September 6, 2005

Angie,

The last few days have been some of the most stressful that I can remember. I’ve been going over everything that happened, trying to figure out where this all started and wondering where it will end.

They say that the first impression is the most important. The first time I ever spoke to you was on the phone about a year ago. I was on my way to my first appointment at the clinic so I called to get the address. You gave me an address that was in the middle of an empty field. I drove up and down roads on the WRONG side of town, wondering where this clinic was. Finally, I went to the gas station to get correct directions. You may not remember that. But I do. I remember because I was late for my appointment and I hate being late. I saw you in the reception booth, oblivious to how much you had affected my trip and my mood. I was angry.

After a while, after I went home, I thought, as annoying and ridiculous as the situation was, I figured the mistake was as simple as saying East when you meant West and I remembered that I’ve made similar mistakes when giving directions... I bet a lot of people have. So, I tried to let it go.

Then there was my FIRST appointment this year. The one that I made. The one you tried to invalidate. If the only difference between an appointment that I make and one that the V.A. makes is who’ll pay for it, why didn’t you just tell me that since the V.A. didn’t make the appointment I’d have to pay for it.

If you said that, it would have been a whole lot clearer. If I wasn’t running out of my medication, It would have been annoying but not that big of a problem. Since my meds were running out, I may have bit the bullet and said, “Fine. Bill me for the appointment. I came to see the physician.”

But you didn’t say that. You just kept telling me that I didn’t have an appointment even though you saw my name in the schedule. As a receptionist, your job was to simply ask me to have a seat and inform the physician that I was in. Who pays for the visit isn’t really any of your concern, especially since it doesn’t come out of your pocket. Ultimately, it’s between the physician and the patient.

But you knew I was a veteran and you starting acting as if YOU were the V.A. You see, the V.A. cares more about procedure, policy and budgets than they do about patient care. Your attitude was typical of V.A. administrators, social workers, doctors and nurses. The last thing veterans want to deal with are people who don’t treat them like human beings. The V.A. sees us only as numbers, statistics and EXPENSES. I got the feeling that’s how you were seeing me.

When I learned that the Fountain Green Clinic would be treating veterans, I was so happy because I THOUGHT I would be dealing with people who actually care about the patient and make medical judgments based on the patient’s needs instead of what their means-test or discharge status might allow. But you aren’t like that. The look that I see in your eyes when I come into the office is one of complete apathy, as if you sincerely think that there are better things you can be doing with your time than dealing with me. But it’s more than that. It’s not just in your eyes, it’s in your voice and your body language. You radiate hostility.

After a year since my last appointment, I couldn’t understand why. I’m an artist. And like a lot of artists I’m generally insecure about myself. I want people to like me. So when I saw that you had this animosity toward me, I wondered what it was about me that made you not like me. And I wanted it to change.

My primary medical need through the V.A. and the clinic is for depression. As a person with clinical depression, my self esteem can take a nose dive very easily. I’ve also heard it said that depression is anger turned inward. When I get those negative vibes from you, I don’t know what to do with them. Just letting it go isn’t easy for me, so it tends to eat me up inside.

Then I spoke with some friends of mine who are also patients at the Clinic. They said that it wasn’t just me and that you’re kind of a negative person. They also told me of other lapses in judgment on your part that made the misdirections of a year ago look pretty routine. This all had me kind of concerned. I might come into the clinic once or twice a year for a prescription or a checkup and your negativity makes it seem like once or twice too many. You make the experience very uncomfortable for me. I was so stressed by your attitude on September 2, even BEFORE we exchanged words, that when it came time to give a urine sample, it took me forever to do it. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom all morning. I knew my bladder was full and I desperately needed to use the bathroom, but the tension made it almost impossible. I felt as though I was taking my first drug test in the Navy with some no name sailor standing beside me and WATCHING. But I was all by myself.

After I was through with my appointment, I had to deal with the police, which was one of the most intimidating and uncomfortable situations I’ve ever been in.

