bed and do the laundry and take care of my kid and with that comes a few minutes of work here and there and all the sudden a phone message returned and then I pick up the phone when it rings and then the shower walls see me for the first time in a few days and boom just like that I’m going for a run.
Maybe the run is pretty ambitious. It’s cold and rainy as hell out there.
You may be interested in these related posts:I did everything wrong leading up to my first race. I might have been a girl going to junior prom who bought her dress at Goodwill and had her blind grandmother do her hair with foam rollers. Do you want to know how many training miles I logged this week? One. How many miles I logged last week? Three. I didn’t even deserve to BE in this race. Whatever. I read these posts about being an expert and how it takes dediction and daily work and I almost didn’t do this race because of my clear and obvious non-dedication to my training this last week. Or last month. (I’ll give myself a pass on the entire fall because I was ill.) Plus I have a character flaw, maybe you’ve noticed it: if I’m not an instant expert at something, I like to abandon it.
I decided that’s stupid, because it’s a 30 minute run and how will I ever be dedicated if every time I derail for a few days I just start flogging myself and decide I don’t fit in with the elites and quit? The girl with the blind grandma and the goodwill dress can go to prom too, you know. If she bought her ticket she can fucking go. So I went, and I beat my best 5K time, which considering I think can count on my hands the number of runs I’ve completed since September, is OK with me.
I get to call myself a runner now and you can take that away from me when you pry my “first 5K medal” from my cold, dead fingers. Hell yes I took the medal, I’m not proud. But I didn’t wear my race shirt to the race, my friend Christian warned me not to do that because nothing screams “I’m a race n00b” like wearing your race shirt in the race he says.
So I left my shirt at home along with my family (vomiting children had us up until 2 a.m.) and I set out this morning when it was still dark and hit up the indie do rag coffee pusher before they opened (because that’s how a pusher treats his best customer) and they hooked me up with some pre-race Rocket Fuel. This exquisite nectar from the Gods consists of several shots of espresso, simple syrup & a tiny bit of steamed milk served in a shot glass. Since I don’t drink alcohol shots anymore this is a close as I get to debauchery.
I know. I’m a champion at Race Prep. Well, I did enter this 5K several ounces lighter then when I awoke this morning. And that’s all I’ll say about that. This may become my personal streamlining tool.
I drank a Green Machine and scarfed a banana in the car, arrived an hour early, chattered nervously to the guys that helped me park and got some important training advice from one of them about my shoes:
Well, you only run 4 miles right now but if you were doing any sort of serious training or running for speed, trying to win races at all, you wouldn’t be wearing those.
I’ll be extremely pleased to see this guy next year (OK, maybe the year after) when I win a race in my Vibram FiveFingers- or better yet, with no shoes at all.
For Future Reference: Next year I’ll sleep in. There’s no reason to show up 90 minutes before the race begins. Bo-RING. Lots of time to stand around and take self portraits.
33:15
The Race:
I took other advice I was given and stuck to the side and to the back of the pack. I let the adrenaline junkies haul ass. Then I passed some of them. Then some of them passed me back. Then a whole lot of people passed me on their way back while I was still headed toward the turnaround. Man, that’s demoralizing., but whatever. Most of those people were 12. Or 22. Same diff.
At mile 1, when I saw the 10:30 on the clock I thought, “well OK, I’m all right. I can pick it up and get in under 30. Or I can stay at this pace and kick it in at 33 ish” I don’t know what happened, man. I just- didn’t pick it up. I did a little, just not enough and then when the logjam happened on the bridge, and when I stopped to get that little cup of water, and put my hat on the table, and got stuck behind that walker on the trail.. Then I decided not to attempt the sprint to the finish. Some 8 year olds were sprinting and I um….yeah. I just decided not to. I don’t know, if my family had been there I’d have done it, you know? If if if.
Does everyone do that after their first race? After every race? I guess I’ll find out, because I’ve decided my resale business needs to ramp up so I can fund my race schedule.
