Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Accidentally Accidental

Today I think I ran headlong into the "future" of medicine. I now have a headache to prove it.

Instead of the usual "This is Dr. Soandso's office calling to confirm your appointment on this inconvenient day at this inconvenient time", I received "In order to confirm your appointment and keep unneccessary delays from occuring*, please log onto www.annoyingdoctorjunk.com and click on the patient portal**."

Knowing how much I enjoy pap smears and breast manipulation techniques, I simply couldn't WAIT to follow the instructions.

After a few minor*** issues with the website, I finally got in. Then the REAL fun began. This wasn't any sissy survey of my health. It was completely exhaustive.

My favorite page was the "Health History" section, where you had to click "yes" or "no" on several issues. Stuff like "Diabetes?", "Mental Illness?", "Hysterectomy?" The usual suspects.

Of course, when I got to "Adopted?", I checked "yes". Then I looked at the next question. For what seemed like a long time. Then I took a swig of coffee, hoping the combination of caffeine, heat, and gingerbread creamer would help my brain understand what the heck this question was really asking.

It said "Accident".

Now, this wasn't a drop-down box, implying "Adoption? Accident?" But, it still puzzled me.

Were they referring to "regular" pregnancies where little Johnny, ten years younger than his older brother, comes on the scene? And why, in Sam Hill, would THAT matter? Does your Dr. need to know "Yes. I like sex. Yes. We weren't protected. Yes. We thought we were past reproductive years." Can't he just read the chart, see the gap in years, and, with all his years of doctor knowledge KNOW Johnny wasn't "planned"?

Maybe they were talking about a car crash? A run-in with a saw? Slipping in the shower? The possibilities were endless.

And I still wasn't sure if they were referring to the whole adoption thing. But answering "no" would seem daft. Basically, you don't end up pregnant with the intention of giving your child up for adoption. Unless you are a paid womb, in which case, it has another name and lots of zeroes after it. And there ain't NOTHING accidental about that many zeroes.

Typically, I'm anal enough to feel the need to check every box, even if it appears to be written by someone smoking crack. This time? No. I figure if enough people are as confused as me and leave this particular box mysteriously blank, they'll get the hint.

And I'm saying a little prayer that the server that this chunk of information is stored on never decides to go down and purge my information.

My forehead doesn't need another huge crease and the neurons in my brain don't need another workout like the one caused by the whole adoption vs. accident debate.


*Read: We'll cancel your appointment and bill you for the pleasure of not doing business with us in the way we told you we would do business with you. It's like the dang mafia.

**When you click here, make sounds like blasting off from Star Trek and you can be beamed to other planets to meet very strange little green people. Or not.

***If my tongue was in my cheek any harder it might bust through to the other side. This whole thing was a beatdown of proportions that words can not describe. Other than cuss words, which cost me a quarter a pop starting in just two days, so I'll refrain.

3 comments:

  1. When you finally see this Dr.'s office, you must ask what the point of the "accident" question is?!?!?!

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  2. A quarter for each expletive? This sounds like a story unto itself. :-)

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  3. So, the doctor was going over my questionnaire, found this item, and was puzzled herself. We had a good laugh over it.

    Hell, yes, Craig. OOPS.

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