Calling All

Look This Way 

Rules dictate that I can't share names or any other information about the clients I work with or (and especially) the patients.  But, I want to talk about one patient, well, actually a series of patients who called on what was, "a normal" Wednesday afternoon.  

The patients who reach out to me (the company) call to talk about a bill they've received for we are, after-all, a medical billing company. Aside from those callers who are offering credit/debit card information to pay their bill, are those who have some sort of dispute, need some clarification, need to offer some additional insurance detail, or  just want to vent.  

The normal Wednesday was full of venters.  

The first venter didn't remember the doctor named on the bill she's holding in her hand.  The treatment given during a recent hospital admission.  This statement is a common vent.  Often, when one is hospitalized an army of practitioners may storm through a room. Patients are generally not in a position to take note or notes of who is who or even why. So, when they receive a pile of bills some weeks later, they are (often) perplexed.  This venter was less than satisfied with the information I provided. Very often the venter isn't looking to understand (or to be understood). They typically just want to be heard.  She eventually ran out of steam and hung up.  

The second venter couldn't understand why she's receiving a bill 2 years beyond the treatment date. I tried to explain that the bill in her hand wasn't the first one mailed; that I couldn't explain why  none of the others found her, but tried to assure her others had been mailed even giving her those previous statement dates. She was convinced that we were trying to scam her, that someone had co-opted her identity and is trying to take her $17.82. She hung up with an air of satisfaction that she'd bested me (us) in our attempt to extort her money.  

The final venter didn't know the practitioner, didn't remember the treatment, didn't understand why she's receiving a bill, ("I have insurance!!!") didn't trust me (the company), didn't have any money to pay any, damn bill, didn't appreciate that we were harassing her. This venter opted to use her outside voice during most of her vent.  She was a big fan of punctuating her sentences with some profanity. 

I have clearance to hang up on this type of venter.  However, I rarely hang up on them. I will either stay quiet until they run out of steam or ask them to please stop shouting and certainly stop with the profanity.  I assure them that I will do what I can to assist but will not engage. I will not match them shout for shout.  

I understand the measure of frustration these patients feel.  I understand that many feel powerless and overwhelmed and need to vent.  I admit, some days I have less patience for the venters even if I do understand the frustration that drives them to the phone. Still, I hang on and try to do what I can to help them (and of course, collect their payment or promise to pay).   

The final venter did stop shouting and did edit the profanity however we didn't get any closer to her accepting the current reality. 

She will likely pay her bill. . . eventually.  

Or not.  

She may even call again. 

Maybe even on a Wednesday. 

On the upside, since I work from home now, I can log off, take a walk, pet the dog, have a tall drink of water (or juice, or make a smoothie), or primal scream it out.   

And then, get back at it.  

  

 

Another Year Older

Pete at Fifteen

Do you remember when you first learned to read? Or write? Or ride a bike? Or anything that you can point back to that changed the course of your life? That opened your world? That upset the applecart in sometimes good or sometimes not so good ways?  

That first one? 

Fully disclosure, I do not remember many of the life altering moments. Well, not the exact moments but certainly took in full measure of the changes, the shifts.  I recall quite fondly the first time I rode a bicycle all by myself.  I remember the first bike I received as a gift. I remember using those wheels, and my power churning those wheels to put some distance between home and the rest of the world.  

Well, the neighborhood, at least.  

One of the exact moments I remember is meeting Pete.  And I remember bringing him home from the shelter.  Pete, you see, was my first pet as an adult.  Actually, the first cat....ever.  My family owned dogs (many dogs) when I was growing up.  My children didn't have pets as children.   

So Pete checked many boxes with his presence.  

Pete, like Buttah, were the pets, the cats I didn't think I wanted and certainly didn't think I needed.  

I was wrong. Pete is exactly what my household needed at the time and is exactly right for the household now.  He's a prince.  He's not a cuddle puddle kind of cat and that is okay, I have understood that about him from the very beginning. I respect his boundaries. He loves that about me.  

The other first I remember is the very first blog post on this space.  I remember discovering blogs as I was discovering myself, as I was, in the word of former first lady, Michelle Obama, "becoming." I was living a shadow life, a shell of my actual self, going through the motions, keeping up appearances, following the path set out before me.  

It would be some posts later before I actually uttered the words, that truth, the soul of me--that which others in my life report to have known, or had guessed to be true.  It would be some 1,000 (plus) posts later that revealed other truths, insights, humors, highs, lows . . .   

And loss. 

Within these pages I talk about the loss of my mother, my father, the diva dog and the orange boy. Thanks to these pages I was comforted and supported. I have cherished the community that visited here and grateful for the bloggers who have shared their lives, journeys, insights, truths, highs, lows, and more.  I cherish the friends made through blogging.  

Like Pete, this space is fifteen years old this year.  (Pete, 03/06   Middle Girl, 03/29) 

Like I love the prickly Pete. I love this space even as the community at large has opted for other mediums or distanced themselves off the internet. I love what remains, I love what may be again someday. And even if it is never like it was, this space will remain a special repository for my thoughts, truths, joys, and pains.  

I remain ever grateful for the readers, commenters, fellow bloggers, and friends.    

May peace be with us all. 

                                                                                       

Dog With A Ball In The Creek