Why do they call it Urgent Care… if.. well you get my drift. It’s NOT!
Urgent for those of us using it. Not so for the people working there. Maybe it’s just the place I went to but it was a two hour wait for four people. Just for the waiting room. Where no one had any outward appearances of being sick. They must have all gone in for a UTI like me.
Yesterday, I found myself suffering from some burning lower back pain. All too familiar to my kidney infection two years ago, where I had assistance from associates like The Kidney Docs. I procrastinated in a state of denial all day until H came home. Then feeling slightly dizzy I decided to join the oh so happenin’ party that is the Urgent Care waiting room. The possibly pregnant teen with her mother. The movie the ‘Little Princess’ inexplicably playing on the VCR. The weird guy next to me who kept locking himself in the bathroom only to emerge after his name was called three times with soaking wet hair. I mean dripping. When I went to pee in my little cup later? That’s right, urine all over the floor. Was the guy pissing on the floor or showering with it?! I felt sufficiently diseased after that.
After reading almost half a book I was finally called in. I dutifully peed in my cup and handed it over. There was no direction as to what I was supposed to do with the cup or myself afterwards. The entire waiting room saw me with my cup o’ pee since the bathroom is in there and not behind a closed door. I didn’t feel compelled to join them again. So I stood around the back area awkwardly waiting for my cue. Five minutes later a mumbling nurse ushered me into a room that might have seemed fresh in 1986. Was that when beige sponge paint was all the rage? I cracked open my book again as I listened to the doctor berating a pregnant woman next door. Seems they did a bunch of tests before she revealed her pregnancy. I felt like I was listening to an incredibly bad and old soap opera next to me. The ones with the organ music added for dramatic emphasis.
Finally it was my turn. Five minutes with the doctor gave me an instant sample of anti-biotic, two scripts for pain killers and a diagnosis of- nothing. Seems I peed it all out? Huh. Anyway, the test strip I could have bought at my local CVS told them nothing. To send it to the lab would be against my insurance policy. Nice. When I asked the doctor about that- how can it be that no lab work could ever be done? She promptly snapped, “Go yell at your insurance company then.” Because we all know that will solve EVERYTHING.
Tired, in pain, and now mad at the U.S. Health care system, I drove to CVS praying that my two plus hours at the Not-So-Urgent Care would not leave me stranded with no pain meds. An hour later, with two pill bottles, a bag of freetos and a new plastic shower curtain (I got bored!) in hand I left CVS to head home.
Today I am tired. I’ve already said things like, “Well, stop feeding Lex (the dog) your Cheerios and then you can eat them” about a bazillion times and I just want to crawl into bed and see everyone later. Like tomorrow. Just be sure to slip my meds under the door every few hours.
