I Will Crush You, Ivan!

Our son has to receive Remicade infusions every four weeks to keep his Crohn’s Disease in check.  Our insurance changed this year – because why the hell not, I’m a stay at home mom and have nothing but time on my hands – and I officially had it with our new prescription service this morning.

Normally, the meds are shipped to our house, I schedule the infusion appointment with our nurse, the nurse comes to my house on the assigned day, bada bing bada boom, the thing is done and we’re good for another four weeks.

CVS Caremark apparently thinks that method is a load of horse shit.  They ferreted out my Remicade scam almost right away and called me on it.  I just got off the phone with Ivan, who is probably in the CVS Caremark bathroom right this very minute with a makeshift ice pack on his asshole.  This is how Ivan’s last 10 minutes went:

Me:  I’m just a bit confused, Brandon took my $250 copay the day before yesterday without any problem, told me I’d have the meds yesterday.  Guess what, Ivan?  I didn’t get those meds.

Ivan:  Yeah, let me check to see what’s going on here.

Me:  I know what’s going on.  I didn’t get the meds.  The meds I paid for.

Ivan:  It looks like, uhhh, you don’t have a plan in place for administering the med.  Like, what do you once you get it?

Me:  I get the med, I call the nurse, the nurse comes to my house and gives it to my son.

Ivan:  How is it administered?  

Me (MAKING myself not say “We usually put all 9 vials in a tranq gun and shoot him in the ass with it.):  Via a pump.  

Ivan:  Gravity drip?

Me (talking as I would to a very frightened, lost four year old):  A regular battery operated pump, Ivan.  No sorcery involved.

Ivan:  It looks like the reason it wasn’t shipped is because you don’t have a plan on file for administering the drug once you get it and we also don’t have what we need from your Doctor. 

*At this point, I’ve developed a tic in my right eye and I’m popping Bayer aspirin in hopes of living through my impending stroke.  Ivan’s waded into the shit pool without his floaties on and he doesn’t even know it yet.  Also, when I’m getting very angry, I repeat your name a lot.*

Me:  Brandon had all the proper forms the day before yesterday or surely he wouldn’t have taken my $250 copay, Ivan.  Brandon transferred me to the pharmacist, who informed me of all the med warnings, which I know by heart by now, Ivan.  Surely your pharmacist wouldn’t waste time for a call on a med he couldn’t fill due to a lack of Doctor’s form?  Right, Ivan?  Also, the Doctor’s nurse said she had faxed it to y’all twice.  Twice, Ivan.  This is a Doctor we have used for several years and they have never screwed us over.  You have, Ivan.  I don’t have the meds that were supposed to be here yesterday.  Ivan.    

Ivan:  Well, again, I think the problem is a lack of an administration plan.

**I have officially lost my shit.  My shit has left the building, saying “I quit this bitch!”  Also, when I’m past the point of anger but I can’t curse, I use the word “freaking” a lot.  Okay, too much.*

Me (I’m so pissed that he’s forced me to use the tranq gun line now):  This isn’t my first freaking rodeo, Ivan.  We’ve been doing this for 4 freaking years.  I don’t know your process because no one has told me.  I am not Nancy Freaking Drew, Ivan.  Please enlighten me.  Send me a nurse, send the meds to the Doctor, send it to the hospital.  Hell, let’s shoot it up his ass with a tranq gun at this point.  I.DO.NOT.FREAKING.CARE.

Ivan (clearing his throat and nervously laughs):  I mean, what are you going to do with $3,000 worth of medicine that just shows up at your door?

Me:  Seriously?  Congratulations, you got me, Ivan.  I’m freebasing Remicade.  Call me in, do what you have to do to sleep tonight but I do not have time for this SHIT.  IVAN!

Ivan:  Can I put you on hold?

Me:  Sure, Ivan.  I need to step up evasive measures against stroke at this point so it’s good timing for some smooth jazz hold music.

If you are a mom to a kid with health issues, stay at home or not, I just want to send you love today.  It’s not easy keeping up with all this shit, the meds, the appointments, the insurance, all the different offices, all the back and forth, all in the name of keeping your child as healthy as possible.  I hope you’re taking care of yourselves, too.  Go to Starbucks by yourself and just BE.  Take a bubble bath.  Drink some wine, eat some chocolate.  You deserve it.

Ivan does not deserve it.  Wherever you  are, Ivan, I hope that makeshift ice pack gives you frostbite on your asshole.  Bless your heart.

WTF Wednesday: You, Sirs, Are Monsters

Apparently, I’m on Groupon’s shit list.  I still haven’t seen my Solar Bullet.  Groupon sent me this email:

How many ways can they say they didn't mail my shit?

How many ways can they say they didn’t mail my shit?

I have some issues with this email but y’all probably knew that, right?  We’ll do this hardcore, take no prisoners bullet style.

• First of all, yeah, it’s been a while, Groupon.  It’s been almost a month since I placed the order.  What the hell?  What if this was some sort of solar powered vibrator emergency?  I mean, I don’t recall the shipping options you offered me at checkout but I’m pretty sure “Oh fuck it, I’ll just use my hand” wasn’t one of them.

• Do you even know how many batteries I’ve consumed in the last month waiting for Solar Bullet to arrive at my doorstep?  That grisly alkaline trail is on your hands, Groupon!

• “We don’t want you to feel left in the dark”.  Now they’re just fucking with me.  Do they target their email language specifically to the item you ordered and then laugh and laugh and laugh at the irony?  If so, well done, Groupon.  I AM in the dark.  Naked and alone, waiting for you to ship my damned solar powered vibrator   Well played.

• “We understand that this news may change your plans”.  Well, yeah, Groupon.  Now I have to physically go into the local solar powered vibrator store.  This entails going through a secret door at Starbucks (which will only open after I order a free range vegan green tea frappucino), which leads to a side door of a Democratic party office, which leads to the backdoor of an Apple store and then finally ends in the basement of an organic beard oil boutique.  I was hoping to avoid this sort of seedy hipster shit.

• “If we don’t hear from you, we’ll assume you don’t want the item”.  Oh, bring it, Groupon, but you’d better bring your A game.  You don’t even know who you’re messing with.  I can easily wait on this for the rest of the year.  This will be the longest and most intense game of retail chicken you’ve ever played in your life.  Except I’m naked and very sexually frustrated.

• And finally, what if this had been a Mother’s Day present?  You heartless corporate bastards.

I will be getting my Rob Zombie concert review up tomorrow, hopefully.  E has been out of town this week and I’m operating on very little sleep.  It just took me around 8 attempts to spell “tomorrow” correctly.  I’m not joking.  Also, wine may be involved.

Y’all have a great week!  Thanks for stopping by.