The girls are cleared for placement!

“Why don’t cell phones have a redial button anymore?” I wondered as I called the doctor’s office for the fourteenth time. “Doctor’s office,” says the receptionist on the other line. “Oh…uh…hi. Wow, I thought I was going to get another busy signal or you were going to ask me to hold.” The receptionist laughed in a way that told me she was grateful I didn’t yell at her for the busy signals and hold times, but that she wasn’t actually amused by what I had to say.

I had called the doctor’s office repeatedly for the last two weeks, wondering about test results that never appeared, trying to wrangle clearance from a doctor who was always busy. My average hold time was just short of 10 minutes, but that didn’t factor in the amount of times I called and called and called, repeatedly getting a busy signal. I was a pro at their phone system, at re-dialing, at being put on hold.

All these calls weren’t necessary, of course, but they were necessary for me to do. Something was keeping me from my girls, and  - darn it – I was going to do everything I absolutely could to get the girls home. The test results would have eventually come in, the doctor would have eventually given us clearance, but I am not patient enough for eventually. I want my girls home now.

I had spent the day before calling and waiting and calling again, and the doctor’s office had finally given us clearance to take the girls to our dog-infested home. When I talked to their social worker, Pascale, the next day, she said that was great, she would just have to confirm that information with the doctor. Knowing it was just as likely that the doctor would call Pascale back as it was that I would win the lottery, my elated mood plummeted. I had done all this work to get the doctor’s office to clear the girls and write it in the chart, only for all the work to get lost in that darn doctor’s office again.

I waited three hours, figuring three hours was enough time to differentiate between over-the-top and persistent, and then I called Pascale back. “Any news?” Of course there wasn’t. She said that she still needed to talk with the doctor or the person who wrote it in the chart. I can make that work.

“Oh, well, hi!” I said to the receptionist, still flustered. “Is Marcy there?” “Sure,” she said, “she’ll be on in just a moment.” Marcy was the only competent receptionist at this doctor’s office, and yesterday she figured out that the tests had never been run AND talked to the doctor on our behalf. She was a miracle, and soon she was on the phone. She apologized for not calling back the social worker yet, and said she’d do it the moment we hung up. And then she did it.

Within a few minutes of hanging up, Pascale called and told me I was “very resourceful” for calling the doctor’s office. Then she said what the words we had been waiting for – the girls were cleared for placement!!

After hanging up the phone, Kate and I folded into each other’s arms. Exhausted and excited, I jumped and swayed with her, yelling “I did it! I did it!” And it really felt like I had fought through all the red tape and bad doctors and helped bring our girls home weeks earlier than if I had waited patiently by the phone. Sometimes it’s good that patience isn’t my virtue.

The girls will probably come home tomorrow. We’re waiting for the foster mom’s call to make arrangements. She has 22 more minutes to call back before my follow up phone call. I may not be patient, but I’m stubborn, persistent, excited, and resourceful, and most of all, I’m thrilled that the girls get to come home.