Returning to New York, I was eager to schedule “medical and maintenance” appointments. And, being the taskmaster that I am, I tried to schedule seven appointments in two days along with lunches, coffees and dinners with friends. A packed schedule would be a great cure for jetlag, so I thought…In just six short weeks, I had become accustomed to the ease of socialized medicine in France. Suffering from a chronic back injury, I made appointments to see a chiropractor while I was in Paris. Scheduling was very simple. I sent a text to the doctor who would then text me back by the end of the day as to his availability. His office was in an elegant building in 15th near the Eiffle Tower. I would arrive a few minutes early before each scheduled appointment and wait in the parlor. Each session started with a half hour massage followed by an adjustment. I paid him 20 Euros, and he scheduled a follow up appointment on his Blackberry while I petted his dog sleeping at the foot of the massage table. No paperwork. No Secretary. Simple.
Scheduling and payment, unfortunately, are not so simple in New York. Other than my (mental) therapist, none of my other providers are available for scheduling via email. Knowing this, I jumped on SKYPE before I left Paris and began making appointments.
While packing, I followed up with my insurance provider, Aetna, which continued to deny reimbursement claims for sessions with my therapist who did not accept insurance. Each time I called, I was on hold for half an hour followed by another half hour of yelling at a “customer service representative” who inevitably told me the claim was denied for a new clerical reason. Granted, I wasn’t that busy in the New Economy (who was?) but wasn’t this a waste of everyone’s time?
My flight back on Air France was relatively drama free other than being seated next to a rather large woman who was a little too fragrant for my taste. As she reclined in her seat after take off, I was horrified to see corns and a chipped bright pink pinky toenail ascend to my field of view. I supposed that the calluses on her feet kept them warm, hence she didn’t need the socks provided complimentary by the airline. I made a mental note to schedule a pedicure for myself.
My first day back in Manhattan, I awoke early, read the paper, and left for my first appointment with my general practitioner who needed to check some of my beauty marks for any increased ambition in size or color. I arrived fifteen minutes early and spoke to one of the four secretaries in his office as I completed three pages of medical forms. Although he did have a partner, I wondered why two doctors needed four administrative staff members, so I asked. Baretta, the receptionist, told me that she and Consuelo were in charge of scheduling appointments and cataloging medical records while the other two ladies who sat behind them were in charge of accounting and processing insurance claims. Unlike my chiropractor’s parlor in Paris, I would described this windowless, fluorescent-lit reception area as a “waiting room” which still had a faint smell of industrial carpet adhesive.
After being escorted to a tiny room that was really the size of a stall, I was handed a cotton gown and instructed to disrobe. The nurse returned immediately to take my blood pressure and temperature. The reading was “normal”, but why would changes in my beauty marks cause an increase in my blood pressure? The doctor would see me shortly.
After half an hour, His Highness arrived with his Stethoscope, but seemed to have misplaced his personality. He was, however, kind enough to chill his hands before lifting my robe and asking me to cough. As for my other beauty marks, he needed to refer me to the dermatologist.
Baretta was able to schedule me that afternoon at four o’clock with my doctor’s office mate who happened to be a dermatologist. I made an attempt at a joke about how nice my medical gown was and she said she would save the same one for me when I returned. I then hustled to my next appointment which was with my therapist.
After almost an hour of exploring my anger towards the inefficiencies of our healthcare system, I walked out the door “self-actualizing” that I had just paid two hundred-fifty dollars to complain about how frustrating it is to receive reimbursement from my insurance provider after paying my therapist two hundred-fifty dollars…
My next “appointment” was actually a lunch date at BG in Bergdorf’s with a good friend of mine who wanted to catch up on my escapades in Paris. Two and a half glasses of chardonnay later, my Blackberry alarm buzzed reminding me of an appointment in fifteen minutes. I stuck my friend with the check and bolted.
I was still stewing mad thinking of how stupid our healthcare system is as I walked into my next appointment in a daze. I checked in and was handed a robe. I took off my clothes except for my socks and knickers leaving them in my stall and slipping into the robe as someone called out my name. I never seem to figure out how to tie those robes in the back so I just walked out with the back open. To my complete horror, I realized that I was at my three o’clock which was my hair appointment at Frederic Fekkai. I was wearing a grooming smock like a hospital robe and had just walked across the fourth floor of Bendel’s Department Store on Fifth Avenue with my ass hanging out!
As my stylist handed me a glass of chardonnay, I picked up my Blackberry to email my therapist to see what opening he had available the next day…
Frederic Fekkai Fifth Avenue
712 Fifth Avenue, 4th Floor
New York, NY
(212) 753-9500
BG at Bergdorf Goodman
754 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY
(212) 872-8977
