After a solid week of nagging from my mom and an entire department of women at work, I finally called the doctor this morning regarding my elephant feet. I wanted them all to shut up, and I figured the whole thing could be taken care of with one little phone call. I was wrong. The doctor decided I need to come in this morning for what basically amounted to a blood pressure check.
So, I made the hour long trip from work to the doctor's office, only to be told - surprise! - that my BP is fine and I'm just retaining massive amounts of foot water (told you so, Mom and coworkers!). Doc also decided that I need compression socks. Thigh high compression socks. Sexy. So sexy, in fact, that I've already nicknamed them my "sexy socks". I'll be fighting the boys off with a stick, I'm sure.
I also chatted with my doc regarding the unhealthy levels of craziness I had going on since I was about 8 weeks pregnant. After our talk, she decided that I needed a bit of medicinal assistance to combat the deleterious effect my whacked out hormones have been having on me. Thus, a Zoloft prescription. There's just something about being given an antidepressant that makes me feel like a major loser. I kinda want to hide them in my sock drawer (actually, I've already done that) and pretend they don't exist. I'm also not sure I want to tell B about them. It's embarrassing. We'll see if it comes up in conversation tonight.
After my fun doctor's appointment, I went in search of compression socks. After five or six phone calls to different departments of my oh so wonderful insurance company, I finally found a place that carries them, and that the insurance company will apparently consider in network, since the only place they know of for such equipment in the area doesn't do socks. Luckily, I'm resourceful, or I'd still be driving around aimlessly trying to figure out where to buy the damn things. I get there, start the paperwork, tell the guy that he's going to have to make a phone call to get the store considered in network, and wait and wait and wait while guy places the phone call. After about 30 minutes of being on hold, I called the number from my phone call, and get a message that they're closed for lunch, and won't be back until 1:00 (this is around 12:15). The company apparently just abandoned this guy on hold when they left for lunch (he called around 11:45). Nice, right? Guy sends me off on my own for an hour or so (yay for an impromptu Costco trip!), and when I come back, he's STILL waiting on confirmation from the insurance company! WTF? He gave me my socks (opaque and in silky beige...I told you they were HOTT), explained that I'll owe the store $90 a pair if insurance doesn't end up paying, and sent me on my merry way. After guy finally hears back from the insurance company, he's supposed to call (sometime before 6:00) to confirm that insurance is going to cover them. I refuse to put them on until I get the call because at least one pair is going back if I have to pay for them out of pocket.
Two hours and a lot of irritation later, I'm home with my sexy socks. These bastards better work. I'm not giving up the little fashion sense I have and my flip flops for ugly thigh highs that don't unswell my feet.