I’m thinking I put the fear of something into Kayla at OrthoVirginia. (I wrote about my interactions with her of a couple of weeks ago, and her indifference to whether I got treatment or not.) Because she called me on Friday to tell me that my health insurance has graciously condescended to approve the hyaluronate, and now there are only about 14 hoops to jump through before I can start getting the injections.
At least three of the steps involve me taking actions, which is a far cry from the last time I went through this. Back then, and with a different insurance, the orthopod said I needed the shots, he ordered the gel, and a couple of weeks later I was getting them. Well, times change, I guess.
Sadly, it’s clear that I’m not going to get them started this time round before I go to the RSA Conference. That sucker takes up three halls of Moscone Center, and my attendance involves walking about ten miles a day on concrete floors. Fortunately, at least I was able to swap out hotel reservations, going from a $680/night (plus taxes that would bring it to about $800) “junior suite” at the Grand Hyatt (the only thing available that was remotely within walking distance when I booked in early January), half a mile away from Moscone, to one night in a “view room” at $573 and three in a “standard room” at $473 at the Marriott Marquis, which is next to the conference. This should make my company—which has a remarkably parsimonious travel policy—happy, and I don’t have to explain “junior suite” on my travel expenses.
(I did this by calling the hotel last week to see if there’d been any cancellations. The reservationist there sent me to the conference organizers, and an amazing customer rep named Crystal got me set up. At one point in the convo, I asked what the difference is between a standard and view room. She hesitated, then replied, “Well, I think the view room has a nicer…view.” Well, okay; seems legit. I’ll have to switch rooms after the first night—they didn’t have a standard room available for the Monday; but I’ve saved my company a few hundred and now I can afford to have cheese on my hamburger.)
But even with being next to Moscone, I know for a fact that those conference floors are brutal. I’m doing the exercises prescribed by my physical therapist, and I’m taking the NSAID prescribed by my orthopod. But I suspect they will be insufficient to counter those floors. Over the weekend I had a flareup of the pain—possibly caused by new trainers (I’ll have to check with the therapist), and that resulted in crappy sleep, because once I stop moving, my joints, tendons and muscles just give me hell.
I’m sorry I won’t be starting the shots until after the trip, but at least I’ll be getting them. Kayla told me the Rx can be used up to mid-April.
And today I’m grateful that this process is moving forward and that I scared Kayla enough to get her to start overcommunicating. Also—once I have that sorted, I’ll follow my the advice of my friend The Pundit’s Apprentice: I’ll start working with a personal trainer to get the infra- and superstructure of my legs into shape so I won’t need to repeat this mishegoss in the future.
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