MegaDeath

DENIED?!? They fucking denied my $194.63 claim for Topamax NOW?? After more than 7 months on the shit, they deny it for lack of diagnosis?

WHAT?!?

Yeah. I'm about to be diagnosed with a fucking ulcer, and let me tell you, it just got a lot worse.

Damn it to fucking hell.

Why didn't they CALL the fucking NEUROLOGIST, who was the prescribing PHYSICIAN? WHY?

Can I kill someone? Please? Oh please can I?

Jeff, sweetheart, I've been trying to eat today, by the way, but I only made it through half the nouriche and 1/3 of a doughnut. I feel so gross.

And now I want to cry.

I am so mad right now, I could scream. So mad.

*Edit* Because I am the woman that I am, I have the extension number for Lisa, a supervisor at MegaDeath. That's the woman who told me about my denied claim, the woman to whom I was speaking when I wrote my post. By the end of the call, she had spoken with the claims adjustor and had her reopen the claim. My check (I am told) will be sent tomorrow. I have informed her about all the other medical claims I have submitted, how deep in the hole I am, exactly what's coming their way, and how absolutely urgent it is that these claims be processed. Lisa knows precisely what's going on now. Precisely.

I can only hope that this knowledge somehow helps me receive the remaining $400 dollars I am due. Otherwise, I am in serious trouble. Hell, Circuit City and Sprint owe me $120 between them.

Still sick. I want to just curl up in a ball and be held while I cry for a while. I don't think I have it in me to scream anymore. Or kill :-/

A few hours later. . .

I still feel like ick, although I've eaten and I look quite pretty.

Yes, I've eaten. I left the lab early and hit Lennie's a little before 2 o'clock, and ordered a salad with blue cheese dressing and the French Onion soup. I ate the whole salad, but for the pepper and the tomato (I was pleased to find big slivers of carrot in the salad - yum!) and I almost finished the soup.

Then I went next door for my hair appointment, at which point Elizabeth told me that if I used Sun-In or beer to brighten my hair, she'd "come after me". Well then. So I decided to get just three little bits of highlight, at $8 each in my hair, plus a really great haircut. I didn't go too dramatic, but it's just what I wanted, and it looks fantastic.

Now, I have a question for you. I've mentioned customer service guys flirting with me lately, and I was wondering if it has something to do with my voice. Well, now I'm really starting to wonder what's going on. I sat at Lennie's alone in a booth with my manuscript in front of me. One of the employees passed by, a host, and I said (quite simply), "excuse me, would you by any chance have a spare pen that I could borrow, please?"

He bounced off to the kitchen (which was right by my table, I was facing the serve-em-up bar), picked up a pen and brought it back to me, wiping it off and commenting that he hoped it would work. I made a quick scribble on the page, saw that it worked, said, "this will be fine, thank you," and proceeded to look back at my page to return to work.

Yeah. Well, host-boy wasn't finished with me. He leaned on the table and started asking what I was working on, said that it didn't look like anything he would understand, what am I studying, what's the paper about, was I an undergraduate here. . . and so on. After a little bit, he wandered away, and I returned to my editing, thinking, "Jesus, I just asked for a pen!" and hoping that that was the end of things.

Of course, I was wrong. After a few minutes more, he came back, SAT DOWN across from me, head on his hands on the table, and started talking to me some more. So I did my undergrad where? Was I born there? Where did I grow up?

Fortunately, someone came in and he had to go be a host. I paid with cash.

Now, I ask you. Is there something that special about me? Please.

Yes, yes I know. I should have said, "excuse me, I'd like to just work on my paper, if you don't mind." Yes, I know that. But I'm a 'fraidy cat and am simply too afraid of what a guy can do if I say something like that. Yeah, I need to learn to be a bitch. *sigh*

That, or I need a bodyguard. Or a boyfriend by my side. Or a big fucking rock on my hand. *smirk* Riiiiiight.

So anyway, I've eaten something, but my stomach still hurts. At least I look good!