Open Your Mouth and Say Nothing

So apparently doctors don't like people complaining about them--how shocking.

Some docs, worried about their reputations, are trying to fight back against negative reviews, requiring patients to sign contracts — critics call them “gag orders” — promising not to post comments to public sites. Others ask patients to sign over copyright to future comments, hoping for leverage to have any nasty tags removed.

Complain about your doctor, and he can refuse to treat you?

There's another side to it, of course:

“There’s no venue for physicians to get their side of the story out,” said Segal, who notes that doctors can't respond to specific patients because doing so would violate federal privacy laws.

While some sites, like Angie's List, know who's posting, most don't identify or verify commenters, said Segal, who blasts that anonymity.

“You don’t know whether it’s a patient, an ex-employee, an ex-spouse or even a competitor," Segal said.

I understand the urge to fight back against someone complaining about you. But what's really disturbing to me are two things: first is the copyright idea. Let's look at that again:

Others ask patients to sign over copyright to future comments, hoping for leverage to have any nasty tags removed.

Wow. And I thought the RIAA overreached.

And secondly, there's this:

Patient will not denigrate, defame, disparage, or cast aspersions upon the Physician; and will use all reasonable efforts to prevent any member of their immediate family or acquaintance from engaging in any such activity,” reads the “Mutual Agreement to Maintain Privacy”
...
The contracts typically limit patient comments for five years from the last doctor’s visit and they imply that breaking the terms could land the patients in court.

So let's say I signed onto this contract because this is the only doctor I know--let's face it, most of us work full time, may have restrictions on who we can see put on us by our insurance plans, and even if we didn't, shopping for doctors can be an exhausting experience, especially if you have something seriously wrong with you. Or worse yet, let's say most or all doctors adopt this practice, so I can't even rely on a "free market" approach of just hunting down a doctor who doesn't require this kind of contract. And my (hypothetical) doctor screws up and doesn't diagnose a brain tumor, and I die. If my family publicly complains that hey, this doctor is a quack who can't find a baseball-sized tumor, they can be hauled into court and sued for complaining in a public forum.

I actually understand the position of doctors--or really anyone--who are being anonymously criticized, sometimes unfairly, and sometimes may be lied about. But then again, without the protection of anonymity, people probably wouldn't publicly complain, and sometimes those complaints are earned. I can think of several off-hand as I sit here, but to be honest, I'm afraid to post them because I don't want to get any negative repercussions for the patients involved, since the situation is on-going.

And really, what I find disturbing isn't the idea of doctors being able to fight back and reclaim their reputations; what I find really scary is the idea of using copyright law to fight them, and of suing patients' families. Because my husband, who makes $15/hour and drives our rattling ten-year-old Ford Taurus, really doesn't have the right to challenge my Miata-driving doctor who makes $150,000 a year.

I hope he likes fixing that clunking noise it makes.

At Least I Can Finally Buy Beer on Sundays. But Only After 11 AM.

New Jersey's Assembly moves to legalize medical marijuana, joining a growing list of pragmatic states; meanwhile back here in Pennsylvania, it's barely the 20th century, and we still can't decide if selling beer in the supermarket will result in rum, Romanism, and rebellion. But if we sell it with a sandwich, that you have to eat in the store, that's just tolerable.

Given how much money the state makes in taxes on alcohol, you'd think they'd jump at the chance to legalize medical marijuana.

Week 9: Taking the Plunge

Well, we've done it. We've become homeworkers.

Basically, being a homeworker means that we're given computers by the company to do our proofing and editing on, and then once a week come to the main building and turn in our work.* Which sounds like a good deal, I suppose. It also means no health care.

We're both relatively healthy--physically anyway. I've suffered from depression for as long as I can remember, and I don't know what I'll do now without being able to afford my medication. I don't know what to do--I could try something herbal, but I'm skeptical. On the other hand, what choice to I have?

And how can I not be depressed when things are going like they are? Jesus, what a hell of a time to buy a house.

On top of that, I've been taking birth control for years--and now? I don't know. If we can't afford contraception... God, I hate the thought of the rhythm method. But I'm not sure what else to do. It's not like there's many condoms around anymore--latex may not be made from oil, but transporting them takes as much oil as anything else. And oil is being diverted to emergency services and the military now--not to Trojan.

So we're homeworkers. We've canceled our cable, canceled our cell phones. We still have the internet, and rabbit ears work just as fine as when I was a kid in the '80s.

We're spending a lot of time around the house now. But at least I have time to tend the garden.

*Why they don't just have us email the work to them I don't understand. For an IT company, they're very scared of new technology. However, I think they're getting the idea that work is going to have to be emailed.

Week 3: I Never Wanted To Be a Housewife

I'll tell you one thing that scares the hell out of me--running out of birth control.

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When I was a kid, both my parents worked. We were poor, working class Irish--my father didn't finish high school and so bounced from job to job, until getting a job with the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Man, that feels weird now, just thinking about it. He died of cancer, and I sometimes wonder if it was being around those exhaust fumes for 8+ hours a day that did it.

My mom was a nurse; in the 1980s, this didn't seem to be anything special, but by the end of the 1990s and on, being a nurse meant you had a good-paying job, albeit dealing with sick people for the most part.

Both their parents worked; my dad's mom, because his dad died when he was four, and my mom's mom because her dad died when she was sixteen. My dad died when I was seven, but since mom was already working, this didn't change much her being home; we had less money, and she worked more hours, but otherwise, things went on as before, only a little more empty.

I'm starting to notice a pattern.


At any rate--work is what my family has always done. We didn't have any stay-at-home moms, no housewives.

Where am I going with this?

My job--my boring, stupid, data entry job--has the option of working from home, and only coming in one day a week to drop off what you've done.

It's a tempting offer.

Right now we carpool, my husband and I, since we work at the same company. But it's getting more expensive, driving to work. He's talked about becoming a homeworker, suggesting I should too.

One problem.

No health care for homeworkers.

Well. That's one hell of a wrench to throw in. I currently spend $50 a month on medication--birth control, anti-depressant, and allergy medication. No health care means pregnancy. No health care means depression and anxiety attacks come back. No heath care means... well, I can live with sneezing a lot.

I'm not sure what to do. There's got to be something. Maybe a new job, something closer to home.

I'm at a loss.

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Some good news: we moved into the house last week, and I went out to Lowe's and picked up plants for the garden--tomatoes, green peppers, jalapeño peppers, squash and zuchini. I had to go to a local independent to find the onions, potatoes, and herbs I wanted to plant (mint, parsley, the usual stuff).

Now I have to sit and wait. And weed. I don't really like either.