Two wheels good

Yesterday Zora rode her bike for the first time since the whole blind-in-one-eye thing. She just zipped off to Tamara’s while I was still in bed. Didn't even put the mirror on or nothing. She said it was fine. And apparently nothing came at her from the left. Or at least not that she saw.

Saw the cardiologist, barely.

Another relative all-clear. Except I thought I would have a nervous breakdown before I got to see him.

Up till now, insurance has been relatively smooth sailing. I get lots of things that say "this is not a bill" and "total to be paid: $0.00." Great. A huge relief. My insurance even approved my visits to the ID doc, even though he's not in the network. How beneficent.

So I thought it would be a cinch to see a cardiologist who really was in the network, the cardiologist who'd seen me at Mt. Sinai and who works with the ID doc. I'd gotten a visit to him approved back in January, but then the referral expired while I was busy having surgery and losing half my vision. "No problem," said my primary-care doc. "I'll just refax the first referral."

I didn't think about it again till I got to the appointment, and the receptionist said she didn't have the referral. And that there was no way to see the doctor without it.

Is that even legal? I'd even just signed some random piece of paper that said I was responsible for the bill if my insurance didn't cover it. Which I pointed out, but it didn't carry any weight with this by-the-book gatekeeper.

So I had to spend the next hour on the phone--largely on hold, usually on the brink of tears due to infuriation at the gross unfairness and indignity of it all--with insurance people and the imperious little guy who's my PCP's assistant. Everyone involved was hostile, defensive and unsympathetic.

Turned out, I think, that the assistant had refaxed the referral as promised, but hadn't bothered to change the dates, so it essentially arrived expired. And no one in the cardiologist's office had the imagination to appreciate that if HIP had approved my visit to the doc before heart surgery, it surely would be merited after surgery as well. Also, a faxed copy of the re-re-faxed referral, with dates corrected, to show the process was in the works, simply would not do.

I felt like tearing off my shirt and pointing at my scar and throwing a tantrum, but crying real tears had drawn nothing but an exasperated sigh from the receptionist, so I didn't want to risk her having me carted off by security. Instead I just went to the bathroom and blew my nose and splashed water on my face and took many deep breaths. Reading the New Yorker helped too.

After another twenty minutes, during which some manager talked directly to HIP about my impudence, the receptionist came over and said, "Fine. It's approved. But just this once. If you ever want to see the doctor again, you have to get another referral." Like I'd pulled a fast one on them, but they were on to me.

I can't help but think this might've gone a little more smoothly in California.

A Taste of California

I posted over on Roving Gastronome about this shipment of citrus we just got from California.

Oo-ee. It is good and life-giving. It makes me feel that my sojourn on the West Coast was not all just a fantasy of the Easy Life. And I certainly will not get scurvy.

Docs' update: Got blood cultures drawn on Tuesday, but I'm not clear yet: one more ID visit in my future, in a month, then I can be considered germ-free. Cardiology next Tues. Ophthalmological angiogram next Wed, followed by three or four more monthly checkups to make sure I'm not getting glaucoma. The day I have no more doctors' appointments scheduled, then I'll feel normal.

The skin post!

There hasn’t been much news here recently, which is really good news overall. Zora continues to recover nicely. I really do have better things to do than keep Flappy up-to-date. I look forward to the day when I can officially close out Flappy. But Zora still thinks it’s a bit early for that. And we wouldn’t want to jinx anything. And there’s still the adventure of preparing and cooking chicken brined with left-over saline-filled syringes to document. And for the pictures, Zora just happens to have a spare lab coat (“Of course I have a lab coat,” she says. Uh, of course?)

Zora saw some ophthalmologist last week. But there’s no real news there. The doc warned that glaucoma is more of risk in the blind eye (what’s a good analogy, like warning that the barn-door hinge is rusty long after the horse escaped?), so she’ll have to get checked for that regularly.

I’ve learned from fashion mags that nothing sells like sex. And I’m not too proud to resort to a little skin when desperate for material. So to reward the hardy reader, here are the healing scars. Maybe next time I’ll let the cat out of the bag and tell you the 30 things to please me that I’ll never tell you.



To remind you, here’s the old shot of her scars after about 1 week.



And here’s Zora eating her chocolate heart, curtsey of Adrienne.

It says it’s life sized and anatomically correct, but it’s only 1 1/2 inches deep and flat on the back! And imagine my disappointment when I claimed dibs on the mitral valve only to discover that on the inside, the damn thing is solid milk chocolate. Harrumph.