I am grateful to get that letter. It's a lucky day.
Even without a precedent to give my worry shape, it feels like this form-letter from my doctor's office is akin to a big red mark on my doorpost, telling the Angel of Death to pass me over once again.
But another letter followed shortly afterwards.
It said "Dear Amy. We have attempted to contact you on numerous occasions and have had no response from you. We are in receipt of test results that we need to discuss with you."
To which the only response is, "Oh crap."
There was more in the letter, but I did not read it until I was waiting on hold with the doctor's office.
Side rant: I don't know why they call it "voice mail." It's more like voice-maze. As it turns out, a week later, my messages seem to have been awfully stupid mice, never earning me the reward of a call-back.
In the back of my mind, the refrain: Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.
I began to grow irritable (default setting, perhaps, but that's another story). I re-read the letter again:
"It is important that we discuss these results and possible further follow-up and/or treatment options available to you. Since we have tried to contact you by phone and have been unsuccessful, this letter will serve as notification that you may need further evaluation and/or treatment."
And "We will assume you do not wish to discuss this further and/or will seek treatment elsewhere."
It closes with "It is our desire to continue to provide you with informed medical care."
And another thing –– I fill out form. after. form.
Every time I go to the office, I jot down my contact number about seventy-neenty zillion times. In the ten days since I had last written those digits, there had been zero telephone calls from them, so this "numerous times" that s/he tried to contact me? Bullcrap!
Eventually, after leaving half a dozen tremulous voice-mails and entertaining my insomnia with a fresh new crop of 3-a.m. anxieties, I pressed some mystical combinations of buttons to reach a live human at the doctor's office.
Four transfers later, I reached my physician's assistant's assistant. Or something.
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