I remember seeing a copy of the doctor's bill, circa 1957, when my friend was born. For a regular birth, no complications, her mother and sweet new baby daughter stayed in the hospital for 10 days. My mother had a c-section with me, and we were in the hospital for 14 days. Now I'm not going to go over how we could ever afford that in 2007, even WITH insurance (which is what, I believe Michael Moore's movie deals with), but what I find interesting is how the shift of medical power has gone from the physician to the insurance company.
I've worked in health care a long time. And I've seen important medical decisions being made by a person at ABC Health Insurance HMO,PPO,POS whose only acquaintance with biochemistry is knowing that green fuzz on bread means it's got to go.
When a doctor wants you to have a test, the first words out of your mouth are, in effect, I better check with my insurance company to see if I REALLY can have that test and WHERE I can have it. Some tests, whether Mr. M.D. deems them necessary or not, are stamped NOT MEDICALLY INDICATED. And some kid who's on summer break from college where he's an art history major has probably made that decision based on the playbook he's handed to make those judgments.
Don't get me wrong. The insurance companies have an appeal process. The doctor has to send in all kinds of documents and test results and the sequence of his thought processes that made him come to the decision that his patient needs an MRI or whatever. But that process can take a long frickin' time. It can sometimes be too long for some people -- who have passed the hope of possibly being cured, end up dying, with the family suing the doctor stating he "didn't act in a timely manner or in the best interests of his patient". Then personal injury attorneys and malpractice insurance attorneys have a go and tie up the doctor in depositions and trial for months. Because he's unavailable, and his partners are taking his patients along with their own, everyone is overworked, overstressed and THAT's a recipe for real life and death disaster.
I have worked with many, many doctors. 99% of them were honest, hardworking and truly trying to do what's best for their patients to the best of their ability. It's a real shame to see them spending so much of their time negotiating with insurance companies to provide the medicine or tests or care that their patients need. Without question, the patient should come first. Not the insurance company's bottom line.
Now, if you'll excuse me, me and my terrible cold are going to the doctor and hoping it will be covered by insurance.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Sick-o: MD vs. Insurance
Friday, July 27, 2007
Para-Noid
My little punky-mood should actually be "Paranoid", but I'm sick with the flu and that looms larger in my universe at the moment for several reasons, but first:
#1 -- I'm paranoid because I called in sick today at work. I mean I'm really home sick, even though it's Friday. Yes, I'm sitting here composing a post, but it's only because the drugs have kicked in and the Sudafed on top of Nyquil, on top of Advil has produced a nice rapid heartrate, and at the moment I feel like polishing each individual blade of grass in my front yard with Pledge to get that nice glossy carpet look (to match my nice, glossy eyes). Then I may wax the driveway, re-paper my kitchen drawers and purge the garage. Hopefully by noon. I know my co-workers are sitting around saying "sure...sure she's sick" even though they are all very nice, compassionate people who know I don't lie about stuff like that. I may begin to entertain the thought that Sudafed on top of Nyquil on top of Advil may produce other side effects besides psycho-energy.
Now, I must not be sick because:
#1 -- Everyone at work thinks I'm lying. Even though I'm not. Even though I really know they know I really am. (Someone decode that sentence and get back to me. Thank you.)
#2 -- It is my daughter's birthday party tonight. I have 14 people coming over for a BBQ. I do not wish to be sneezing all over their food, nor blabbering incoherent sentences before everyone else has had at least a couple of drinks under their belts. I may lay off the cold meds and just start drinking later. You know, just slip unnoticed into the jolly atmosphere, so to speak.
#3 -- my very nice significant other, Sam, has seen my post entitled "Surrounded by Assassins" and thought he had better take matters into his own hands before my brains start spilling out onto the floor. As it's my ex's weekend with the kids, Sam has booked us a hotel room for Saturday evening. No kids, no phones. I must not be sick. It really isn't attractive to have red, swollen eyes, a red, swollen nose and a cough that sounds like a Saint Bernard calling for lost skiers.
You can see my dilemma is multi-faceted, complicated and frustrating. I'm not sure what exactly will get me through today. And tomorrow and Sunday. Of course I could rest, drink lots of fluids, double up on Vitamin C, consume organic green tea with echinecea, perhaps try a mineral supplement with zinc, an extra multi, and Ricola all natural throat lozenges. I could. My paranoia and psycho-energy would probably stop if I went homeopathic. Hmmm.
Nah.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #3!
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We all know the Dynamic Duo: Batman and Robin. However, here are my 13 other Duo’s I couldn’t live without (not in any particular order): 1. Lucy and Ethel. The ultimate dynamic duo. 2. George and Gracie. As in Burns and Allen. A true classic. 3. Laurel and Hardy. "Another fine mess you've gotten us into." 4. Bartles and James. Who mixed another great duo and gave us wine coolers. 5. Road Runner and Wylie Coyote. A case where one always wins and one always loses. 6. Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo. The Men from U.N.C.L.E. "Open Channel D." 7. Barnes and Noble. A marriage made in literary heaven. 8. Thelma and Louise. A union probably going to hell...but they had fun getting there. 9. Butch and Sundance. Or Newman and Redford. Sigh. 10. Mulder and Scully. Masters of both smart ass responses and sexual tension. 11. Starsky and Hutch. And that CAR. 12. Maxwell Smart and Agent 99. "Get Smart" vs. KAOS. Remember that shoe phone? 13. Maddy Hayes and David Addison. Love and Hate at Blue Moon Investigations. |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Surrounded by Assassins
Have you ever had one of those days where from the time you got up in the morning until the time you put your head on the pillow at night, everyone you ran into was out to get you?
