I mentioned in my last post the terrific health insurance my husband’s employer provides us. My husband works at a major medical center in Pennsylvania and so as long as we go to a physician within the network we have no out-of-pocket expenses.
I’m going to repeat that (I like to write it): We have no out-of-pocket expenses.
So I’m a middle-aged woman in the middle of the health care candy store.
I’ve made dental appointments. I’ve made eye doc appointments. And I’ve made an annual physical appointment for myself, an appointment that is long overdue.
I went to the first part of the appointment last week.
You read correctly – the first part of the appointment.
The physician I chose has a practice far from the medical center but close to our home, yet I’m slightly regretting my decision, for my new general practitioner first wanted to see me, have a little chat, have a little "getting to know you" one-on-one before she performed the actual physical. She also scheduled me for a mammogram (at a nearby facility), and some blood to be taken (also at a different nearby facility) so that she’d have the results back in time for the real physical appointment two weeks from our first.
So I’ve been a road warrior of sorts, driving hither and thither going to my appointments to be pricked in the arm (blood work) and smushed in the breasts (mammogram).
But, I keep telling myself, We have. No. Out-of-pocket. Expenses.
And I like my new doc. We laughed. We showed each other pictures of our kids. We bonded.
And the mammogram facility gave me my results while I waited. Nothing suspicious said hi on the X-ray.
It was a good day.
Except.
EACH place asked me to fill out a form. Many forms. Address. Age. Social Security Number. Health Insurance name and number. And, since he’s the one carrying the insurance through his employer, my husband’s name, birthdate, SSN. The same damn information each and every time.
It didn’t matter that I had the printout of my personal health record with me. It meant nothing to these medical offices. Nothing.
Yet it wasn’t a total loss. I had everything with me, neat and tidy. I could copy it from my PHR printout to the office’s form. Easy.
But if these offices had been connected electronically — if they had had an electronic medical record system – it would have been better.
We’re pretty much settled in our new Pennsylvania home, my husband, daughter and I. So far, this move has been the best thing we could have done for our daughter. She’s surrounded by grandparents (my husband’s folks), his sister, her husband and their children, as well as her husband’s parents, sister and her children. Lots of family folks around and our daughter is drinking it up. She’s been a part of us for two years now and to go from no family to having two great parents (if I say so myself) and a loving extended family in those two years has given her a good dose of security and belonging.
And the fact that we’re together again as a family in our own home…I’ve seen a sea change in my daughter. Her behavior has settled down, she’s funny, affectionate and has matured exponentially in the five weeks we’ve been together in our new home.
Also, with my husband’s new job we have awesome health insurance. The kind that makes me dance a gig at my daughter’s teeth cleaning when the dentist tells me I can have 10 of my daughter’s lower teeth – five on each side – sealed plus give her a flouride treatment at no cost and no co-payment.
That my kind of health insurance.
Our daughter lived in a children’s home near Moscow, Russia, for about eight years – almost all of her life. The Russian physician who gave her her final examination before we got her U.S. Visa/Passport two years ago told us she had had rickets when she was 3 – he could see it in the concavity of her torso. Russian winters are long and fruits and vegetables in orphanages are rare, so rickets says the WebMD.com article, "is rare in the United States but is not uncommon in certain areas of the world."
"Give her plenty of sunshine, good food and exercise and she’ll be fine," the Russian physician told us.
And she has been. More than fine. She’s very athletic. She’s gained upwards of 25 pounds and 6 inches in height since Christmas 2004. Her skin glows.
So we figure now’s the time to get that X-ray of her torso her pediatrician requested back in September to check on her progress. Not to worry, my husband told me, here’s the prescription form and the request should be in her medical record in the doctor’s office.
So I make the call.
"My husband brought our daughter in in September for a healthy child checkup and to get more immunizations for school. The doctor also told us to bring her in later for an X-ray to check on her rickets."
Now I can only assume she was reading the WebMD article referenced above, especially the part about rickets being "rare in the United States" because I could swear I heard her heart race through my cell phone.
"RICKETS!!!! RICKETS??????!!!!! Did you say RICKETS?"
"Yes, rickets. We keep her in a closet all day and feed her just McDonald’s Happy Meals."
Well, that’s what I wanted to say, just to see how many hiccups the nurse would have. Instead, I told the truth.
"My daughter lived in an orphanage in Russia the first eight years of her life. She had rickets when she was 3. Her pediatrician just wants to see how well she’s doing. It should be in her chart."
"Oh, yes, I see it now. Sorry about that. I should have read her records before I called you. I apologize. How does Wednesday at 10 sound?"
Which brings me a fine segue to mention medical records and personal health records. I put together a personal health record for my daughter at ihealthrecord.com. It includes notes on all her doctor’s visits since she’s been home with us. It also includes notes on what the Russian doctor mentioned about her rickets. I will take a print-out of her PHR when we go for her X-ray.
And after my experience setting up that appointment, a new truth came to me: Personal health records and medical records – electronic or otherwise – do no one no good if you don’t read them.
Take them out of the closet – give them plenty of sunshine. And go easy on the Happy Meals.
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