My results: 33.15, after futzing around realizing my chip was gone, looking up at the clock when I saw I didn’t have a chip-I’ll take it. 12th out of 28 in my age group.
I didn’t have to talk too much about my shoes. One guy asked me if I ran the whole race in them- as if I stopped in the middle of the three miles and switched shoes? I said “I run every race in them!” and then he asked me if I was in Avatar. Um, WTF.
/race report
You may be interested in these related posts:Tomorrow is race day. I should be excited about running my first 5K and the only thing that’s exciting about tomorrow is the prospect of running. I consider running like Forrest Gump. I want my simple Long Beach life back. How long would it take me to run to Long Beach, do you think?
Instead I’m writing out this list of my top 10 tips for a mental health clinic that treats mostly poor people.
How to Improve Client Satisfaction:A list
1- Don’t blame the client when you fuck up, even for a minute. At least not to our face. Apologizing later is the right thing to do (and they did) but that first bit still hurts, and is hard to overlook.
2- Don’t cover your mistakes up with lies. We’re sick, not stupid.
3- Don’t blame us when you make a mistake. We’re sick; We don’t have amnesia.
4- Don’t reprimand us. We’re sick, not children.
5- Don’t judge our financial situation by our clothes, purses, or how intelligent we sound . You have formulas and they exist for a reason. If you have grant money or samples available and you judge your client able to afford it and send them out with a paper prescription, the message you are giving is “eh-you might be approved for this other thing, but we’ve seen your check stubs. We think you can find a way to pay for this. Good luck” (I heard this once: “you should be able to get this, it’s not very expensive. Your PAP should be here soon”) We’re sick. That doesn’t mean we don’t know how to use a thrift store, or that we were always poor. We’re allowed to have nice clothes and purses and even a cell phone with a data plan. Using social welfare programs does not mean we have to live in a camper trailer and wear slippers to the grocery store. Stop stereotyping us as moochers, comparing your paycheck to my husband’s, glaring at my iPhone and do your fucking job.
6- Don’t wait for a threat of cc’d letters to your board to give us attention. For every one of us, there are probably 50 low functioning patients who stopped treatment, are getting their drugs on the black market, are taking off-label unprescribed medication or are dead. We’re sick, we’re not incapable of intelligent communication.
7- We’re sick. We have a disease just like your grandma who has high cholesterol. Stop treating us like drug seeking street criminals that are trying to get over on you. Most of us know more about our disease and our treatment than you do. I’m looking at you, staff behind the front desk, administrative staff, and nurses. Listen when we talk to you, and consider that we might have something relevant to say.
One thing Big Pharma does well is Patient Assistance. They hate getting caught with their pants down on this because they make SO SO MUCH MONEY that they can afford to give away a shitload of medication. Big Pharma doesn’t waste time getting poor people their free drugs. The turnaround time is quick, so I was surprised when I went back and there was no medication waiting for me in the office. I’d filled out the application for my uppers 30 days ago and waited dutifully, slogging through a month of cognitive side effects on half of what is supposed to be a combination treatment for bipolar disorder. Get it? Bipolar. I need an upper and a downer. I was told how difficult this new program is and how the program sucks now since they restricted the allowed formulas.
