Red Letter Day
Most people use that term to describe a really good day. I'm using it to describe today because I'm writing letters, and "red" is a color most often associated with "anger." And these are angry letters--I'm angry because I have to write them, and the recipients are probably going to be angry when they read them.
The first is, of course, to Fuckstain Ex-Landlord. Without going into too much detail, I've advised him we dispute the charges listed in his letter, we agree to charges x-y-z, and that considering our deposit and lease termination fee, we don't owe him dick.
The second is to Bob's psychiatrist's office regarding the bill they sent me for $500 for the nurse practitioner's witness testimony. Um...yeah. Not only was she on the stand for a total of 15 minutes, and gave testimony that was weak at best and worthless at worst, state law caps fact witness testimony at $25 per day and 10 cents a mile for mileage. So I'm sending the office manager a letter enclosing copies of the applicable statutes, a check for $26.60, and fuck you very much.
I'm not real worried about burning any bridges with the shrink's office, anyway. Every appointment--even the first one at 8:15 a.m.--will find us sitting in the lobby for anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. It's insane (pun intended). There's no drug in the world that will keep a 6-year-old from going completely off his rocker when forced to sit in a waiting room for that long. Nor his 35-year-old mother, for that matter. Our appointment last night was at 5:00. We got there at 5:15. We were seen at 6:10. We got home at 6:40. By the time we arrived, all I wanted to do was pull my hair out and scream. I'm sure Bob felt the same way.
She did bump up his mood stabilizer a bit, because he's been taking a pretty modest dose and she thought it might help him to deal with all the drama and db bullshit. I hate giving him more pills, but what else is there? I've been thinking about getting him back into therapy, but finding anyone who specializes in children and doesn't have at least a 6-month wait list is a real feat. Finding one who also accepts your insurance is damn near impossible.
The first is, of course, to Fuckstain Ex-Landlord. Without going into too much detail, I've advised him we dispute the charges listed in his letter, we agree to charges x-y-z, and that considering our deposit and lease termination fee, we don't owe him dick.
The second is to Bob's psychiatrist's office regarding the bill they sent me for $500 for the nurse practitioner's witness testimony. Um...yeah. Not only was she on the stand for a total of 15 minutes, and gave testimony that was weak at best and worthless at worst, state law caps fact witness testimony at $25 per day and 10 cents a mile for mileage. So I'm sending the office manager a letter enclosing copies of the applicable statutes, a check for $26.60, and fuck you very much.
I'm not real worried about burning any bridges with the shrink's office, anyway. Every appointment--even the first one at 8:15 a.m.--will find us sitting in the lobby for anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. It's insane (pun intended). There's no drug in the world that will keep a 6-year-old from going completely off his rocker when forced to sit in a waiting room for that long. Nor his 35-year-old mother, for that matter. Our appointment last night was at 5:00. We got there at 5:15. We were seen at 6:10. We got home at 6:40. By the time we arrived, all I wanted to do was pull my hair out and scream. I'm sure Bob felt the same way.
She did bump up his mood stabilizer a bit, because he's been taking a pretty modest dose and she thought it might help him to deal with all the drama and db bullshit. I hate giving him more pills, but what else is there? I've been thinking about getting him back into therapy, but finding anyone who specializes in children and doesn't have at least a 6-month wait list is a real feat. Finding one who also accepts your insurance is damn near impossible.
posted by Mitzi Green at 8:29 AM
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