(from GagBlog – June 7, 2004)
You
know what? I like being a grown up. I am of the belief that all grown ups
should allow themselves a certain amount of childishness, and my life allows me
to exercise that belief. So I have no complaints. I like all the things
associated with being grown up; sex, parenthood, homeownership, yardwork. Work
and bill paying I don't really care for but I know they are necessary evils, so
I am at peace with them. For all intents and purposes, I like being an adult.
There
is, however, one black smudge across my adult life. One thing that absolutely
sucks the soul out of everything it touches. To think about it or, God help me,
deal with it, causes nausea waves I haven't known since my fear of the 5th
grade bully at school. I will simply say the word and then I will go get a cup
of coffee: INSURANCE.
Okay,
I'm back. Look, I'm not an idiot, okay? I can write scripts and prose, engage
in intelligent conversations, retain important facts and figures and insurance
still confuses and frightens me. I won't even claim to understand it. (That pun
was not intentional, but I will accept it as a gift of peace from the
universe).
To
be honest, the phone jockeys that work for my health insurance company are
always nice and I hate getting upset with them. My wife, known to readers here
as Millie, had spinal surgery in February. The surgery brought an end to months
of extreme pain and immobility. She then went through 6 weeks of recovery. But
it was all good because we knew she was on the right track. By the end of March
she was back in the swing. Life was good...then the bills came.
My
newly altered (by work) insurance policy wasn't paying for things. I have since
spent the last few months sweating, swearing and calling the Insurance company
getting them to pay for stuff. I know everybody goes through it. I know it's
another one of those necessary evils. But unlike bill paying and work, it seems
to get worse...get more evil. What really bothered me was that we were forced
to worry about this instead of rejoicing that Mil came out the other side of
all this healthy.
I
get test anxiety looking at insurance information. I always feel like it's my
fault I don't understand it. And the companies do nothing to help that. They
like it when you feel it's your fault you don't understand something. Isn't
there some better way?
I'm
told no. There is not.
What
it boils down to is this; don't get sick, don't crash your car and don't ever
have a household fire. That seems pretty simple. Live in a stationary,
airtight, sterile asbestos bubble and you'll be good. It's sad. I used to not
want these things because it often meant tragedy or grief for friends or
family. Now I don't want these things because I don't want to deal with the
paperwork.