Dear Insurance Company:

I follow your instructions, I complete your mindnumbing, idiotic busy work to get my patients' visits paid for, and you repay me by sticking your head so far up your ass that you won't ever be able to pry it out again. Thanks a lot.
I love that I need preauthorization to treat your patient because their group number isn't on your magic "exemption list" that includes all of three companies in the country, including one that only has one employee, another that employs trained gorillas, and a third located in the beautiful backcountry of Alaska. Seeing as how my practice is located in Missouri, that list really does me a lot of good...but I appreciate how generous you are to have offered an exemption list.
I also love that I faxed paperwork to continue my patient's care on the 22nd of November and here it is on the 8th of December and you still haven't authorized additional visits. What, you're not sure if the visits are medically necessary? Of course they are, I'm telling you they are and so did the doctor who wrote the damn prescription. What, your degree in marketing or accounting qualifies you to make decisions about what is "reasonable and necessary"? Exactly how long is that program? I see, four months of business school means you must know more than me about how I should do my job. Fuckers.
So, now I've faxed my paperwork to you no less than five times. You were supposed to call me when you recieved it...yes, I'm speaking to you Robert...as this time I was smart enough to ask for you name and "direct fax number". I'm going straight up the chain when I don't get satisfaction from you, and I'm naming names when I do.
How silly of me to assume that when you said "I'll call when I get it" that you would be calling me right back. How convienent of you to wait until five minutes before you left for the day to call and tell me that you "never received my fax". And how insane of me not to understand why you couldn't possible walk over to the fax machine and stand there for the thirty seconds that it took me to refax my paperwork...for the tenth time. Your excuse of "it's in a part of the building I don't have access to" tells me why your system doesn't work.
You might want to send out a search and rescue party, as I'm pretty sure that the backlog of paperwork that you all have steadfastedly been ignoring for the past two plus weeks has finally overtaken your "fax receiving department" and they're either buried under a pile of faxes desperately trying to claw their way out, or they've given up all hope of ever catching up and are now cheerfully filing my paperwork in their shredder.
Perhaps this is where your "system breakdown" is occurring. Fuckers.
So now that I've decided that either a bunch of poorly trained circus animals or extremely slow fourth graders is running your company, I'd like to know what time you'd prefer for me to have the patient that you denying care to's surgeon call and ream you a new one. Because rest assured that I'm not going to be the only one getting bitched at...if I'm going down, you all are going with me.
Here's a tip...if you do what I need you to do, which isn't unreasonable (it's only your crappy job) than perhaps "that bitch from Missouri" will stop calling and interupting your valuable nap time. Psst...for those of you that are slow (which is everyone employed at your fine establishment) that means that I'll stop bothering you.
Have a nice day.

The disgruntled therapist