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.

My left foot

If you saw the title of this post and were hoping for a nice, insightful piece about the Daniel Day Lewis movie of the same name, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But if you've been following this blog for any amount of time, you already know that disappointment rides shotgun.

Yesterday I posted about my eyes, today it's about my foot. Who knows what body part it'll be tomorrow, although this is a family blog so don't get your hopes up.

For the last few days I've had a stabbing pain in the bottom of my left heel. Last night it was unbearable, and I couldn't even make the short walk from the bedroom to the refrigerator, a well-worn path I usually traverse several times a night (WIFE: "Where'd all the leftover ham, caramel swirl ice cream and chocolate Easter eggs go?" ME: "Don't look at me, I was asleep.")

I made a call and managed to get into see my podiatrist this morning. After he took a look at the x-ray you see here, he said two things. First, if you look just below my heel, there's a small shadowy area where the beginning of a bone spur is forming. I asked if I could put that on my resume, but he didn't think it was funny either. The other thing he said was I had Plantar Fasciitis, a tightening of the thin ligament connecting the heel to the toes and forming the arch of my foot.

I figured. I'd had it once before years ago in my right foot. That time, he prescribed stretching, a little physical therapy and some more stretching. After a couple weeks when none of that worked, he gave me a shot of cortisone in the foot and poof! - it was all better the next day.

Cortisone is a synthetic version of a powerful steroid the body produces naturally. But the catch is you can only have two or three shots a year, otherwise it's no bueno and can actually do damage.

Anyway, today, he paused thoughtfully for a second and said, "You know, we went through all that stuff last time. Let's just go straight to a shot of cortisone and knock this out." Exactly what I was hoping he'd say.

First a shot of novocaine, then the cortisone. That was this morning. Tonight, my heel is virtually pain-free, the Riverdance audition is back on and the refrigerator is waiting.

When it comes to complaining, I don't do a lot of it. No one wants to hear it, and it doesn't make the problem any better. But here's the thing: having the double whammy of being Jewish and an only child, I've honed my skills for complaining about my aches and pains better than most.

Truth is, I can go toe to toe with the best of them.