Hurst's First – An Adventure in Having a Baby

It’s A … Pain in the Ass

on October 10, 2012

Monday was the day we were supposed to find out if we were buying pink stuff or blue stuff.

We spent all weekend thinking about it – not in a worrisome, hand-wringing sort of way, but in a “What could it be?” sort of way. It was fun, but it definitely kept our brains preoccupied.

So, Monday morning there seemed to be a little bit of electricity in Hurst Castle as we both anticipated seeing our baby’s ultrasound. I don’t know if either of us have been so excited at the prospect of seeing genitalia since our second or third date.

We arrive at the ultrasound technician’s office and … we’re told we cannot go in.


Apparently, our insurance doesn’t cover this particular ultrasound technician.

Yup, after weeks of waiting to find out if our baby is healthy and growing right and has an in faucet or an out faucet, we have to wait some more. Know why? Because the receptionists at our obstetrician’s office don’t know how to read insurance forms.

We are covered by an HMO. We have been for years. Apparently, the H and M looked like a P and a P to the OB’s assistants. So, PPO’s get ultrasounds all day at this place. HMO’s are homeless.

I called the OB’s office. I was told I must have changed my insurance. I told her she was a liar.

This isn’t the first snafu we’ve had with our insurance since moving down to Los Angeles County. In Santa Barbara it was easy – they had Samsung and Cottage Hospital. That was it and they worked together. If you had a doctor’s appointment, it was covered … all you had to figure out was which one of three places it was at.

While LA is infinitely bigger, it just means more hoops to jump through.

Now, I know it’s not the insurance’s fault that we changed jobs mid-pregnancy. Hey, that’s life, right? But how come I’ve had to call four times to make sure we’re covered; or be told we couldn’t see a doctor until Oct. 1 early in September; had to deal with a crying wife at a doctor’s appointment when they said she wasn’t covered, only to make a phone call and prove that we were; had to log online and change plans again; had to see that we weren’t covered for about 12 hours because of the UCSB to UCLA transfer; and then call in the morning and have them change it. Why does it have to be so difficult? Why am I better at all of their jobs than they are?

This just puts another feather in their caps. Insurance is like cleaning the toilet: you don’t want to deal with it because it’s shitty, but you know at some point you have to.

So here we are, with the baby at 21 weeks old (that’s five months and one week) and we still don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl; healthy or not; growing well or with it’s leg coming out where it’s arm is supposed to be.

At least Suzanne is feeling kicks. So she’s got that going for her. Which is nice.

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