Like I said, I’ve been thinking a lot about that morning. When I came back from walking my dog and spoke with Molly, I asked her if she had read the note that I left on my bag. The one that said, “Back at 9:00 - Joe Puente.”

She told me that she hadn’t but “Angie did.”

If you read the note, Angie, you knew that it was my bag. Regardless of what words we exchanged the week before, I think you knew there was probably nothing wrong it. I left a note with my NAME on it and a time that I would return. Yet a call to the police was made anyway.

Since there was nothing wrong with the bag, when the police arrived, they should have been told that it was a false alarm. A mistake on my part and that Molly and I agreed it was water under the bridge. Once the police knew that, they should have been on their way. Instead, they were waiting for me to come out. Waiting with you. Then they started lecturing me about post 9/11 etiquette. I conceded, it was my mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. I thought that was it.

Then they started browbeating me over the exchange you and I had the week before. You did threaten to call the police when I was last there. But you didn’t. Apparently you didn’t call them after I had left, either. I know you didn’t lodge any complaint because if you had, I would have been notified about it.

When you saw MY NAME on that note on MY BAG, you saw an opportunity, didn’t you? I don’t think you believed that my bag had a bomb in it. I think you saw a chance to get even with me for our argument the week before. That’s why you didn’t say anything to Molly about my note. You saw my name and that’s all you needed.

I believe when the police came in response to the call, since I was still having my checkup, you took the opportunity to tell them about our argument the week before and I’m sure you embellished it and made yourself out to look like the innocent victim when it was your apathy and unprofessionalism that started it all.

I can only speculate that the Sheriff and his deputy took it upon themselves to “talk” to me, when their aim was really to scare and intimidate me. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you had asked them to do it.

I could never do your job, Angie. I know from actual experience. When it comes to customer service situations, I’m the last person you want to call. For whatever it may be worth, I don’t think you’re cut out for your job either.

I’m not criticizing you personally. I’m merely offering some professional advice. The negativity that you have, not just toward me, but toward other patients who have dealt with you isn’t good for the clinic and ultimately isn’t good for the community. If the people of Fountain Green, or any other place in the county where FGMC’s patients reside, feel that they would rather deal with their pain and ailments alone then have to go to the clinic and put up with your hostility, they aren’t going to get the help they need. Ultimately, it will only aggravate their conditions. They’re human beings in varying kinds and degrees of pain and they have the right to be treated like human beings without being judged or subjected to negativity, hostility or a flippant attitude on the part of a staff member that’s SUPPOSED to be there to help them.

When I apologized to you, I was sincere. When I get mad, I can be scary. I learned it by example from my dad. One of the potential hazards of being raised essentially in a southern European family with all the attendant histrionics.

I tried and failed to explain to you that you had a role in this too. The way you dealt with me was insensitive, rude and unprofessional.

I think I am entitled to an apology as well.

I do my best to make myself available. My mailing address is P.O. Box 262, Mt. Pleasant 84647. I usually spend my days at Wasatch Studios on 67 West Main in Mt. Pleasant which is also where my phone is (435) 462-3870. My evenings and weekends are spent at my apartment, number B-3, at the Christensen Senior Apartments at 33 North 100 East in Moroni where I have no phone. My e-mail address is puente@iname.com.

I’m placing a lot of trust in you by giving you information about me that I don’t usually give out to just anyone. My home is my refuge from the stress I deal with everywhere else. I hope by giving you this information I am not subjected to anymore hostility or harassment.

If you want to do the right thing and apologize, maybe own up to any actions you may have taken against me, you know how and where to reach me.

I would also like to invite you to maybe take a personal moral inventory and figure out why you are so angry. Perhaps a twelve-step program of some sort can help you. I’ve made use of them. If you think I can be a jerk now, you should have met me before I started going to Al-Anon.

Since this letter largely addresses some professional concerns, I have given a copy to the Human Resources Department at Central Valley Medical Center. You represent the CVMC when patients come into the clinic. I feel they need to be aware of how patients are being treated.

With all sincerity,







Joseph L. Puente