I set up a new blog at InsaneJournal (as Blogger doesn’t have the ability to filter posts) because there are some rants that just aren’t suitable for public consumption.
Back from the deadish
Author: CallyApr 4
I am fighting my way back to the land of the living, or at least what passes for it nowadays. There’s probably a lot of things I should catch up on for y’all, but that’s not gonna happen this post. (And I’m discovering all these cute ‘improvements’ as I reanimate … sigh.)
On a Personal Note: Blargh
Author: CallySep 6
Today was one of those days at work that definitely call for a “TGIF.” Maybe a “WTF” and a “DIAF” too.
I have a simple job I like very much: coordinate enrollment of physicians in health plans. Mostly I create and track paper, a comfortable endeavor for someone like me who probably has OCD (but hesitates to cop to it because it would interfere with my dedication to being lazy). The problem with my lovely job is there are two faces of health plans: HMOs and PPOs. The HMO side is a breeze. The PPO side is nothing less than a nightmare.
For starters, there is no director in charge of the PPO as there is for the HMO. That got dumped “temporarily” on a guy who is already overworked about 12 years ago. So the day-to-day stuff falls to me (which now, after five years, is fine, although at first it was scary as hell). Only that guy won’t just let me handle it. He waits – lurks even – until the last possible minute, then second-guesses, pointlessly badgers, and nit-picks every little thing.
Four years ago, the president of the PPO Medical Advisory Board (the group of doctors that approves new physicians for membership in the PPO) died. He has yet to be replaced. He was the guy who signed the contracts, so I have four years of contracts, unsigned, waiting for either his replacement or the end of civilization, cluttering up my workspace.
The health plans keep buying each other, merging, splitting – and in all that, they lose our doctors. Just *poof* – gone. So I have to resubmit applications years later, and meanwhile their claims get rejected and they don’t get paid for the work they’ve done, and their office managers call me – not the health plans – screaming or in tears or both to fix it.
And the doctors themselves do all sorts of cute footwork – going independent, then joining a different group, then going solo again, all without mentioning to us – and their claims get rejected and there is screaming and tears … or they move their offices and don’t mention it, and claims get rejected, and … you get the idea.
So all week I worked on getting an update ready to send out to the health plans. A few new applications, a couple of resubmissions, a change of address, and some terminations. It took longer to do than it should because (1) I am having a hell of a time adjusting to the medication I’m on and (2) all of the applications had expired licenses and I had to wait until I got updated copies from the office managers.
The “temporary” director signs the cover letters for these updates. I had printed them out Thursday afternoon and left them for him to sign. He signed them all, then when I went in this morning to get them, he asks why a particular doctor isn’t listed in the summary of changes. Because of the medication I couldn’t remember off-hand and had to go back to my desk to check the database; meanwhile he’s talking at me about “he’s on staff, he was approved by the Board, why aren’t we sending out his application?”
Finally I get words in edgewise: “Because his license is expired and I haven’t gotten the new one.”
AND THEN he has the GALL to ask me, “Well, did you call them?”
The only reason I didn’t quit right then was because two things tangled on my tongue: “No, dumbass, I figured I’d just throw his application away and pretend I knew nothing about it forevermore,” and “You know what? YOU call them, I quit.”
The PPO doesn’t pay me a cent for the work I do, and easily 85% of my workday is filled with PPO crap. I’m done. Monday I’m talking to the HMO director (the HMO is the side that actually pays the temp agency to have me there) and let her know that either the PPO has to (1) get a director, (2) demand accountability from the health plans if not the doctors and (3) start paying me, or I have to no longer do PPO work there. Otherwise I have to quit. I can’t handle that level of stress at work with everything else I am trying to manage; I’ll be damned if I do it for another week for free.
Tune in tomorrow when I should be less cranky and getting to some overdue posts on August’s Top Droppers, great blogs I found through EC, and my paranormal adventure.
And Freedom For All: Including Possums!