I’m not talking paranoia either. I’m talking solid irrefutable proof that people were out to just kill you. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I just had one of those days. A day that just felt like I had been chewed up, swallowed, puked back up, stepped and then rained on.
There is a bright side to those kinds of days. You realize you cannot be any farther down without being dead. It’s a comforting thought to mulder (combination of ponder and muse) as you down a couple of Jose Cuervo Blacks over ice, and suck desperately on a cigarette when you haven’t smoked in 10 years.
(Sidebar: Jose Cuervo Black. A woman in my office recommended it to me. There are literally NO WORDS to express the look on her face as she described how beautifully f’ed up it got her. As she was glorifying her drunken state, one of the dietary aides came in and heard what we were saying. His eyes got huge. He pointed to his head and shook it violently. “Jose,” he cried terrified in broken English. “Jose Black – bad. Terrible head. Makes head terrible. NO! NO!” He exited quickly as though the sheer memory was too much for him to bear.)
Anyway, I was thinking about terrible days and how we, as functioning adults, handle them. I’m sure some meditate. Some pray. Some take a moment of reflection and try to get a handle on their own emotions. Others, like me, stop for a pack of cigs and Snickers on the way home and yank out the booze as soon as their foot hits the damn doorway.
Yes, I know I’ll regret it. Yes, I know I shouldn’t. Yes, I know it’s BAD for me. But here’s a scenario inspired by Dr. Dean Ornish’s book, “Love and Survival”:
Doctor, Doctor, Mr. M.D.: Lara, you have heart disease, panic attacks. Smoking is verboten. Drinking in excess is NOT good for you. WHY, why are you doing this to yourself? Do you know that smoking and drinking can cut YEARS off your life? That eating high fat treats can literally kill you?
Lara: Doc, what the hell do I care about living an extra couple of years if I can’t get my shit through TODAY?
Doctor, Doctor, Mr. M.D.: ahh, um, well, eh…uh………….
No comeback. I retorted him right back into his Mensa corner. Years of medical school and training---right down the hopper. Oh sure, he could give me prescriptions for Xanax and Zoloft and Cymbalta and Wellbutrin and Paxil and Prozac and Ativan – but he won’t. They are dangerous when abused and addictive and….oh, just like alcohol and cigarettes. Oops.
I firmly believe that emerging alive after a good alcohol/cigarette hangover gives us incredible incentives to live again. That life is good. You show me anyone who isn’t grateful to be alive 24 hours after a head banging, porcelain grabbing, gasping for life hangover….Right?
So embrace your need for crutches now and again. It’s ok. Nobody’s perfect.
Least of all me.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #2!
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Recently my friend told me that she had given her niece a Visa gift card for her graduation from 8th grade. Her niece shared where she went and what she spent the $100.00 on…well, to be precise: spent the $98.44. So I began to think about my 8th grade graduation and where that money would have gone: 1. Kroch and Breantano’s Book Store...for tons and tons of books. Heaven. Just heaven. I wanted to be buried in there. 2. Marshall Field’s….for Frango mints. That beautiful green logo is now replaced with a red MACY’S and Chicago is still in mourning. 3. E. J. Corvette's….for crap. Morphed into K-Mart. I remember them covering John Lennon’s “Two Virgins” album with a white cover (I peeked), only to eventually bow to public demand and ship them all back to Apple Corps. 4. Lemon Tree…for records. I bought Meet the Beatles (mono) there for $2.99 in 1964. I still have it, but no record player to play it on. 5. Cock Robin…for a hamburger and shake…for probably $1.00. (Please, no comments about the name – they were referring to a MALE CHICKEN named Robin. They are still in business, but a buck won’t get you anything but laughed out the door) 6. Kerry’s Custard…..major delicious. The first soft serve ice cream in the entire area. 7. Guy’s…..penny candy for the kids; liquor and cigarettes for the adults. Your parents would drop $2.00 in your pocket and send you on your bicycle to Guy's for a bag of candy (for you), a pack of cigs and a 5th of whiskey (for them). If you were really lucky (and quick) you got to keep the change. 8. Chas A. Stevens clothing store for a cute little something for the swingin' junior miss. Was sort of a fancier JC Penney. Also had its own hair salon. 9. National Bank of _____________ (please insert your hometown name). No longer available anywhere thanks to the likes of JPMorgan Chase megaultrabankingconglomerates, however, I would have deposited a quarter or two in the old savings account. 10. Ben Franklin – for little packages of angora yarn to wrap around the backs of any ring that didn’t fit – to make it fit. Color was a decision akin to a final chess move. And they had rows and rows of great junk. You could come home with a grocery bag full of stuff for .75 cents that would keep you occupied for months. I purchased Barbie doll clothes there too. In my day you got ONE Barbie, ONE Ken, ONE Skipper and then bought clothes. Now if you want a certain outfit, you have to buy ANOTHER doll. What marketing genius came up with that? 11. A&W Drive Up. Great root beer in a frosted mug….and you didn’t have to get out of your car to get it. They plopped the silver tray on your window that you had to roll down to the perfect height to support it. Their hotdogs were mighty fine too. 12. Stan’s Meat Market. Where they MADE ground beef for you right there, from a hunk of meat you chose from their store window. Then they put a nice big slab of butter on top of the freshly ground beef, so when you unwrapped the plastic wrap, you slapped it butter side down in the fry pan. Hmmm hmmmm good. 13. Kanak’s Pharmacy for Tiger Beat and Fave magazines, with a quick trip through the cosmetics aisle, wondering if you had enough money to buy some Bonnie Bell. |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Monday, July 16, 2007
Dear John,
In keeping with the previously posted Beatle theme and upcoming journey to that which we affectionately refer to as DECIBFA ("Don't Ever Call It Beatle Fest Again"), I thought I'd take a self indulgent moment (as are all my moments) and write about John Lennon.
