I finally got up the nerve to call my family doctor’s office for a referral to a new GI.  I couldn’t get the referral or even a promise of a referral by just calling.  I hadn’t seen the doctor there since September, though I did get blood drawn a few months ago for him or her, so they can’t just give out a referral.  (I don’t even know the gender of my current family doctor.)

It’s a sound policy.  I know it is important that they have up-to-date records on anyone they send to see another doctor, but it is also frustrating.  I’ve been a GI patient since my early (maybe even pre-) teens.  I have reflux.  I have things that make reflux seem like a cake walk.  It should be fairly simple to just get an appointment with a gastroenterologist.

But it isn’t.

Of course, I should have been able to see the doctor who sent me to have my gallbladder removed at 13.  I should have been able to see him, but stupid insurance makes it impossible.  Have I mentioned lately how much I detest the American health care system?

Honestly, though, I think I’m a little glad that I won’t be seeing him.  I found his custody case versus his ex-wife online, because sometimes I randomly Google people that I’m about to see, and it was horrible.  I know that divorce and custody cases bring out the absolute worst in humanity, but this made the usual “acrimonious case” look like a cupcake dipped in sprinkles, love, frosting, peace, syrup, teddy bears, puppies, and all the sweetness and goodness in the world.  I mean, it was horrible!  It made me kind of nervous, but I figured I could compartmentalize it the same way that I compartmentalize my therapist’s membership in the local roller derby team.  Now I don’t have to try to do that, I guess.

So, now I haven an unexpected doctor’s appointment this week (actually, this afternoon) so that I can see a specialist.  Fun, fun.  Maybe I’ll at least get the results from that old blood work.