22 wks: Is This About A Horse???

This is funny now. It wasn't then.

There is something that has become commonplace since I had E. Progesterone injections to prevent preterm labor. And my doctor wants me to have them. I say whatever works! But I know nothing about these. I google some, and hear they are all the rage. I call the contact number to get the ball rolling. I call my insurance, and some dumb rep tells me they aren't covered. Then the OB nurse tells me they are. I am beyond frustrated. I do some reading to discover they may be contraindicated in asthma. I call the pharmacy to ask, and am reassured.

Finally the OB nurse calls and gives me a number to call. These people are supposed to get me set up. The meds will come to my house, and I will get the injection at my doctor's appointments weekly. Okay. I call. I'm supposed to ask for Bob. No last name, no extension number. Just. Bob.

The first thing I hear when I call is a recording asking me if I am a veterinarian. Ummmmm. No. But before I can hang up, a female comes on the line. I tell her my name, that I was told to ask for Bob, that I am pregnant and trying to set up progesterone injections.

"Is this about a horse?", she asks. No. It's not. I'm human, and so is my baby. "Oh ok", she says. Bob gets on the line before my mind can stop reeling. And before he says hello or anything, he tells me he needs my credit card info. What? Just a second ago, someone asked me if I was a horse!

"Wait a minute! I have insurance!" I tell Bob.
"We don't DO insurance here", he tells me, rather rudely. He says he needs my debit card info so he can ship the supplies and meds to me.

"Okay, whatever, how much is it?", I ask.

" One thousand, five hundred and sixty-two dollars."

I tell Bob I will call him back and hang up. I am not about to give someone Cart blanche with my bank account when just a second earlier, I was being questioned about my species. And I call the OB nurse from my insurance company.

Somehow they pulled it off for me, and they arranged it so a home health nurse will come to the house to give me my shot once a week to the tune of $135 weekly. Okay. But I at least I know it is medication designed for a human.

J comes home from class to find me sitting in the floor, crying hysterically. Of course he asks what is wrong, and I tell him the story. My new nickname, as a result, is Seabiscuit.