I've had a lot of medical expenses this year.
Some were perhaps due to my own stupidity - like slitting my throat with a potato chip - others seemed to be caused by capricious gods toying with me - two bumps inside my lady lumps - and, last but not least, The opportunity to morph into a human pipette while we try to figure out what chemicals will still my sea of insanity.
And so we find ourselves balancing bills.
So many factors to consider. How old is this bill? How high is this bill? How soon will I be seeing this doctor again and therefore need to pay to avoid being unable to look them in the eye?
I've never had to do this much juggling... while walking a tightrope at the same time. And I've definitely never had to do it with medical bills.
I spent over ten years living in England where, apart from paying £6.30 per prescription I got filled, I never received any medical bill at all.
Flash forward to the now.
I'm sick. It's not flu or a cold or a migraine where all I need us bed rest and to not think about the meetings I've had to delay to the following week. No. This us viral. This keeps me from sleeping. This hurts at night.
So I call the doctor to get an appointment.
"Before I make an appointment for you," chirps the Receptionist, "I just need to transfer you to billing!"
"Why?" I ask.
I know why. I owe them $150. But I don't see how that's relevant to making an appointment.
"I just need to transfer you to billing to talk about your account and they'll transfer you right back and we can make an appointment!"
I know that my chances of getting an appointment today are diminishing with ever three minute window as the second receptionist cycles through calls.
"I'm sick. Please can I just book an appointment, and then you can transfer me."
"Don't worry! We'll be able to book you an appointment, I'll just transfer you to billing!"
And so my humiliation is complete.
Those of you who are in the US may not get why I'm even telling this story. Those of you who live in Europe will be either bemused, confused or appalled.
And herein lies one of the many things that widens and deepens what we affectionately call "The Pond" betwixt us.
The Receptionist definitely wasn't, in what, for her, were annoying moments with me on the phone, able to bridge that cultural gap. And I think that's what - once the embarrassment has abated - irks me the most.
She doesn't get it.
She doesn't get that healthcare should be a right. She doesn't get that, if someone really is sick, you should consider their welfare over 150 fucking dollars. And she definitely doesn't get, at 22-some years old, what it's like to sit and look at blisters on your stomach and legs and have to stop and think about what other expense you can avoid this month and, if no obvious candidate springs to mind, whether you could just get through this thing without racking up more debt at your family physician.
She doesn't get where I'm coming from at all.
And I'm coming from way, way across The Pond.
To read more in this series, click here.
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