Doctors Are More Important Than You

The current thing about which I am freaking more than any other thing currently on my "to be freaked out about" list (what? Don't you have one of those lists?) is the fact that the medical form part of our home study is due to expire on January 17th. This is only 11 days after the current baby due date. Which means it could very easily be before said baby is actually born. Because apparently due dates are just guesses made by Doctors (who are, as mentioned above, more important than you.)

So, being a proactive person (and at the suggestion of those who deal with all the persnickety legal stuff that goes along with adopting), I called up the doctor's office and explained the situation and was able to squeeze in two physicals this week. And there was great rejoicing and many sighs of relief and then this was marked off my to do/to worry about lists. Right up until the point where we got home from work on Tuesday to find two answering machine messages that went something like this:

"Hello, Mrs. Sleepy, this is the office of the doctor who is more important than you. We have you scheduled for a physical on Thursday at 2:10 but it hasn't been at least a year since your last physical, so we can't do this at this time. Please give us a call."

The other one was virtually identical except it was for Tim.

At this point there was much pulling of hair and gnashing of teeth and hissing of "But I explained all of this to them, even mentioning that it wasn't a year yet and they said that it was ok." And Tim stood next to me trying to figure out if I would bite off his hand if he attempted to pat my shoulder and tell me it would be ok.

So yesterday, at about 9:40 in the morning, I called up the doctor's office and prostrated myself on the altar of their really annoying hold music until my offering was accepted and I was given the boon of actually being able to speak to a real live human being. So I explained the whole situation as slowly as possible using words that primarily had no more than two syllables just to ensure that the whole thing was as clear and understandable as I could possibly make it. When I was finished, the receptionist said, "Ok. Can you spell your last name for me again?" I complied with a sinking feeling that anticipated the next question perfectly, "So what seems to be the problem?"

After several cleansing breaths, when I was able to speak without flames shooting out of my nostrils, I repeated the problem more slowly and with even smaller words than used previously. As I spoke I heard the clickety-clackety of keys and tried to assure myself that this was her taking notes in my file so that they could figure something out. When all was finished, she chirped, "Ok, I've typed up a note for Dr. MoreImportantThanYouCanPossiblyKnow and he'll review it and see if there's anything we can do." I thanked her, reiterated the two (polite! I promise!) suggestions I had for rectifying the situation, thought about several other (very impolite! I promise!) suggestions that I had for her and had her repeat my cell phone number that she assured me the doctor would call "As soon as he possibly could."

My phone has not yet rung.

Now, I understand that Tim and me adopting a child is of little to no importance to our doctor - after all, he's convinced that if I would just relax we'd conceive in no time - but it doesn't seem unreasonable that he might call back simply to reiterate that they were too important to care about our little problem and that we were welcome to schedule an appointment for new physicals on or after January 17th. Then again, maybe that is unreasonable, what do I know?

(I'll tell you what I know - I know we're taking our forms to an urgent care and not dealing with Dr. Important unless absolutely unavoidable.)