How Not to Treat an Autistic Patient — Part 3 — Two Weeks Later
Having secured pain medication for the foreseeable future, I had tried leave the traumatic non-surgery behind and let it go. But two weeks later, I got a packet from the insurance company about my case, with copies of what the surgeon’s office had sent them for the preauthorization, authorization, and appeal. And it was only then that I realized just how badly the surgeon’s office had screwed this up.
For posterity, the surgeon’s office had led me to believe that the that the denial was the radiologist’s fault, and that both the denial and appeal had occurred the day of my surgery.
The packet, however, told a different story. The real story.
First, my preauthorization went through on the previous Monday, the week before, not Friday, as the assistant had claimed, and included a report of severe neck and upper back pain, an affirmation from a second surgeon that surgery was strongly recommended, and a diagnosis of encroachment leading to nerve impingement in the C5-C6 vertebral space.
The actual authorization, however, did not contain any of those items, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the date, of both the denial and the appeal, as indicated by the dates on the faxes the office had sent. It wasn’t Tuesday, the day of my surgery.
It was four days earlier; the Friday before.
The office had known about my denial since Friday afternoon — and didn’t say a word to me about it for four days.
Four fricking days. It may not seem like much, but for an autistic, four days to get used to the idea that my surgery might have to be postponed would have made such a world of difference that words fail to encompass it.
And here’s where people’s total ignorance about autism is especially poignant. Change is extremely difficult for autistics, exponentially more so than for neurotypicals. We need time to mentally prepare for changes, even positive ones. Those four days would have completely altered this experience for me. I would have been upset at first, yes, but by Tuesday, I would have been prepared for a possible negative outcome. To deny a normal person that time to adjust was already misguided, at best. But to deny it to someone on the spectrum? It was downright cruel.
Even over two weeks later, I was still exhausted, mentally, emotionally, physically. I didn’t want to do this any more. I didn’t want to be this any more. I’d tired of spending hours on the phone, having to expend energy I didn’t have to perform my neurotypical persona, only to be told, over and over, by everyone I called, that they couldn’t help me.
And this is about more than the last few weeks. I have endured three months of being invisible, my concerns unheard, my problems unsolved, my well-being unattended. There doesn’t seem to be any space in the world we live in for people like me. I know I should keep pushing and advocating for myself and those like me but I’m tapped out. I wish I could just sleep and eat and watch TV, and not have to take care of anyone or anything any more, even myself.
But that’s something else that won’t ever happen.
Click here if you missed Part 2 — The Day After, and the Day After That
