No Other Options?

Hydrocodone makes me violently ill. I'm told it's not an allergy but a "sensitivity". Call it whatever you like - I don't want to take it. It makes me sick. In the past, when I indicated that I was "sensitive", I was still prescribed hydrocodone along with an anti-nausea drug. I don't really know what happened to the drugs that didn't make me sick, like Darvon and Percodan - although I did look them up and it seems that Darvon isn't effective (could have fooled me) and Percodan is no longer suitable for me because I take an anti-coagulant. And it's very possible that over the years I may have developed an intolerance for them, as well. I was so pleased to learn about Tramadol. As I understand it, Tramadol is what is prescribed for people who are "sensitive" to hydrocodone.

The instructions were to take one tramadol tablet before I went to bed. Who would have thought I'd wake up sick? Violently ill would have been an improvement. At least it would have been over with quickly. With tramadol I woke up nauseous and stayed that way until I was forced to get out of bed for 15 minutes which resulted in being ill (aka vomiting, puking, tossing cookies - choose your euphemism.) After that, I started to feel better.

In some ways this was worse than hydrocodone. With hydrocodone, I typically throw up within 30 minutes of ingesting it.With this stuff, I was green around the gills all day.

I had to let the doctor know that we needed to try something else. Fortunately since this doctor is thoroughly modern, I'm set up on his web-based system and all it took was a quick message to let him know that it made me sick and that we'd need to try another option.

But then the message came back that there were no other drug options. He told me my best only option was an orthopedic surgeon. Surgeon?? Surgeons have knives!

I've long been a believer in "better living through chemistry" and now chemistry was going to let me down. But to say that my ONLY option is an orthopedic surgeon? He doesn't know me. I will try diet and exercise. I will try acupuncture. I will try massage. I will try chiropractic. I will try dancing around the fire with a mask. Only when all other options have failed will I seek the assistance of a surgeon.

Marcus Welby vs. Doogie Howser

Remember Marcus Welby? This show ran from 1969 to 1976. What bothered me about it at the time was that no doctor actually got that involved with a patient's care. House calls?? No way! But other than that, Marcus Welby was just what I expected in a doctor. This can be summed up as "older than me".

Then in 1989 television doctors got a new look. Doogie Howser. This one ran from 1989 until 1993. At the time I thought that a doctor who looked like he was twelve was fairly preposterous. (I think in Doogie's case, he actually was twelve.) But these days a younger look seems to be the norm.

Let's talk about my doctors for a minute. I like my cardiologist. He has a lot of experience and I believe he's older than me. At least he looks older than me. I like my dermatologist. He was able to quickly diagnose a problem and prescribe a solution for a condition that a younger doctor had missed even though I'd visited three times with the same problem. I'm pretty sure my dermatologist is older than me. My OB-Gyn may not be older than me, but I've been seeing this same doctor for close to 25 years and his hair is turning gray now. Let's face it, I'd be upset if he started looking younger.

My friend's husband had cardiovascular surgery a couple of weeks ago. I waited with her and when the doctor came out to talk to her about the surgery I would have sworn he must have just graduated from high school in the spring.  (By the way, this is a worldwide issue - one of Mark's doctors in Paris appeared to be about 16.) So I wasn't completely surprised when the rheumatologist I saw last week looked like he was barely 20.

So maybe it was a generation gap issue that caused me and this new doctor to get off to an awkward start. He asked me what brought me to see him that day. (A reasonable question - even though I assume my complaint was written on the chart somewhere.) I also mentioned that I'd had a test for lupus back in June and that I assumed it wasn't a problem since my doctor hadn't phoned me to tell me that it was.

Then he told me that I needn't have wasted my time with that test because lupus strikes young black women between the ages of 15 and 30 and I was neither black nor between the ages of 15 and 30. I told him my mother had suffered from lupus.

Then he told me that she would have had it since her thirties and that since I was in my sixties, I needn't worry.

"My mother may have had it in her thirties but she wasn't diagnosed until she was in her sixties."

