There are things you learn to do when you get older. For instance, asking yourself, “What’s the worst that can happen?” and sliding worries to the back of the queue. I couldn’t always do that. But now a nice walk in the rain washes away more than the grit on the sidewalks. I’m highly skeptical of all the things that are out to get me, and if they hunker low, claws out, I usually manage to bat them away or scream until they retreat.
I’ll remember the year 2007 as one of upheaval and change and personal growth. But I’ll forevermore refer to it less sentimentally as The Year That Numerous Bureaucratic Organizations Tried To Bend Me Over A Barbed Wire Fence And Do Things That Are Still Illegal In The Bible Belt.
Remember when I wrote about how I’d unknowingly been a debit card fraud victim for an embarrassingly long amount of time? That was back when I was careless and free of online banking know-how. I’ve evolved out of necessity and to be honest, vengeance. Like a belligerent thug looking for someone to start something, I’m ready. Just try to overcharge me for something, fool!
In the last week, I received a bill for a medical procedure on my ladyparts from last summer. It warned that if I didn’t fork over almost $200 within ten days, a lawyer would be after me. “Hmm,” I thought. “Is that so?” I was nonchalant about it for oh, four minutes before doing what any good former honor roll students would do - freaking out. I imagined myself glancing up from the computer at work one day and seeing said lawyer looking like the Grim Reaper and smelling of money. How embarrassing. Maybe they’d garnish my wages or TV. Either way, I’d miss Project Runway, and that is unacceptable.
Calling the healthcare provider/threatener was imperative. It took a few attempts, but I finally reached someone who told me that I should’ve paid the bill with a check my insurance provider sent. An invisible one. When I asked exactly what procedure was pending payment, the person the other line was clearly distressed. “Uh. The doctor performed the examination on your uh…anatomy.” Oh yes, that one! That clears everything up! Once the person in billing stopped blushing, she told me to have a nice day (with my uh, anatomy) and call my insurance provider.
Have you seen Sicko? It confirmed everything I always knew about my despicable insurance provider and the industry in general. My dad has dealt with chronic pain most of my life, and I know how rough he’s had it getting adequate, much less affordable, healthcare. Grrr! The issue gets me in a tizzy, but I digress…
I called my insurance provider, which is incestuously linked to another insurance provider. I imagine they pass cases back and forth between one other, absolving themselves of any accountability. I was transferred to the other provider, meaning soon enough, I would have discussed something involving my ladyparts over the phone with three complete strangers. I ought to be charging $.25 a minute for this stuff!
In the end, things turned out alright. The insurance provider conceded that it made a mistake and forgot to pay for my healthcare. Then I called the healthcare provider and explained that GHI was in the dodo bird reading group at school. “Alright,” said the fourth stranger with whom I discussed my ladyparts. “Let me just confirm that with GHI. I’ll call you back in half an hour.” And he did, which I especially appreciated after getting all up in my business. Some guys can’t muster up the courtesy.
Now if I can just get the money a publisher owes me…