I was a George girl, Anne was a Paul girl and Ringo....well, he was Ringo. What you saw was pretty much what you got, which was sweet, witty and just seemingly pretty happy to be where he was.
But the beauty of John Lennon eluded me when I was younger. I think in a way, his sexual, dark, brooding nature frightened me. He said shit I didn't get. Fortunately, like my parents, John Lennon has become extremely intuitive and intelligent since I've gotten older.
John was the ultimate work in progress. He went from writing "Run For Your Life" to "Woman". His transition from an angry young teenager who rebelled against all forms of authority to a Beatle in a suit to a stay-at-home dad who fought tirelessly for peace (with a few human detours along the way) is fascinating. It's probably because I can see my own transition from an independent, relatively bright young woman to a scared, silent wife to an independent, relatively bright woman. It's just a damn shame that we won't see the full circle of John Winston Ono Lennon.
So Dear John, who would have been 67 this year, I salute you in the only way I feel I can: in your own words.
"When I feel my head starting to swell, I just look at Ringo and know perfectly well we aren't supermen."
"Women should be obscene and not heard." (note: that was from 1964).
"The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted."
"I wouldn't say I was a born writer. I was a born thinker."
"The more I see, the less I know for sure."
"Reality leaves alot to the imagination."
"As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot."
"I always knew there was something wrong with me because I saw things that other people didn't."
"Love and peace are eternal."
"When you are drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to come and rescue me'. You just scream."
"My role in society, or any artist's or poet's, is to express how we all feel, not to tell you how to feel...art is a reflection of us all."
"Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans."
"It doesn't matter how long my hair is, or what color my skin is or if I'm a man or a woman."
"You don't need anybody to tell you who you are or what you are. You are what you are."
And finally, I must end with a few abbreviated instructions from Mr. Lennon, from his book "In His Own Write", about the importance of proper diction:
"All Abord Speeching:
1. Speak you Clear and Nasal, for distance;
2. Sing you with long voice, for discharge;
and
3. Practice davy but not if your Mutt and Jeff."
Thank you, Dear John.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
You've Responded...And I've Listened
Yes, I can listen. Really. I remember when I was 3 and my mother told me NOT to put my finger in the electrical outlet. Like that. I realize I am told things that I should absolutely listen to for my own best interests. And aren't our best interests what we're interested in?? So thank you to Anne and J --
In summary, I am referring to my previous post about trying to fit into a dress I probably couldn't fit into even 15 years ago. I see that I am attempting to be that which I am not: i.e. skinny, sophisticated, worldly, alluring. Right. Good luck with that. I have a better chance meeting George Harrison.
THAT being said, there are numerous ways to make up for my not being Jennifer Aniston. Here's what I'm thinking, taking into account the advice I've received:
1. Women, no matter the size, no matter the age (or bank account status) are most attractive when they are comfortable in their own skin. For example: Barbra Streisand in "Meet the Fockers". There is no one on the planet who was more comfy and sexy than Gay Focker's mother. It was a brilliant performance and a brilliant message.
2. To be comfortable in your own skin, you must have an innate sense of your own worth. I have issues with that -- left over baggage from an abusive marriage -- but ok. I'll work on that. My furry psychologist is totally on board (especially after the can of Fancy Feast I gave her this morning).
3. Confidence is a feeling, not a dress size (my new mantra). And some nice new silky comfy undergarments might help there...
4. I shall assess my other assets. My ass might be the size of Montana, but I can accentuate the positive. A nice, expensive push up bra might help with that and if the estrogen keeps working, I may be zit-free, which is a more reasonable goal than trying to figure out a way to turn Shamu into Flipper. 
>>>>>>>> 
Bottom line? I want to enjoy the show and not worry if I have VPL or if a roll of fat has escaped it's spandex cage.
Afterall, how can I be my witty and charming self (with my perky countenance) if I'm continually looking in the mirror wondering if my ass looks too big?
thanks, girls!
