Song and dance

There's a joke I like to use whenever someone mentions they've injured their ankle, knee, foot or that they've had a hip replacement. My usual reply is, "So I guess the Riverdance audition is off." In case you're not familiar with Riverdance, here's why it's funny:

In reality—a place I rarely visit—these dancers are highly skilled, precision artists and athletes who have devoted the necessary time and practice into perfecting their joyous art.

This is not something we have in common.

I bring this up because my beautiful daughter is getting married in exactly a month. And while that means a festive celebration, a new family, a great son-in-law, a lifetime of happiness for my baby girl, and a canyon-like dip in my retirement savings, it also means something a bit more frightening to me: the father-daughter dance.

If you've ever been to a wedding, you're famiiar with the tradition. Either after the newlywed couple's first dance, or when I'm done delivering my brilliant, quotable, side-splittingly hilarious yet tearfully poignant toast (post to follow), there will be the father-daughter dance.

The first step (see what I did there?) was to choose the song. This is one of the few choices I actually get to make. I spent several nights watching and listening to father-daughter wedding dance songs on YouTube, crying my eyes out. Seriously, I was a mess. I know what you're thinking, but let's see you listen to this, or this, or this and this and see how you do tough guy.

After being overruled on Highway To Hell (you know the joke: The fact there’s a Stairway To Heaven and a Highway To Hell should tell you who’s expecting more traffic), I finally landed on a song with some history and meaning to me and my girly. I know you want to know what it is, but I'm not going to reveal it here. Like my hilarious toast to the couple—have I mentioned that before?—some things need to remain a surprise.

The actual dance is the really scary part. To make sure we're properly prepared, my daughter and I have decided to take some dance lessons at Arthur Murray Dance Studios. Ironically, there's one within walking distance from the house.

Walking I know how to do.

We had our first lesson yesterday, and it went quite well. Back step, side step, rock back, spin - yeah, I know the lingo. The instructors and personnel are lovely, supportive and encouraging. Obviously they're well aware of how nervous their students are. Especially the first time ones.

What I found to be the worst part of the experience was being surrounded by mirrors. Not the small, narrow full-length dressing mirrors you'd have in the corner of your bedroom.

Or the funhouse kind I like that make me look tall, thin and lanky (which coincidentally are the ones I have in my bedroom).

No, these dance studio mirrors were other ones. The ones that make me feel like reference material for Brendan Fraser.

I suppose the right way to think of the mirrors is as additional inspiration to get closer to dancing shape as the date sneaks up on me.

And although we've already got the song and the basic steps to the dance we're going to do, there are always additional little flairs and moves I'm thinking about adding at the last minute to spice it up a bit. You know, make it more memorable.

Not to tip my hand, or tap my toe, too much, but I'm thinking a little something like this:

Brace yourself

Way back in January, I was taking my son somewhere. I don't remember exactly where, but knowing him it was probably a movie, a panel discussion about a movie or to meet friends so they could go see a movie.

Anyway, I forgot something in the house, so I bounded up the four brick steps on our walkway, then caught my foot on the top step and went down faster than a My Big Fat Greek Wedding sequel.

I hurt my left wrist pretty bad and thought I'd broken it. So I went to our local urgent care and, after an X-ray and exam, learned it was just a severe sprain. They wrapped it up in a wrist brace, gave me some Advil and said to take it easy.

I didn't really think much more of that visit until I got the bill for it. The charge for the X-rays and exam were fine. It was the charge for the wrist brace that caught my eye: $307.55. Here's the funny part: this Urgent Care facility is next door - literally twenty feet - from a CVS drug store, which happens to carry the exact same wrist brace for $28.79.

This aggression will not stand man.

I called the billing department and talked to Eric. He was very understanding, and saw right away the charge for the brace was excessive. He was going to have a supervisor review it, and meanwhile he was putting my bill on hold. God love you Eric, you made this so easy.

What I found out was apparently Eric was a little lax on follow through.

Weeks later, I received another bill with the exact same charge. So I called again and spoke to Carlos this time. Clearly Carlos was a man of action. Unfortunately, it was the exact same action as Eric, which was no action at all.

Long story short, I spoke with Carlos a second time when I received yet another bill, and Aida when I received a collection letter. All of them told me, repeatedly, my bill would be on hold while the amount was being disputed.

I called one more time, and got my old pal Eric again. Eric and I go way back. He was shocked, shocked I tell you, to learn this matter hadn't been resolved. So he put me on hold, then put me on with his supervisor, Bob.

It was evident to me Bob the supervisor was suffering from a medical condition called full of shit.

The symptoms are fairly easy to diagnose, even for a layman.

Blatant lies like "that's what we pay for the wrist brace" and "we've already put it in the system, we can't reverse it" that are easy to shoot down. Unwilling to confront and accept facts, like when I told Bob he actually could reverse it and there was no way it cost that much. He then apparently had a psychotic break, telling me urgent care doctors never refer patients to CVS to get medical equipment, despite the fact I informed him I'd been directed there many times to pick up a bandage, gauze or some kind of ointment (never a fan of that word).

At the end of the conversation, Bob's condition must've flared up. He said he couldn't do anything, and I told him no, he was choosing not to do anything (my therapy dollars at work). Without any investigation of his own, he replied that yes, he wasn't going to do anything.

Clearly, Bob wasn't familiar with Jeff letters.

Moments after hanging up with Bob, I sat down and wrote the CEO of the hospital system that runs the urgent care. I explained the situation, why it was unacceptable, attached pictures of the proximity of the CVS to the urgent care center as well as copies of the numerous bills and the collection letter.

Bob didn't know it, but he'd messed with the wrong cowboy.

Within 24 hours, I received a call from the VP Director of Patient Billing. She was apologizing up and down the place for my experience with her department. Of course the charge was excessive, and she was removing it from the bill leaving a balance of zero. Then, icing on the cake, she informed me she'd already spoken with Bob, Eric, Carlos and Aida about how they could've better handled my situation.

I imagine Bob's medical condition resolved itself right through his pants when he heard she was calling.

She also asked if I'd be willing to come in and talk to her department - including the people I'd spoken to - and give a talk about the experience from a patient point of view, and make suggestions how it could be improved.

God knows, I love playing a big room, so I told her I'd be happy to.

The moral of my story is next time you get an outrageous bill, medical or otherwise, don't just whip out the check book and gripe about it. Write a letter - to the person at the top - and ask them to do something about it. You have nothing to lose. More often than not, in my experience, they'll take some sort of action to resolve the issue.

And if you wind up talking to Bob, say hi for me.