It’s Personal

 

Some of you readers will recall that nearly a year back I ran into some health problems.

Like most people who are surprised to find they have a serious medical condition, I began a series of Doctor ordered tests and treatments, and multiple sessions of head scratchings.  A few preexisting issues were considered to have probably contributed to my sad state, and so more and different treatments were ordered to prepare me for a total abdominal hysterectomy.  It might not exactly be the cure, but it needed to be done regardless.  I had a fairly large benign fibroid tumor which, as it turns out, was causing a bit of trouble with random internal bleeding and smashing my internal works all out of place and shape.

I had the surgery three months back, and the room mate I got the 2nd night was a humdinger of a young urban-type woman.  Oh, the one the first night was awful too, but that was due to the poor woman’s condition, and wasn’t caused by society’s failure.

This particular young woman had come to the ER earlier in the day with pain and, as it turns out, was sent home after some inconclusive tests. She was back at the ER in serious pain by mid-evening. She had a ruptured ovarian cyst. So, the surgery was done on her and she was wheeled back into our shared quarters about 11 PM.

Simple surgery with just a few tiny incisions, so she would go home the next day.

She had no insurance, as she announced to everyone that came near her that evening and the next morning, and didn’t know how she would pay for any prescriptions!!! She also chatted up an aide who knew her, gabbing about the cool new “natural” Afro wig she had been wearing when she was admitted – and how she didn’t get the really good one ’cause that was $500. and she just couldn’t swing it.  That right there proves just how broke she really was.

Anyway, after being kept awake by her female friend who was playing a PORN movie LOUDLY on her smartphone at 2 AM,(and who ended up sleeping on the floor until 10:30 AM) I was privy to the process of her being signed up for obamacare – by a “financial advocate” the morning after her operation.  But first I was subjected – second hand and through the curtain – to the story of all the sexual positions she had engaged in before she suddenly felt the terrible shooting pains that turned out to be the result of the ruptured organ.  Yes, it was ruptured during a wild sex romp, and presumably while in pain, shortly after she had gone home from the ER in the afternoon.  These modern young women are tough as nails, and can screw their way through anything.

Before that process of being financially assisted began, the nurse found out the price of her prescriptions for her – around $100. Of course the dear girl didn’t have any money or insurance (which mysteriously didn’t stop her from having medical care and a surgery though, which I thought was the reason we all desperately needed obamacare) and she wailed that she would have to go without that needed medicine! The nurse told her that she could pick up the script at the hospital pharmacy today without paying anything and she would receive a bill in a month, which she would be able to make payments on.  Anyway, to shorten that part of the story, the nurse checked around and “found a program” which would cover all but $5.00 of the prescription bill. The young urban woman was happy.

So, in comes the Financial Advocate (AKA obamacare navigator), who proceeds to ask, in a stern voice, about a million questions. She had found about a dozen different addresses listed in the patient’s “ping”, different aliases, and shady employment histories. I got to listen to it all. The patient was even asked about sexually transmitted diseases – she had “VD” by the way – and a whole lot of other information with no attempt made to assure the privacy of the young urban woman or her personal information.

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I could have walked out of there and assumed her identity if I was so inclined. And had a “natural” Afro wig.

 

~ by ladysforest on June 5, 2014.