Don’t blame the patient when you fuck up
I’m a good liar, a smart woman, and the mother of a teenager. But I’m also a kind person and as ballsy as I make myself out to be I’m afraid of authority figures and confrontation so I didn’t know what to say the first time I suspected I was being lied to by the staff in the admin office. I just…..left. Without medication. The second time, when the supervisor looked around for my application & found it where it didn’t belong the person in charge of my application told them that she was waiting for me to do something. (bring financial information) -I was like OH HELL NO. I walked over to the desk, invaded her personal space, flipped through the papers until I found the financials that I’d given her TWO MONTHS ago, flicked them, and walked out. (see tip #1 above)
From October to Mid-December I was in the downer fog. I was fine. I mean… It was better than unmedicated. Sort of flatlined. Once, they apologetically gave me a paper prescription and advised me to go buy my meds because they didn’t have any resources for me and the Big Bad Pharma had failed me once again. “Shouldn’t be too much” they said. I declined. I’ve been on that upper before with poor results and it’s a pretty expensive drug, even in the generic and we were saving for Christmas. Since I’d filled out an application SEVERAL MONTHS ago, I was hopeful that my medication would soon be shipped to the clinic. Why didn’t I just go buy it? I ask myself that a lot. I could have. I could have put it on a credit card. I mean, it was my mental health we were talking about-it’s a priority! But I thought the meds were being shipped to the clinic any day. That’s what we were waiting on. It was “any day now, they will be here.” And any day stretched into weeks and then months.
The clinic found some money from another grant to get me a bottle of medication and I started my uppers a few days before Christmas. My travelogue shows that the holiday was pretty up and down for us.
When I came into the clinic in January it was time to fill out a “renewal application” for Patient Assistance. I signed it and had to turn in new financial info. Hint: It wasn’t a renewal.
Don’t fumble through mistakes with bloated language . We’re sick, not stupid.
I would have been super shocked when I went to the clinic Wednesday and found no medication if I hadn’t already received a denial in the mail from big Pharma, stating the scrip had been written wrong. That’s OK. They just have to write a new one. Learning curve, right? How could I expect them to know the right formula they’d need to use on the prescription they mail in. Oh, wait. Because it’s their job to know that.
Once again I’m handed a paper scrip and told to buy the meds because they don’t have any samples to give me or grants to provide me with medication. I say “but I filled out this paperwork four months ago. I don’t understand.” They say, “This company is so hard to work with. Oh, and we can’t give you any meds, either. No resources. Here’s your prescription, it shouldn’t cost too much. Sorry. your meds should be here soon.” I say “You’ve been telling me that for four months” and I leave, in tears.
Don’t make statements that are easily fact checked with a phone call
I come home and call the number on my letter. I find that this program received my application on January 21st 2010. No application from me in October, November or December 2009. I ask “What can I do to get this medication?” They say “Easy. Have your doctor call in a 15-day supply and your pharmacist can call us for an emergency fill. Wait. How did your doctor not know about this option?” (as it turns out, I don’t qualify for this option since I was not enrolled in their program until Jan 22 and have not been receiving medication-another consequence of them not receiving an application from me in 2009. )
Don’t reprimand us. We’re sick, not children.
Don’t judge our financial situation by our clothes, purse or made up standards in your head.
I call the clinic and leave messages threatening to copy the clinic’s board and their CEO on the letter I have drafted. Suddenly the clinic finds resources they did not have yesterday; I get a phone call. They don’t want patients to go without, so they’ve done me this favor: if I will come pick up a prescription which they have stamped I can go to a pharmacy on the island and get a sample bottle of my upper. While on the phone, I mention to the med supervisor that I question now whether my other application (for my 3rd med) made it into the mail, and she says “You know what Summer? From now on Why don’t you do your own applications and mail them yourself?” I tell her I’m sending my husband to pick up the scrip because I can’t look at anyone in that office, and that’s when I hang up while she’s talking because I’m crying and I don’t want her to hear me. My husband goes and he’s mad because he knows that this series of events doesn’t end with a phone call and a blog entry and he just watched me miss yet another holiday season.
In the end we get some satisfaction from the profuse apology. They really are sorry, and they really are upset that a client was hurt by a mistake. No one knows what happened to my original application. I want to be understanding about that because mistakes happen.
But what if this happens A LOT? What if it happened last week to a woman who went home sad, sick and unmedicated and won’t ever go back there? Because she thinks that the whole clinic is just stonewalling her and hates her and doesn’t want her to get her medication? Because that’s what I thought yesterday when suddenly the grant appeared to give me the medication, where 24 hours prior there was none.
