This morning, I was scheduled to see a doctor (for the first time in nearly four months) at the county health center. This appointment was my initial appointment for my prenatal care (which, if you are keeping track, I already did when I had insurance and, if I hadn’t already done it, should have taken place about six months ago). If you follow here at all, then you know that I have been struggling with the state to start recieving Medicaid now for a few days shy of three months and have yet to have received anything. After being denied Medicaid on my first try (because of some ridiculous paperwork issue that I was assured would NOT be an issue), I was instructed to walk in to the County Health Center and get a proof of pregnancy. I did that the same day. I was also told that I would be able to receive Medicaid for 45 days, as a temporary supplement until my application was processed and all was well. Well? No such luck. I sat at the Health Center and waited for nearly four hours with a six month preggo belly for a nurse to “confirm” my pregnancy (which, I might add, at this point, can be confirmed by anyone with EYES). I got a piece of paper stating that I am, indeed, knocked up, and I left. I faxed this “proof” to the medicaid office and I waited. I finally, last week, was able to have a “phone interview” with the Medicaid office which consists of a really rude woman repeating all of the information that you indicated on your application and then practically hanging up on you. It is totally fun.

In the 2.5 weeks between the time when I received the proof of pregnancy and had the phone interview, I tirelessly contacted every agency that could possibly have anything to do with my case and was given the runaround about 36 more times. I went back to the health center. I faxed more information from here to there and there to here and finally, the health center, after receiving an order from a higher-up I had accidently gotten in touch with. (I say “accidently” because if these people were competent at all, they would not have transferred my call to him and then probably wouldn’t have had to deal with me for quite as long. Their bad.) The mean lady with the bad weave scheduled my appointment reluctantly, and said that she would make sure that all of the information I had given her would be forwarded to the appropriate place so that I could get this fabled 45 temporary Medicaid. (Which, I had discovered by this time, is something that no one likes to discuss. I think that it has the same first rule as “Fight Club” and they are afraid for their teeth, but…this is not helpful.) Evidently, nothing was ever forwarded anywhere and I have not been given this 45 day whateverthefuck. So, I think to myself, “At least I have an appointment scheduled. And by that time, my medicaid should be situated anyway, so I should be fine.” But I was still sort of under the impression that my situation was understood and that I didn’t need to have everything all set in stone in order to have this appointment.

Fast forward to this morning, the day of my appointment. I was scheduled to be seen at 8:15. I got a call at 7:55 from the mean lady with the bad weave stating that there were no nurses available today and that the doctor had been “injured” and that my appointment had been rescheduled to Thursday. And I say, “Okay. That’s fine.” I mean, what can I do? I am at their mercy. And it isn’t like it will get in the way of my grueling work schedule, so it will do. So, I am disappointed, but I am still glad to have the appointment and, nothing will get me down. You know, short of going into labor. Or the zombie apocolypse. Or, god forbid, BOTH.

Three hours later, mean, bad weave lady called again. She said that she has to cancel my appointment altogether because my medicaid has not get “gone through”. I finally convinced her to keep my appointment on the books because the Medicaid office has all the information that they had requested and my application should be processed by then (fat chance of that) and she reluctantly agreed, but she did tell me that if all is not sorted by my appointment on Thursday, I will be responsible for paying for the entire visit. $600. 

To that, I say, “No problem, mean bad weave lady! I have only been unemployed for three months and am seven months pregnant. I can totally spare $600! Especially since I have only been begging YOU specifically to explain this process and offer your expertise on this issue for the last month and you have been so unbelievably…bitchy and unsympathetic and did not inform me that this might happen when you scheduled the appointment when I was standing in front of you pouring my soul out. I would LOVE to shell out that kind of money. In fact, I don’t need this baby either. Are you in the market for a white baby girl? She won’t have any hair yet but I am sure you can make her look as ridiculous as you and give her a nice, hideous weave as soon as she starts growing some. And you know, meanness can be taught.”

Translation: Ummm…okay?

So, here I am. Seven months in and making little to no progress. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to resume phone stalking the medicaid office. 

Related articles

• On Progress (brokencondoms.wordpress.com)
• The Whole Debacle (brokencondoms.wordpress.com)
• No Medicaid For You (aleksandreia.com)