He gave me a quizzical look and then "implied" that her doctor probably didn't know what he was talking about because he may have been a GP instead of a rheumatologist. Indeed! Her doctor was a rheumatologist on staff at University Hospital in Cleveland - Case Western Reserve University. Well that shut his mouth and we moved on to why I was actually there, which was to see about my knee, not argue the particulars of my mother's case. He conceded that there are sometimes exceptions. I smiled and nodded but he needs to realize that there are ALWAYS exceptions. ALWAYS.

I could see from the x-ray (something that the doctor I saw back in March didn't share with me) that I'm missing a bit of cartilage. To make it stop hurting I got a cortisone shot, an exercise plan, lidocaine ointment, instructions to buy a knee brace for golf, and a prescription for tramadol.

I should be good to go!
  

More Difficult Than It Should Be

My knee hurt. (It still does, just not as bad as it did last week.) I needed to see a doctor. I thought about shooting myself in the knee and going to the ER, but it was only a thought. I was confused about what type of doctor to see. I saw an orthopedic surgeon last spring who told me I had garden variety (aka "not special") arthritis but that it was not serious and I did not need any type of surgery or medication. But it was hurting a lot more than it had last spring.

Could things have changed in six months time? (Of course!) Should I go back to that doctor? (Maybe, but he's a specialist and I might have to wait a month or longer and he's in a really inconvenient location.) Should I go to the ER - (without the gunshot wound)? An urgent care facility? Should I see a different doctor? What kind? Another orthopedic doctor? A rheumatologist? I wasn't sure. I decided to call the nurse consultant provided by my insurance company. I'm going to assume that she really is a nurse even though it was fairly obvious that she had a list of pre-scripted questions. (And there's nothing wrong with that - job aids can help a novice perform like an expert in a short amount of time.) After we went through her list of questions, she recommended that I see a rheumatologist. Then she helped me find the three that are in my network within a 35-mile radius.

Only three. One in Frisco, one in Plano and one in Sherman. Basically, 15 miles, 20 miles and 35 miles. I really wasn't willing to drive farther than that.

I called the one in Frisco. Was I being referred by another doctor? No? Had I seen a doctor for this condition before? I made the mistake of mentioning the x-ray and doctor visit in March. They would have to have the x-ray sent to them before they could schedule an appointment. No problem. I had time to go get it and walk it over since they didn't have any appointments available until December. I said I'd look into getting the x-ray call and get back to them. (Sure I will. As long as I sign a release form, why can't they exchange this information amongst themselves?)

I called the one in Plano. What was my date of birth? Really? They wanted to know my date of birth before my name? Maybe they wanted to make sure I wasn't on Medicare. Who knows? They wanted to know if I'd seen a doctor for this condition before. I wasn't going to make the mistake of mentioning the garden variety arthritis again. After all, it could have all changed and any x-ray should be redone. So I said "no". Then she told me that I had to have a referral from my doctor. I indicated that I had been referred by my insurance company. Let me tell you, she was not impressed.

"We only make appointments for people who are referred by other doctors. We have to have a referral form from a doctor and a copy of all your medical records."

"I'm over 60 - I have a lot of medical records - most of which are not relative to this condition."

"We don't need them all. We only need what is pertinent to your condition."

"If I haven't been seen for this condition before, how would any of them be pertinent?"

"Just have your GP write up a referral and..."

I interrupted, "I don't have a GP since I changed insurance companies last year. My GP thought he was in network, but he isn't."

"I'm sure he'll still write you a referral. I'll need that referral and the office notes from your last two office visits."

"I'm not sure how knowing that I had a flu shot helps you here, but if it makes you happy, I'll see what I can do. Do we make the appointment now?"

"No. We don't make any appointments until we have the physician's referral and the medical information. Then someone will review it and we'll call you back to make an appointment."

"How long does that take?"

"Usually we review it within three days of getting it and then we call you to make the appointment."

