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| - I was called by a scheduler from SimonMed after my doctor got approval from my insurance, and was told the soonest appointment was 6 pm on Friday. I took it and arrived at 5:55, filled out 3 sheets of paper, paid $400 for an image of my ankle, and sat down to wait. And wait. And wait.
A gentleman got up and asked how much longer he'd be waiting and got a vague answer. One lady turned to another and said they'd been waiting 90 minutes. I wait 45 minutes and ask, and am told without apology that my Appt was for 6:30 (with an attitude, like, why are you asking? I explain that I was told a 6:00 appointment and she snarks back, "we tell you that for paperwork- but your appointment isn't until 6:30") and I should relay be ashamed for asking I guess because it was "only" 6:45.
I guess I got lucky as this place goes, only waiting an hour to be taken back. Well, to be accurate, 57 minutes.
I was brought back by a surly young man who, with my papers in his hand, began to ask me exact duplicates of the questions on the sheet: what area of the body are we imaging? (My ankle) He looked at the large plastic boot on my left leg that comes up to my knee and asks does it come off? (Yes) and then asks if it's metal? (No... and it's coming off anyhow) and then at my ruler-straight Native American hair with absolutely nothing in it, and nowhere to hide anything, and asks me if I'm wearing extraneous metal hair ties? And I just look at him very level. For a while. And I tell him, very quietly, "No. I don't have any extraneous metal hair ties."
At this point after every answer I give him he says, in a way over the top manner, "just ASKING"!
This comedy show goes on for a while.
I get situated in the machine and as he walks out he tells me it takes ten minutes. I think, ten minutes is about all I can do in this position and still walk out of here tonight because of pain, and I am prepared.
I watch the timer on the machine and the first go says a little over 4 minutes. Then it beeps and clicks and honks and then 3+ minutes, then 4+ minutes, then 3+ minutes, then 2+, 4+, 3+ and so on - and this goes on for 32 minutes. At no time does he come in and say anything. Like- did we have to start over? Three times? Did something go wrong?
All I know is that my back muscles have gone past cramped and have fully seized and I cannot move to get off the table. I sort of turtle there for a while trying to get onto my side to pull up my knees and let my back un-seize and I'm crying. He stands right there and watches me unable to stand and struggling to recover and smirks.
At no time did he offer assistance.
Meanwhile, the dulcet strains of Kanye West are rapping along on the background... not appreciated.
After I got into a sitting position, and I've still got tears on my face, I say very quietly, "You should not tell people it's ten minutes when it is more like thirty; people need to prepare for that."
And in the most disrespectful -and that's the only description I'm going to give it because I'm a lady- he says "that WAS ten minutes, MISS."
Well, no it wasn't. I know, because I can Math. They used to teach that in school, along with many other useful things that clearly he is lacking the benefit of.
I hobbled to get my boot, and the key to my locker fell off the boot and hit the ground and with a snicker he says,
"Don't forget the key."
Good job, SimonMed. I manage a practice in the healthcare field, so I can pay you this compliment: At least your brand is consistent from the start of the appointment to the finish.
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