I don’t get it. In my almost 30 years of being alive, I have never understood how my name is so hard for people to pronounce. I’ve known how to pronounce it properly and spell it since I was a toddler. How can people who mastered the English language before my birth still not be able to pronounce it? It’s only got five letters. It shouldn’t be that hard. How is that people cannot pronounce the name Janet? That just doesn’t make sense to me.
My mom’s home health nurse came by today. (Humana’s Medicare thing requires that a home health nurse come check on some of their more home-bound patients. I’m supposed to have a doctor come by from them, but that’s a story for another time.) I don’t like this particular nurse. She’s one of those old people that seems sweet, but you quickly can see that she has this very condescending attitude toward anyone who isn’t her.
She asked the same questions today that she asked last time, including things that shouldn’t have changed since then. She asked when mom’s last mammogram was, because apparently she didn’t write that down last time. I gave her the exact day last time. I gave her the exact day this time as well. (It’s easy since that was the day that I did the face-plant in Big Spring Park after the fire ants bit me.) She asked other questions. Then she started dispensing medical advice. I know that she’s a nurse and she should be able to do that, but when you apparently lack the ability to keep track of your patient’s file, then maybe you shouldn’t be giving said patient medical advice.
She asked my mom if she had trouble hearing. My mom gave the same quippy remark as last time that she had trouble listening, but not hearing. And, just like last time, she had to give the answer multiple times because the nurse still has some kind of wax build-up or lack-of-giving-enough-of-a-fuck-leading-to-her-being-inattentive issue that she had the last time she was here.
She then told my mom and me that we needed to clean the house because it would make my mother feel better. My father was sitting in the same room as us, but apparently this woman doesn’t believe in forcing housework on unsuspecting humans who have a major mutation on their 23rd pair of chromosomes. Those of us who have the full version of that pair are apparently best suited for cleaning. We’re probably expected to do the cooking and other things as well. What was especially lovely about her coming into my house and bossing me around wasn’t just the lack of tact she seemed to have, it was that she called me Janice when she she did it. We had already corrected her on that about three times, but she just kept on at it. Yeah, if you’re going to boss me around in my house because I have a vagina then you better get my damn name right.
She eventually left, only to come back because she couldn’t find her cell phone. As far as I knew, she hadn’t had her phone out the entire time she was here. According to her, though, she had it out when she came in. (Bullshit.) She checked the kitchen. She checked where my mom sits/sleeps. She checked the bathroom, which she had used while she was here. Oddly, while in the bathroom the second time, she forgot to flush the toilet…again. Along with messing up my name and forcing me into stereotypical gender roles, she irked me by committing the horrifying pet peeve of not flushing the toilet. (Not flushing has always grossed me out. I shouldn’t have to flush someone else’s bodily waste.)
Anyway, eventually, the old bitty left. And I have been in a fairly annoyed mood since then.
She has to come back next week. I guess Humana doesn’t like the idea of having their nurses come by sporadically. They have to visit every week. This is something that the woman grumbled about. She wants our house to be cleaner the next time she comes by, so I guess that not only do we have to worry about how shitty she’s going act while she’s actually here, we have to worry about how shitty she’ll act the next time that she comes by.
Oh, Humana, what is this fuckery?