I still haven’t been able to get anyone at the clinic to understand this: It isn’t about the free medication, you idiots! It’s the gross mismanagement of my medical chart! I want you to investigate that! I want someone to figure out, acknowledge, and answer for what HAPPENED HERE! I wanted someone to TALK to us about how every step of the way through this entire event, I was misled, misdirected, practically blamed for what was happening. It’s not about the money.
Here’s what sucks about this story: It’s boring because it’s not news. It might interest my friends because it’s about me but it’s so common. It might be more interesting if I’d come home and killed myself and some people have done that- have stopped treatment, have given up on the system, or have simply been unable to navigate the red tape involved in advocating for themselves and have died from that inability to get through it all. They aren’t here to blog about it, obviously. This story is so common it’s just not even interesting anymore. I wish the clinic would talk about it but they don’t have time, they’re too busy handling 2500 cases just like mine.
What is the answer to that? Health care reform? I don’t know. Would that change anything in this office? Would a lower case load fix this or was this a mistake that only happens sometimes? Who knows. I know all they can do is try. We’re all trying. Trying to be better at our jobs. Trying to be better people. Better listeners, better consumers, better advocates. Yesterday and the day before I was a good advocate for myself but for four months before that I wasn’t and here’s the reason I was a poor advocate:
I don’t have another option. There is one clinic, and I am on a financial need based grant to go there. There’s one woman in charge of my chart, my paperwork, and my patient assistance plans. Until yesterday I didn’t know I could handle those myself. For four months I’ve been afraid of pissing her off. That’s like pissing off the girl who handles payroll, or the hostess in a restaurant. You just don’t do it. I’ve got no choice but to be nice to the people who hold the keys to my sanity so I glossed over their mistake(s) and I didn’t advocate for myself.
No one should be in that position, and if health care reform can fix that somehow-give me another choice, or give them more money so they can pay for more staff, or better training for the staff they have- then please for the love of god pass it. Why would you deny people that dignity?
You may be interested in these related posts:I fall into bed at night somewhere in the neighborhood of 2 a.m. and by fall I mean close the book I’m stubbornly reading by flashlight for hours after I climb into the bed beside Jack. I could have been in here hours ago but I was really busy not working but thinking about work doesn’t that count?
I don’t know where the time goes, I really don’t. I just know what happens when they go to bed at night is that the clock goes on fast forward and the work that I thought I’d get done when they went to bed suddenly gets pushed behind just a few minutes checking a few things and then maybe it’s done or maybe it isn’t. And when finally it’s bedtime, I just want to read a motherfuckin few pages of a book or texts from last night for a minute! God!
That’s how the day is too, but less because he’s awake. You have to go straight from the bedroom right into the bathroom first thing. That’s my number one tip.
1) Bed. Bathroom. Brush teeth and wash face and if you’re doing makeup do it now because you will not have time later, I promise. You think you don’t have anything to do today? Think again. Put some mascara and lipstick on. Now. Then pee. And pick up the laundry on your way out. My kid is the biggest time suck, the most demanding high stress job I have ever had. And he’s just being a kid! It’s unbelievable how utterly and completely spent I am after just a regular day of simply meeting his needs. Do not discount how fucking hard this marathon of a job is. Prepare.
I don’t bother making beds, I just shut the door. We’re not going back there until 12 hours from now anyway. Here’s a really important thing I do on days when I don’t lose the entire day to the internet: Blinders when I pass the office. Walk straight to the kitchen/laundry. Which leads me to :
2) Screw laundry day. I’m a one loader. Laundry, then coffee, then feed children. In that order. He’ll be whining by now, and it’ll get ugly. I might have yelled a couple times between the bathroom and the kitchen depending on how late I slept. If it’s 8, maybe not. If it’s 10, and he’s really hungry, there will be yelling proportionate to his whining. He doesn’t think breakfast means food, so he’s screaming about snack and I’m saying “I’m making breakfast soon” and he’s screaming “I DON’T WANT BREAKFAST” and it goes downhill fast.