This looked like a lot more work for me and no guarantee that they'd even bother to call me back when my last two office visits pertained to a flu shot and a sinus infection. Besides, their first available appointment was November 23rd. My pain was more immediate.

I was starting to get really frustrated. It should not be that hard to make a doctor's appointment. I called the doctor in Sherman. Again, we start off with the date of birth, even before the name. Seriously people - this may be efficient, but it is just rude to ask someone when they were born before you even ask what their name is.

But at any rate, I did make an appointment - for the following week. (Not November or December.) No medical history required. No referral required. And I even got a call an hour later informing me that there had been a cancellation and if I'd like to come in the following day, that would be fine.

Yes. I would like that very much. 

So Where Was it Really?

I guess my bag did have a vacation of its own. I've removed and examined the baggage tags. Here's where it's been:

Dallas to Houston and Houston to Heathrow - August 27
Heathrow to Manchester - August 31
Cleared security in Manchester - September 9 (Really??)
Heathrow to Zurich - September 10
(I have no idea how or when it got from Zurich to Rome - there are no stickers - maybe it went by courier or by train.) 
Rome to Heathrow - September 30 
Heathrow to Dallas - October 1
Sent on October 2 to me via Fed Ex 2 day ground and arrived on October 6, which is right since FedEx only counts business days.

There are date stamps and little stickers that indicate that it may not have left Houston on August 27th. I'm not really familiar with all of these stickers and what the numbers mean, but there is one sticker that indicates it probably left Houston on the 28th. Why it sat at Heathrow for 3 days is anyone's guess.

My bag arrived in Manchester the day before I left and since I left first thing in the morning, there is no way they could have delivered it to me. However, if they had sent it immediately to Switzerland instead of keeping it in Manchester until September 9th, I might have received it there. I was in Switzerland from September 7th thru the 12th. Although I have to wonder why it took them five days to contact me after the bag arrived in Zurich. It arrived on the 10th but no one phoned me regarding delivery until the 15th - five days later and three days after I'd left for Italy.

I suppose when they figured that I'd gone home and didn't "need" it that there was just no rush because the bag didn't leave Rome until September 30th. (I left Rome on September 17th and arrived back home in Dallas, via Heathrow, on September 18th. But once the bag got back in the US, it didn't take long at all. It arrived in Dallas on October 1 and was shipped back to me on October 2.

I noted that it was NEVER in Paris, even though this was a popular BA response. Really, there's only so much you can blame on the French. And with all the stickers and barcodes, it is amazing that BA was never really able to tell me EXACTLY where it was.

The Apple logo decal was still in tact. The name tag with my name, address, and phone number was still in tact. Every single sticker says RUSH and EXPEDITE on it. I can only conclude that those folks in Europe have no idea what RUSH or EXPEDITE mean. (I can forgive the Italians for not knowing English words - but what's up with the British and the Swiss?) Thank goodness here in the USA, we know what good customer service is! May it ever be so.

 

Pulling Out All the Stops

"...When something goes wrong we’ll pull out all the stops to resolve the situation as quickly and painlessly as possible." - A quote. From the British Airways site.

Wow, think what it might have been like if they hadn't pulled out all the stops. I don't think five and a half weeks is quick. And it certainly wasn't painless.

I could write out a blow-by-blow account of every conversation I had with British Airways and their responses to my inquiries regarding the whereabouts of my bag. But that would be redundant. Suffice it to say that the BA folks in London had some stock responses.

"It's in Paris."
"It never left Houston."
"It's being flown from London to Manchester today."
"It's in Zurich."
"It will be delivered today or tomorrow."

 They also had a couple responses that were unique.
"We've asked Air France to return it but they haven't responded."
"It's at Heathrow. But you can't pick it up because we haven't completed the paperwork. That takes 24 hours."

