I wasn't ignoring you

...I was just very busy.

First I had to puncture the local lab director's tires with an icepick when it became clear that the staff had gone home yesterday without making sure my bloodwork results had been faxed correctly to Cornell. They'd been sent to the wrong number.

(But, hey, that's okay. No problem. I can wait to learn the results of my pregnancy test after my fourth fucking IVF. Take your freakin' time. That big label that says STAT is really just a serving suggestion.)

Then I had to tip five pounds of sugar into the gas tank of the customer service representative who sent the results to the wrong number again, despite the fact that the correct number was printed in big bold type on the order itself.

(Sure, anyone could make that mistake. I can totally see how you'd fax the results to the wrong number, even after the patient calls twice to offer gentle encouragement and positive reinforcement, making sure you have the right number. Happens to the best of us, I am sure.)

Then, still not done with my spree of vehicular mayhem, I was obliged to shoulder a tire iron and work a pattern of delicate, lace-like cracks into the windshield of the receptionist at Cornell who wasn't able to give me my results, telling me I needed to wait an hour and a half until the on-call nurses began taking calls. I hated to do it, because she was very kind, but I try to be consistent in my vengeance.

(After all, why should I expect to get straight information about my own medical records in a swift and timely manner? It's not like it's my body or anything. It's not like my medical records are my legal property or anything. Of course they wouldn't want to give results to just any old patient without appropriate vetting and strict adherence to procedure. I could be a terrorist, for God's sake. Only a filthy liberal would expect otherwise. Julie, why do you hate America?)

Then I had to rest. Engineering all this chaos takes it out of a girl.

Now, at last, my agenda is clear and I call tell you that I finally learned this morning that my hCG level is a comfortable — though not extravagant — 107.

My clinic likes to see anything above a 50 at this point; if you clear that threshold they don't do a repeat test for another week. That might be a good thing. It will give my victims time to perform the necessary repairs on their automobiles, so that I might start fresh again next Monday.

Posted by Julie at 11:45:28 AM in Jesus gay, I'm pregnant., Notes from astride the stirrups

Comments

I wasn't ignoring you

...I was just very busy.

First I had to puncture the local lab director's tires with an icepick when it became clear that the staff had gone home yesterday without making sure my bloodwork results had been faxed correctly to Cornell. They'd been sent to the wrong number.

(But, hey, that's okay. No problem. I can wait to learn the results of my pregnancy test after my fourth fucking IVF. Take your freakin' time. That big label that says STAT is really just a serving suggestion.)

Then I had to tip five pounds of sugar into the gas tank of the customer service representative who sent the results to the wrong number again, despite the fact that the correct number was printed in big bold type on the order itself.

(Sure, anyone could make that mistake. I can totally see how you'd fax the results to the wrong number, even after the patient calls twice to offer gentle encouragement and positive reinforcement, making sure you have the right number. Happens to the best of us, I am sure.)

Then, still not done with my spree of vehicular mayhem, I was obliged to shoulder a tire iron and work a pattern of delicate, lace-like cracks into the windshield of the receptionist at Cornell who wasn't able to give me my results, telling me I needed to wait an hour and a half until the on-call nurses began taking calls. I hated to do it, because she was very kind, but I try to be consistent in my vengeance.

(After all, why should I expect to get straight information about my own medical records in a swift and timely manner? It's not like it's my body or anything. It's not like my medical records are my legal property or anything. Of course they wouldn't want to give results to just any old patient without appropriate vetting and strict adherence to procedure. I could be a terrorist, for God's sake. Only a filthy liberal would expect otherwise. Julie, why do you hate America?)

Then I had to rest. Engineering all this chaos takes it out of a girl.

Now, at last, my agenda is clear and I call tell you that I finally learned this morning that my hCG level is a comfortable — though not extravagant — 107.

My clinic likes to see anything above a 50 at this point; if you clear that threshold they don't do a repeat test for another week. That might be a good thing. It will give my victims time to perform the necessary repairs on their automobiles, so that I might start fresh again next Monday.