Therapy

This week went to hell pretty much on Wednesday, and I hit the utter nadir (I hope to God) yesterday, between work and the gov’ment*. So I’m closing it out with this:

*It seems that Fairfax County’s Personal Property Tax administrators work only part time, which barely gives them the hours to send you bills for years during which you were not a resident, but not the hours to be at their desks to take your phone calls to remind them you've sent them documentary proof of your non-residence. I hate living in a Confederate state.

Parking privileges

Huh—it’s mid-May again, so time for the annual weekend invasion of the Nation’s Capital by cops.

I worked from home on Friday so I didn’t witness the gathering, or the spandex. But when I walked to work Monday morning, I saw the Orlando PD’s array of motorcycles parked across 12^th Street from the Metro Center Marriott.

This appears to be their spot. And as I pulled out my camera to take some shots, it occurred to me that if you’re the police, you can apparently leave your motorcycles on the sidewalk.

Getting a grip

As presaged on Monday, yesterday the cast came off. And—considering the 90-degree-plus-about-105%-humidity—not a moment too soon. If there is anything slimier than the inside of a cast on sweaty skin, I do not want to know about it.

The PA cut through the carapace and pulled away the shell, then I had a proper old scrub of the skin.

There’s some tenderness, but no pain; most of it is apparently due to the four weeks’ constriction inside the cast. And I’m peeling skin off like I used to after a day at the beach.

My surgeon is quite pleased with my healing—he gave me a referral for OT, but he said I don’t have to use it unless I really feel I need it. (Glad about that, because I was not looking forward to the $40 a pop co-pay.) Ditto the thumb brace; better that I just get back to (careful) normal movement.

The first thing I did—before even the surgeon came into the room—was take out pens and start marking up some work documents.

I cannot tell you what a joy that was, even just with the crappy office pen. Ditto pouring a glass of bubbly and holding it in my right hand to drink. I came home (although operating the gear shift was a bit problematic; I expect that’ll improve) and took a shower without having to stick my arm in a plastic bag!

Small joys, my friends. Small joys.

Special handling

I am by no means a Social Media maven, but I have some familiarity with much of the terminology. So when I saw this on a website that puts itself forward as a high-tech, with-it platform for connecting high-tech with-it women jobseekers with companies committed to diversity in the workplace, I did a bit of a doubletake.

I’m not even going to quibble about not capitalizing Facebook and Twitter—although they’re proper nouns, and I bet that you wouldn’t like it if people cited your application with your company name misspelt.

But if you’re going to toss around all the usual SoMe suspects, you might want to learn that it’s a Twitter handle, not handler.

Gratitude Monday: freedom at hand

One more sleep until the cast comes off my wrist. Thanks be to God.

You have been warned

I’ve been in one of those states where pretty much everything gets up my nose. It may have something to do with this dag-blamed cast on my wrist, and having been unable to write since the Ides of April.

At any rate, as we say on Twitter…

Mood:

Metro section

Here's one of the downsides of public transportation: the passengers who don’t understand the concept of shared space and who, for whatever reason, take up more than their allotted share.

It could be teenagers who sprawl across two seats, or someone who plops his/her shopping on the seat next to them instead of putting it on a lap. Very often it’s a male manspreading his legs at 45-degree angles to ward off someone sitting down next to him.

But here’s one who—in terms of pure effrontery—truly takes the biscuit:

He’s taking up his space in the middle of two seats.

Grrr.

Fashion sense

Here’s another thing that crossed my Twitter feed, striking my fancy:

It reminds me of the kinds of things I used to get from my grandmother at Christmas, so I relate.

A lot of my friends are handy with knitting needles (and crochet hooks), so I’m hoping they’ll appreciate this, too.

Outback antics

This came across my Twitter feed the other day, and while I appreciate it in principle—who wouldn’t admire a pig that can drink 18 beers without apparently puking into someone’s baseball cap?—I believe I’d want to know who won the porcine-bovine fight before adopting it as my spirit animal.

Still—well played, pig. Well played.

Gratitude Monday: the cost of care

The Explanation of Benefits (EOB) form for my hand surgery arrived a few days ago from my utterly craptastic insurance company, CareFirst. It consisted of 16 lines all identically labeled “hospital services”, with dollar amounts ranging from $2.00 to $9,993.50 (two of those) in the Amount Charged column. The Amount Allowed column was zeroed out on all but three of the lines ($2,946.00 for one of the $9,993.50 charges; $1,067.00 for the other one; $407.00 for one that had been billed at $2,070.00)

CareFirst paid $4.170.00, and I had a $250.00 co-pay.

Let me give you some context: I arrived at the surgical facility around 0900 to be prepped for a 90-minute procedure beginning at 1100. I walked out with my friends around 1330.

Readers—this is what is wrong with healthcare in this country: not only the retail charge of $30K for less than five hours of activity, but that CareFirst “allows” 15% of that figure. If $30K is an accurate representation of the value of those medical services, how does CareFirst get off with paying pennies on the dollar? And if CareFirst’s pennies are accurate, what the hell’s up with that $30K?

I have no bitch at all at the quality of care I received. My surgeon is terrific, and—except for one break in communication, which one of the nurses got on top of before I had to show up—everyone seemed competent. They and the GWU facility deserve appropriate compensation for the top-notch services they render.

I do have a major bitch with CareFirst and all its predatory ilk inserting themselves to dictate what is and is not proper medical care, as well as having the unmitigated temerity to declare what’s a proper fee to charge while at the same time ratcheting up the premiums they charge higher and higher and reporting ever-more obscene profits (with concomitant increases to executive pay and bonuses).

But I’m grateful for that excellent care I’ve received, for having medical coverage of any kind (even from the utterly craptastic CareFirst) and for having the $250 needed for my co-pay. There have been times in my life when none of these things were true.