If I questioned how it had managed to get back to Paris when it had been in Manchester the day before, the BA representative became even more surly than they started out. And surly seems to be their norm. Let's just say that every time I got on the phone with them, I could sense my blood pressure rising. After Mark's bag arrived soaking wet with the clothes damp, I wanted to register my displeasure and amazement that such a thing could happen. I was told that the lost baggage team didn't handle complaints. I would need customer service for that, but they were at a different number and not available because it was the weekend. When I asked for the customer service number on Monday morning, I was told "We don't have customer service." That was probably the first truthful words that anyone there had spoken to me! (They don't have supervisors, either.) It was at this point that I turned the handling of the problem over to American Express's Concierge service. (Good thing, too since I was preoccupied with Mark while we were in Paris.)

I noticed right away that the description of my bag that was in BA's system was not correct. It was listed as an all black, soft-sided, medium-sized bag. In fact, it has a hard-shell, and is black with a brown stripe down the middle. There is a London Fog emblem on the bag and Mark added a white Apple logo decal for easy identification. I asked them to update this information at least four times.

Finally, three days before we were supposed to fly home, I got a call from the courier in Zurich. He said they had my bag and asked if I'd like to have it delivered to the Canton Glarus address on file. Unfortunately, we'd left Canton Glarus three days earlier. They didn't seem to have the forwarding address in Italy even though I'd provided it on three separate occasions. Given the length of time it had taken them to get the bag to Zurich, I didn't think I'd have it before I went home.

By this time, we were in Italy and nearing  the end of our three weeks. By this time, even American Express's Concierge service was starting to fail. They started sending me emails to update me on the status of my bag that indicated they had no idea what had transpired in the past. (One of their emails questioned the fact that one bag had been delivered.- Golly Gee - That bag was delivered on day 2. A well-documented fact that they should have known.)


After I got home, I updated my address again and started calling BA in the US. (They DO have customer service in the US! And you can talk to them without them saying something stupid that makes your blood pressure go up.) Although, depending on what day of the week it was, they told me my bag was in Paris, in Zurich, in Rome, or in London.  One day I called and got a young man named Rasheed. When I asked him where my bag was that day, it was pretty obvious he didn't know, because he said, "Ma'am, I'm not sure what you want me to tell you." How about the truth for a change? I told Rasheed that he and I were going to become best friends, because I was going to call him every day until my bag was returned. Rasheed told me he would personally track down my bag and said I should feel free to ask for him when I called! He also advised me to go ahead and file the claim for the lost bag. (I'd been putting it off because documenting everything in the bag, when I bought each item and how much I'd paid for them, seemed a daunting task. I had hoped to avoid it.  But on his advice, I got busy with it and it only took about three days.)  When I called back the next week and asked for Rasheed, I was told that no one named Rasheed worked at BA nor had anyone named Rasheed worked there in well over a year. And whoever this new guy was didn't have any clue where my bag was. But he could tell me that the description and my phone number still hadn't been updated in their system. Seriously?? How many times would I have to ask for this to be changed? He gave me his name and told me to ask for him, but I didn't bother writing it down.

But whoever he was, he must have finally changed the description in the BA system because the bag was back in my possession within a few days of that conversation. It came back with no fanfare. The FedEx guy making the delivery didn't even bother to ring the doorbell. It just happened that we were watching the news and saw someone come to the door, appear to change his mind and leave. No phone calls - no email announcements. Nothing. Just my bag sitting at the door waiting to be welcomed home. I'm so glad I got it back because there were four things in there that I forgot to list on the claim form.

Oh yeah, the claim form. If they think this gets them off the hook for all that stuff I was forced to buy in Europe - they should think again. 

Best Laid Plans

I think it goes without saying that this trip was certainly not the trip we planned.

We planned to spend a couple of days in Holland-on-Sea visiting family. We were there for a couple of days, but we had to cut the visit a bit short in order to shop for underwear, cosmetics, and shirts.

We planned to spend a few days in Manchester visiting family. We were locked in on the time because we'd already purchased the tickets for the Eurostar to Paris. But we didn't get to spend as much time with family as we planned because #1. Mark had to deal with the rental car breakdown, #2. I had to go shopping again because my bag still hadn't arrived and #3. Mark started having an upset stomach and needed to rest.

