An Apple A Day
Keeps the doctor away? No, my friends , I don't think so.

I work ( gasp ) for a doctor. Well, actually several doctors. It's a family practice group that ranges from pediatrics to geriatrics, with a little voodoo and hocus pocus thrown in for good measure. I actually went to school for this. Not a long term, four year type of degree. But for a chic my age, it was long enough. Funny thing, they don't tell you what it is really like when you are in school. They groom you into becoming a "professional", ding you for not crossing all your t's and dotting all your i's, but they never tell you that working for medical practice can be...how to say this...disillusioning.

I had this so-called great idea right about the time I hit the big 37 I needed to do something with my life besides wait tables, and splash coffee ( accidentally of course ) on folks. So, off to school I went. Medical Assisting. Sounds kind of fun, and hey, I was going to have a title that didn't include the words CASHIER or ATTENDANT in it. So, I studied my ass off, got good grades and eventually graduated. Off went the resumes, and surprise surprise, I actually got a job. Out of 20 resumes, one place called me for an interview and hired me. I realize now, after having been in this facility for a few years, that they would have hired anyone who wasn't on a ventilator and is able to sit up and take nourishment. But, I was excited, so I put on my "professional" clothes and off to work I went. My first day I filed charts. All day. Takes a real genius, let me tell ya. But I read some of the notes ( shhhh, don't tell anyone ) and that was interesting. Enough that I went back the next day. And for every day for the last three years. I've long since given up reading the notes, because to tell you the truth, it's kind of boring. There are only so many cases of otitis media and dermatitis that one can read without longing for a nap.

Doctors, or providers, as they are now more commonly known, are a different kind of breed. They are so smart their heads hurt from all the shit floating around in it. I have to worry about finding the right code for acute pancreatitis, but they have to actually diagnosis it. Not that they always get it right. Doctors are not God. Yes, I know, dear friends, this may come as a shock to your system. But they mess up just like the rest of us. They send home kids with a raging fever and abdominal pain and tell the parents not to worry. It's just a viral infection. Five hours later the kid is being admitted in the hospital with, guess what? Appendicitis. Gee, that took a rocket scientist to figure out.

OK. I know. It sounds like I don't have a great deal of respect for these folks. Not true. Not in the least. They are a terrific bunch of people. And not what you may think about a group of doctors. They are not snobby. You know, the "my shit doesn't stink" syndrome. They're actually pretty cool. Any doc who can go around the office singing that song about "when I think about you I touch myself", and then walk into an exam room and be totally professional is ok in my book.

My dog ate my Xanax and other tales from the crypt
People are funny. They can come up with the biggest stories to get what they want, and somehow talk themselves into believing it. It's not really my job to decide when they are telling the truth, or shoveling a load, but it does make the day a little more enjoyable.

The Xanax lady. That is my all time favorite story. Shirley, as she shall be known for the sake of privacy, and for the lack of a better name, is what we call a " drug seeker." Drug seekers typically will do anything to get the drug of choice that they have become fond of. Lortab is a biggie. Now, not to veer off of the story, but I don't understand the Lortab fascination. The only time I have taken the drug was after the birth of my son, and when I had dental surgery, neither of which I care to repeat. Yes, it helped the pain, but the fuzzy feeling in my head was not something I could live day in and day out with. Well, and not be able to function anyways.

So back to Shirley. Shirley was a typical drug seeker. She had a long med list of drugs that consisted mostly of narcotics. Everything from anxiety to sciatica was covered on her med list. Shirley had this knack, if you will, of conning the providers into believing she could not walk because her sciatica was too intense. She also had them believing that her anxiety was caused by her husband, who was schizophrenic and depressed. Ok, I guess if my husband had all that going on, I'd be anxious, too. So every other day, she would call and ask for a script that would make most people go into a catatonic state. And she got it. Until the day her dog ate her Xanax.

I happened to answer the call on the above mentioned day. When I heard her voice, I have to admit I cringed. It was like nails on a chalkboard. She told me she needed a refill on her Xanax, and it had to be done ASAP. So, like the good little secretary I am, I looked in her chart and realized she had a refill two days prior. When I brought this to her attention, she explained that her dog ate the Xanax, bottle and all, hence, she needed a refill ASAP. Well, my thoughts were with the dog. Was he alive? Shirley assured me that he was alive and well, laying in the corner and taking a nap. Apparently he had been there for several hours taking a nap. No wonder, after digesting several Xanax and a plastic bottle, to boot. Shirley explained that her husband was a little more schizo than usual, and she really needed a refill to calm her anxiety. I guess Fido needed a calming agent to deal with hubby , too. Last I heard, Fido was fine, and Shirley was discharged from the practice for practicing "narcotic behaviors." Who do you feel more sorry for in this situation? Fido, for attempting suicide and failing, or Shirley, for being off her rocker and thinking we would believe it? I think you have to feel for her husband. Maybe he had the right idea all along. Listen to the voices in your head and they will drown out Shirley.

Here's a surprise. Not all of the drug seekers are taking the stuff themselves. Street prices for some of the meds are pretty decent. Take the lady that insisted on getting the name brand for a narcotic because that is all her insurance would accept. Hello. Insurance companies will do whatever it takes NOT to cover a drug, and they will certainly do whatever it takes to make it cheaper on their wallet. On the street, this particular drug brings in a nice little bit of change. The generic brand, apparently, is not the user's drug of choice.

Freida, another of our frequent fliers, has come up with every story in the book. Pills that were dropped down the sink, pills that were stolen from her car, pills that were dropped in her lawn and the birds ate them. You have to love that. The thought of these birds flying around stoned out of their little bird brains is just too funny. I don't care who you are, that is some funny stuff. ( I should give homeage to Larry the Cable Guy for the last line.)