Now it’s playtime. There’s no such thing as time management here because why the hell would you need to manage this time. This post is about time management for not-busy people. We either play, or we don’t play. There are play days, and then there are TV and zombie facebook time suck crying jag days. Today was one of those and I’m sad to admit that my son has seen and will see lots of them. You get the parents you get. I’m working on it.
Somehow 3:00 comes around and what do you know, nothing has been cleaned or cooked and that laundry? Is still in the washer. I know, you were waiting for the rest of my tips, where I tell you when I put the laundry in the dryer while taking out the dinner stuff, yeah? I don’t do that stuff unless I remember to. But usually I’m either playing in the bean town or I’m on facebook or the treadmill, and managing the rest of the day is incredibly hard because it’s not scheduled. And when it is scheduled that’s incredibly hard because scheduling your day when there’s nothing you really have to do is stupid. Which leads me to
3) Don’t schedule every minute of the day just so you can make sure your oven gets cleaned regularly. That’s stupid. (or what I mean is, that doesn’t work for me…) My son is not yet 3. I am living the charmed life of a mother who plays with her son all day. There’s no place we have to be. Why is god’s name would we schedule our day? Especially around housework. Beyond we get up, we pee, we brush our teeth, we put in the laundry…we play it by ear. Some days the house gets cleaned. Some days it doesn’t. I used to be really, really freaky about this and there are times that I am really freaky about it still. I’m in a non freaky time and my husband can attest that he likes me better this way I think. God. It’s just housework, we’re not ending the cold war. I wrote a post about this a long time ago and I love to go back and read it. You should too.
I’m not a career housewife and I don’t want flylady telling me how to schedule every second of my day. You know what I do? Prioritize. Sometimes that works, and sometimes my house looks like shit and I’m embarrassed when people come around. So I don’t invite them.
Some days I lose a whole day to the internet, like today. Sometimes it’s worth it, like yesterday, and other days it’s necessary, like today which was a really horrible awful day and the only way through it was to sit here and stare at the computer and the TV and watch Real Housewives of Orange County and cry. But what the hell, of course I did- when things are bad, I turn to the internet like we all do: it’s well documented that we’re getting lonelier and more isolated and I think stay at home mothers get the worst of it because we don’t even have jobs to go to- we have no one to interact with except children, all day long. In fact if you want to lose even more days on the internet you can use some of your free time to read Six tips on how to fight isolation as a stay at home mom but then you wouldn’t need my post because you’d be scheduled out the ass. Pass for me since I don’t leave the house. Here’s a good one pager on how to stop being depressed about being a stay at home mom. I wish I’d read that one six years ago! My work here is done!
Anyway. Since none of those links solved my time management problem or my isolation problems, I’ll move along.
A few more things that make a difference during my completely unscheduled days (which are all of them):
During the day I only answer calls if I can keep them short. I can’t have a meaningful conversation with someone when it’s peppered with “no! Jack get down. Jack! The cat is not for lick-JACK! .do not put the cat in the dryer. Sorry, what were you saying about Sarah Palin?”
Bills, banking and paying clients are for after kids go to bed, no matter how tempted. I’m already on the computer, why? Because all of those things are depressing and make me yell at Jack, and he hears “IN A MINUTE!” a lot already.
COFFEE FIRST. Then breakfast. Oxygen mask goes on the grownup FIRST. THEN the child. I cannot stress this enough. If the morning starts out right, you’ve got a fighting chance.
I’ve been working hard lately to figure out where I fit into Jack’s new life. He’s a a little more independent but he still needs me so much that I can’t start a project of my own, or sit down to do any actual work. I can be in the room, and half present, but I still have to BE there. It’s that In Between thing again, which I’ll write about tomorrow. I hate being in between.
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