We planned to arrive in Paris on Monday evening and leave for Zurich on Wednesday morning. We planned to spend Tuesday in the Louvre and have lunch in the Eiffel Tower. Shortly after arriving in Paris and having a late night snack, I had to call the ambulance to take Mark into the hospital. He wasn't released until Friday afternoon and we were advised not to leave Paris before Sunday. No Louvre. No Eiffel Tower. We were four days late getting to Zurich.

We planned to arrive in Zurich on Wednesday and stay through until Sunday. Instead, we arrived on Sunday and stayed until Friday. It was good to be with friends who were happy to show us around Switzerland and make allowances for Mark not being 100%.

We planned to take the Bernina Express from Chur over the Alps to Turano. It's only a four hour trip, but we would have had to catch another train in Turano for Florence, which was our original plan. Mark's low blood count made it ill-advised to try to change trains and cart luggage around - even if we were one bag short. Instead, when we left Switzerland on Friday we took a train straight to Rome, with one change in Milan.

In Rome, we caught the train to Spoleto where friends were waiting for us. Once again, it was good to be with friends who were happy to make allowances for Mark still not being 100%. We were also fortunate that our friends had knowledge of the local emergency room and knew enough Italian to help us through that when Mark injured his foot. They also knew just where to go to get Mark a pair of sleek, Italian crutches.

Yet throughout all of this, I am still blessed. Our plane was not shot down, nor did it disappear into thin air. The mishaps occurred where first-class medical assistance was available. We should be in a position to try this again. Maybe next year. Maybe the year after. Probably not the same identical itinerary. If I can't make it to the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower in three visits I'm not meant to go. But I'm looking forward to a return visit to Switzerland, the Bernina Express, and Florence.

One person remarked to me, "Wow - and it was a once in a lifetime trip."

I certainly do hope so. I never want to experience another trip like this one in my lifetime.

Fashion Week!

It seemed like there were posters and electronic displays for Fashion Week everywhere I went. Fashion Week Paris, Fashion Week London, Fashion Week Milan!

How exciting! You can't begin to imagine my excitement. I'd been wearing the same (comfortable) shoes for nearly three weeks. I'd been doing laundry every few days because I only had three pairs of pants and about seven tops. I'd been using some of the makeup I bought in unintended ways to make up for products I either couldn't find or somehow neglected to buy.

I'd been telling myself that I should not worry about what I was going to wear. (Consider the lilies of the field and how gloriously they are arrayed, etc...) I reminded myself that it's what you're like on the inside that is important, not your outward appearance.  I did my best to focus on things that were not superficial.

And truly, those who know me know that Fashion Week is not something I'd ever really be excited about. (Take a look at those models - I don't think they're especially excited, either.) While I love cute shoes, I tend to go more for comfort these days. And while I'd taken an assortment of jewelry and accessories with me on the trip, all I really had with me was the jewelry because the accessories were all in the missing bag. But given my limited wardrobe, I really didn't need many jewelry choices.

I can say that after three weeks of no accessories, no change of shoes, and very limited clothing choices, I was so disgusted defeated that I couldn't even be bothered to put on lipstick for the last few days of the trip and for several days after we got home.

I found myself at a crossroads. Do I want to become a dedicated fashionista? Suffer the uncomfortable shoes? Change handbags every time I leave the house? Refuse to leave the house until I find the "right" lipstick? Probably not. Or do I want to focus on inner beauty? Wear whatever is hanging in the front of the closet and go for comfort over style? Hmmm, that may be a bit extreme. I've never considered myself a fashionista. At least not lately. No, make that never. But I have always taken care with my appearance. (My first husband never even saw me without makeup on. Ever.) And I'm just not a sloppy t-shirt kind of girl. They're okay for the gym (but there are really cute workout clothes) or painting the house but I'd rather have a cute top to wear with my jeans. Maybe I should just continue to walk down the middle of that road - in comfortable, but cute, shoes.