19 February 2011

update (really, but not about me, so not really)

The gym guy called back, and I missed his call and he left a very informative voicemail so I do not have to call him back (score!). He said they will be more than happy to a) freeze my membership and also b) refund me the weeks I've missed so far. But I will need a doctor's note.

CUE SAD MUSIC. Like maybe some emotional Backstreet Boys, or maybe some Justin Bieber, since that's what the kids seem to be into these days, idk.

I would like to do a lyrical pun here, but I don't listen to Justin Bieber.

As I mentioned somewhere before, I do not have insurance currently. This is because I quit my full-time job in the industry I have wanted to work in since I was 12 in order to move to California with my boyfriend. Then my boyfriend and I got to California and broke up, which is the story of why I am currently in the Great White North. (Well not really, it is of course a much longer story, one that I will be happy to tell any of you in person if you want to come over and bring Kleenex and vodka and Cheez-Its, not necessarily in that order.) So upon hearing that the gym would require a doctor's note I did some asking around to see if I know any doctors who would be willing to give me a note.

I asked my mom, who lives next door to a doctor, and works for a doctor, and has a brother who is a doctor, and whose best friend has a son who is a doctor. She said no.
I asked my dad, who is the CEO of a healthcare non-profit and knows thousands of doctors*. He said no.
So then I resigned myself to my sad fate and found a free clinic in town. I will be schlepping there on Monday. It is a Catholic clinic, which is fine because I do not need birth control, but I am a little worried that it may burst into flames when I walk through the door. Which would be sad on many levels, including the fact that I would then need to have burns treated on top of my butt problems. It never ends.

*Back when I was having tumor issues, I emailed my X-rays to my parents so they could get an idea of what was going on. Unbeknownst to me, my father then sent the X-rays to literally DOZENS of random doctors I had never met, asking if they could take a look and offer advice. I started receiving emails from tons of men I had never met, all of whom had peered at my bones and were eager to share their thoughts. I called my dad and said, "Who are these men and why do they have opinions on my innards?" In retrospect, it was very adorable, but I find it highly suspect that now when I need a note about my butt, he can't be bothered to email one of them. However if the free clinic decides there's a tumor of sorts hiding in there, I am sure my dad will be all over it.

1 comment:

  1. Good luck at the free clinic. If nothing else, it will be a good story, yeah?