The Waiting is the Hardest Part

41 days.

It’s been 41 days since my mother was told of the mass on her right kidney.

A “small” mass.

Or tumor.

Or whatever.

Here we are 41 days later.

And she has received zero treatment.

None.

Nunca.

Nada.

Oh, it’s not due to a lack of effort.

On our part.

Or a lack of phone calls.

It’s due to politics.

Or contracts.

Or insurance.

Or whatever its name is.

More on that in 642 words.

The bottom line is 41 days ago she got the news.

And 41 days later she has received nothing.

But stress.

Not a good prescription for an 81-year grandmother with a bipolar disorder.

Sure, she did have that one visit to the oncologist.

That same doctor who said she would make sure my mom gets the best care.

That meeting was 13 days ago.

28 days after my mom received the news.

And so far the only care she has received is care-less.

I have made calls.

And more calls.

And the answer is always the same.

“We are working on it.”

“The paperwork takes time.”

“Be patient.”

Be patient!

My mom is 81-years old.

She has a mass on her kidney.

You should be using patient as a noun, not an adjective.

There’s a pretty clear plan with my mother’s insurance.

Stay in the plan.

Go to this hospital.

Go to this doctor.

No mulligans.

We were told to go to this oncologist.

So we were there.

Early.

The oncologist said she would be the point person throughout this process.

And she would personally contact the other doctors my mom had seen to come up with the master plan.

Growing up I remember going to a restaurant and thinking our waitress was the best waitress in the world.

I was sure she had trained all her life for that job.

And that the job was her dream.

But as you get older you realize that dream was a nightmare.

In many cases, she’s a single mom just trying to make a living.

Deep down, she really doesn’t care if your pot pie is cold in the middle.

I’m really not sure doctors are any different.

Sure they take that hypocritical oath.

Or whatever it is called.

But many doctors really don’t care.

Or they don’t have the time to care.

I took my seven-year old to the doctor yesterday.

We were in the waiting room for 10 minutes.

Waited in the exam room for another 10.

Then the doctor came in.

And within four seconds he had made his diagnosis.

Shook our hands.

Washed his hands.

Collected our $30 deductible.

And moved onto the next piece of meat.

And even with that quick diagnosis.

I’m not convinced they know any more than I do.

Ok, they know a lot more than I do. 

But there’s a reason why they call it their “practice”.

They are guessing as much as the guy at the Caesar’s Palace Sports Book.

But as long as they throw out some terms none of us have ever heard of.

Their beach home is in good shape.

When we met with the oncologist nearly two weeks ago, she said the best plan for my mom would be to perform a biopsy.

To see if the mass was cancerous.

Great plan.

Except that exact plan was brought up and veto’ed by the doctors in the hospital.

When they discovered the mass.

28 days earlier.

The oncologist said she wasn’t sure why the procedure wasn’t done in the hospital when my mom was there.

But she would be sure to find out.

So she called the something-or-other-ologist.

And the whatchamacall-ogist.

And the whozamawhati-cologist.

And the plan now is to remove the mass through some type of radiation.

She called it Radiotherapy.

I thought that was channel 392 on Sirius XM.

But hey, Radiotherapy it is.

They must know.

They are the doctors.

And Radiotherapy has six syllables.

It must be good.

She also told me they pondered doing something called Cryotherapy.

But that was only five syllables.

She said she had the perfect doctor in mind to do the procedure.

But after a week she learned the doctor she requested was not -- in network.

And so we waited to see if he could get a contract to help out just this one time.

And a week later we are still waiting.

So let me get this straight....

The "perfect" doctor, who could remove the tumor from my mom's kidney, can't remove the tumor.

Because he is not -- in network.

Hey listen, I get insurance.

I got insurance.

And I understand the game.

But as we sit here entering week six.

And my mom is not able to sleep.

Because the doctor who could possibly save her is not in network.

All we can do is wait?

Something is not right.