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Lost Treasures
09-13-05, 12:34 PM

Some seek finding valuable treasures by searching the world�s four corners. Well, I got news for you, search no further than one�s wallet for a health insurance card. Yesterday, while seeking healthcare for my foul-mouthed, toxic kidney, I became a second and third class citizen because I did not possess piece of plastic on my being with an insurance company�s name, group i.d. and account i.d. written across the front. Although I called my insurance company to send new cards and fax me a copy of these valuable digits as proof of insurance because I never received the first cards due to the company�s keying the incorrect zip code, I was assured by the friendly customer service representative that the health provider would only have to call to verify my insurance.

On a pain scale of 1 to 10, yesterday afternoon with much relief I subsided to a 5 or 6 whereas the night before I was a solid 8 teetering on a 9 which is my pain threshold to call an ambulance. A 10 means I checked myself into the hospital and I�m on a morphine drip. At one point Sunday night, I had my hand on the phone ready to dial 911 but decided if I could only make it through the night, I could visit a doctor�s office in order to avoid a very costly ambulance ride and emergency room admittance.

I showed up for work to prove I wasn�t playing hooky and made the doctor�s appointment with the assurance from the receptionist that my insurance and type of insurance was accepted by the physician. Upon my arrival a different, �bitch�, the term appropriately applied due to her condescending attitude after learning that I didn�t have �the card� told me I had to be �self-pay�.

�What does that mean?�
�You must pay for your services now with cash or credit.�
�Yes, but I have insurance. Here are my numbers and I explained this over the phone.�
�She was wrong to tell you that. I�m sorry. Self-pay, cash or credit.� Then, points to a plastic sign affixed to the wall. �I don�t make the rules.�

Looking downward with a deep reflective sigh realizing that one, she is an unconcerned bitch; two, I may have enough on my credit card to pay for an exam but paying for lab work would be questionable and embarrassing if I have to ask the doctor how much such-and-such test would be and decide upon the relevance of each, even though I�m a layman, and what would be the consequences if �I chose poorly� to use a line from Indiana Jones; and third, with my combined pain and exorbitant blood pressure, the 'bitch' doesn�t realize I�m ready to pop her one but I show restraint and reluctantly agree to be robbed. What else could I do? Stick it out for another night or week in hope the valuable, plastic insurance cards are shortly delivered by the mailman? I, even thought, to cause a scene and leave!

�You know, Dr. XXXX, took care of my grandmother and now my mother, father, brother and sister in-law but you�ll refuse me because I lack piece of plastic? What kind 'CAREGIVERS' are you? What happened to the Hippocratic Oath? As a concerned son, I sat and listened to the Good Doctor�s advice given to me about their health care and made life and death decisions upon his advice for my family. He actually seemed to care! But now, you will deny me the common courtesy of an examination because of a piece of plastic? Wait to my family hears about the treatment I received from your office! Wait to their friends hear? When my father practiced medicine, he practiced medicine, not bullying the patient out of his money.�

However, this was a split second fantasy decision. Instead, I reluctantly took the clipboard because I had to see a doctor and a raucous scene would not have gained me entrance through the emerald green gates to see the Wonderful Wizzard. Sitting-down to complete the family health history, I discovered the munchkin �bitch� behind the sliding glass window wrote in broad letters across the insurance section, �SELF-PAY!�. To me, this action was deliberate and demeaning because why use a permanent black marker and end in an exclamation mark?! Defiantly, I unfolded my employers letter that verified my employment, insurance company and type and wrote-out my insurance numbers in the appropriate blanks.

�Fuck you, gatekeeper!� I thought.

So in the waiting room, I sat with the clipboard deciding if I could afford a visit and what would be the possibilities of waiting-out this pain? I thought of just leaving. In this city, my name means nothing. I didn�t choose to live here. I told my parents never to leave their city because, as former physician, it is sad but true, preferential treatment is given to family. Isn�t their a professional courtesy extended to family members? Here is the hard fact: you�re no longer part of the system. You are no better than the populous. It is not the �bitch�s� fault that you do not have a card. I should have followed-up months ago to get my card but my years of perfect health tricked me into believing I was immortal. Even though you worked so hard to lower your credit card balance, fuck your credit rating this is an emergency! With my name called, I handed the clipboard back to the bitch, who provided a snarling look after seeing the completed insurance form section.

In reference to a previous visit concerning aspects to my father�s health, the Doctor inquired, �Weren�t you here with your brother and father?�
�Yes.� I hoped my response would trigger the preferential treatment and get through the insurance card red tape.

After the initial exam, the Doctor required lab work for a diagnosis. Prior to each lab procedure, the nurses would inquire, �Are Dr. XXX�s son?�
�Yes.�
Before one could even finish her sentence, I replied, �Yes, I�m his son.�
�Oh, how is he doing? He�s so nice.�
In a contorted face and trying to put on a smile, �He�s doing...� with a reflective pause, �...fine.� By their reaction, they see through my lying face, �He�s seen better days though.�

Prior to the lab work they asked my insurance. When I explained the situation of possessing all the numbers but not the actual card, they provided a huffed response, �She told you that? Don�t worry, I�ll get it approved.�

By night�s end, I spent seven hours in a doctor�s office or hospital getting tests that I didn�t even have the chance to study for! In the end and after a CAT scan, it wasn�t kidney stones. I received some sort of anti-inflammatory drug and told to visit his office on Wednesday. At least, I vaguely recall the Doctor telling me to visit him again.

Last night, I slept without pain and through the night. I even dreamt of seeking lost treasures.

Yesterday - Tomorrow

Here we go again... - 10-06-10
fuck you. - 07-02-08
A new blog - 04-13-08
New site: The Running Bob - 03-16-08
Tax Man Encourages Hobbies? - 03-11-08
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