Author: CallyJul 5
Last night had a bonfire in the yard … the big dog, Kitty, spent the night hiding from fireworks in the house, but as always the smaller dog, Buddy, stayed nearby.
His genetic memory of bird-dogging is sometimes quite present – despite Big Al’s certainty, dogs certainly can look up, and he often goes a bit berzerk trying to get me to hunt something he has spotted in a tree or on a roof.
Last night, however, he was whimpering and wurfling (“wurfle” being a distinct sound he makes when he has something important, albeit whiny, to say) insistently by the gate no matter how many times I tried to calm him down. Finally I went to show him there was nothing there for him to be wurlfng about – and to my surprise there was a young opossum in the little mulberry tree, looking down at me with some clear dismay.
I put Buddy in the house for a bit to give the possum time to bug out, but when we checked again it was still there, higher up, with nowhere to go. So I went around to the neighbor’s yard and had the kids push on the tree so I could reach a branch and pull the upper part down, and got hold of the possum’s tail.
Years ago I got to take care of a baby possum for a couple of weeks after its mother had been accidentally killed on the farm where I rode horses. After that I saved an adult that our dog had cornered; I know that they’d rather play dead in most cases than bite or struggle. But this one, after the initial shock of being gently extracted from the branches, curled up along itself to press its small nose against my fingers, as if it was trying to decide if the fall would be worth the freedom after a good chomp.
Rather than just carrying it possum-style, I cradled its back with my other hand and carried it to the front yard where there was enough light for the kids to get a good look, and put it down in the plantains to regain its equilibrium. When it didn’t run off right away, the kids started clamoring about keeping it for a pet; I firmly (but not without some wistfulness) told them wild animals are not to be kept as pets, because no matter how well one can meet their physical needs, they will suffer psychologically from being kept from their freedom.
I had forgotten how soft and fuzzy possum fur is; I petted it between the ears and down the back until it had decided we weren’t going to eat it and it was ready to amble off. I told the kids it was a marsupial, and we talked about pouched mammals and other oddball critters. They wanted to pet it too, but I had to say no: I never for a moment believed it would bite me, but if it did I knew I could live with the consequences (including rabies shots), but if they had gotten nipped I would never forgive myself.
When it left it made a bee-line (or possum-line) for the closest garbage can. It was young, a little thin, and quite possibly of the brood that had been tormenting the neighbor by taking up residence in his garage. And now I wonder: will it stay far away now, having been treed by a dog, hauled out of that tree, and gawked at; or will it return, possibly with friends, to show off that it had this amazing (by possum standards) experience and ambled off unscathed to tell the tale?
Whichever the case, I do hope our little fuzzy visitor does well for itself, and that my kids will remember that freedom is just a word unless it is an Idea shared equally to all blameless creatures, great and small.
Wild Ink'd!
Author: CallyJul 4
Got my first tattoo yesterday afternoon:
The labyrinth has special symbolic meanings for me, as well as being a practical choice for permanent body art: I now can “walk” it with my fingertip whenever I need a moment to reflect, calm down, or refocus.
The simplicity was also a good choice, being my first tattoo and one of the first done by the artist. (I am far happier with the result than he is, but he’s a perfectionist and I just wanted my labyrinth, dammit. :) )
About this IndeSapien
Author, energy worker, mother, possible lunatic, linguistical artist, template tamperer, free thinker, mad genius.
- Backfire
- Catching Up
- Breaking the Mold
- Restrictive Eating
- More on Depression
- Ending Winter
- Woes
- Still settling in
- My New Blog
- 229
- Prisqua on CBox Widget
- Prisqua on About This Blog … And Its Author
- a49erfangirl on CBox Widget
- Cally on In Brief …
- Miranda on In Brief …
- Absynthe Spectrum
- Asdquefty
- BizyMoms Joliet
- Infinite Possibility
- Lydia Ondrusek Blogs
- The Little Fluffy Cat
- Thyme2Dream
Recent Posts
Categories
Recent Comments
EC
WTF: “What The F!ck”
DIAF: Die In A Fire