Selves, Straws, Snaps

You know when the stupidest crap morphs into something you just can't deal with?  The kind of crap that any other time you would handle with aplomb, or wouldn't even notice you were handling at all, it would be so effortless?

Well.

My pharmacy has moved and they're taking the opportunity to upgrade computer systems, which entails bringing in new staff with knowledge of such.  When I dialed my way through the automated ordering tonight, instead of the final prompt I got, as I have been getting lately, "Please hold for a member of our pharmacy staff."  I've been thinking they're having some issue with the computers and phones when I get this prompt each month.  Lately I'd been taking the Rx in physically.

Ha.  Ha ha ha.

Turns out, my pharmacy has been filling my birth control under someone else's insurance since MARCH (when I got this year's birth control Rx).  I am only finding out about this now because of a particularly detail-oriented new staff member.  Prior to this whoever's been filling my Rx hasn't been checking my date of birth or my insurance any time I've picked up the Rx.  Once someone (who's not a regular at that pharmacy location) did ask to verify my address, and it wasn't mine.  Of course, nothing came of that ("Oh, you must have two profiles, we'll fix that"), and of course that happened mid-week, when this whole identity/freaking insurance fraud problem could've been solved easily.

My GP has my chart as Firstname Maidenname-Marriedname.  She sends my Rx's in as Firstname Maidenname, because that's just always how she's done it.  My GYN has my chart as Firstname Marriedname now, and as of this year that's how she sends my Rx in.  This is a new thing as of 2009, despite my having been married since 2007.  2011, however, was the first time she e-prescribed for me.  So you can see where the confusion comes in.  Shorter:  "Humans.  I get it.  But this is why we check our work."

I've known there was another version of me wandering around Manhattan (she has my Firstname Marriedname) since early 2010 when I went to an orthopedist for the first time.  The person checking me in/verifying my patient identity looked at me and asked in a surprised tone if my date of birth was in '68.

This other me must live in my neighborhood, because apparently she also goes to my GYN - it looks as though this year's birth control Rx was sent into the pharmacy from my GYN's with her date of birth.  Either that, or the pharmacy got in the Rx with my DOB and didn't notice, instead going to the first Firstname Marriedname they saw in their system, and going from there.  I'm not sure which, but I should be finding out tomorrow after they've had time to go and look at the physical Rx they got in March.  Anyway.  That's beside the point, and whether it was my doctor's mistake or the pharmacy's mistake is irrelevant to tonight's Ridiculous Breakdown That Any Other Time Would Not Have Even Been A Thing.

Here is the Thing.

There's this woman I share a name with, an orthopedist with, and apparently a gynecologist with.  She takes the same birth control as I do, but has a different insurance company, a different date of birth, a different life.  (And a different birth control copay.  I noticed mine had gone up; I just thought my insurance company were being dicks about it.)

I'm having a thematically tough time with who I am lately.  I don't particularly want to be this version of me very much, this past while.  This role, this function, this name - they just get on my very last nerve recently, and they are heavy.  They sit there on that nerve, and they press.  It's an exquisite irony to learn that if I'd just told my GYN to go ahead and keep using my old identity, that old name (which my insurance still has no issues processing), I'd be having no issues this weekend.

This year, you guys.  This year.  This year's been tough.  It's been no 2009 (the year of YHGTBFKM), but it's held its own.  I've been noticing just how tough lately as I've segued back into fall clothes, clothes I specifically remember wearing at specific places during specific moments in Paris last September, and the same clothes are slipping off, are sagging, are baggy, where last year they were maybe a bit loose.  It's not that I've lost so dramatically much weight, but more that I've deflated.  This year has been deflating.

So it is an especially back-breaking straw, this whole "ha ha, I'm your identity, and I shall screw you now!  if you'd just used your other identity, you'd not be screwed!" prescription thing.  There's just too much ugly poetry there.

*snap*