Almost 26

I am eeking out the last bit of healthcare I can get under my parents insurance. I'll be 26 in 10 days and as an artist, I haven't clue as to when I might have a stable enough job that would give me such benefits.  My back hurts and I figure,  when's the next  time I'm going to see about my that?!

When I arrive at the doctor's office,  I'm feeling very proud of myself. I've navigated the through the local insurance that covers my family to find the national arm that will be accepted in New York.  All of this information I gleaned from calling the different arms of my mom's insurance company and closely studying the several websites. The fact that the appointment I had set up had not been broken furthermore made me very confident in my navigation of the health care system.  I feel awesome.

The administrators at this doctor's office are pleasant and efficient (and, I might add,  not bad to look at). I confidently trumpet my name and expect that they'll whisk me to the doctor immediately ; after all, I'm a healthcare Juggernaut!  Ignoring my imperious tone, the lovely administrator calls the insurance number I've provided. After a few moments she shakes her head at me. "Its a fax number, you got another one?"

I have to admit I'm feeling slightly crestfallen at this slight pit fall; but, no matter. This is what smartphones are for, aren't they! I produce another number.  This time, she's put on hold and tells me to take a seat.  I strut to the nearby waiting area and yawn. This is gonna be a piece of cake. When, a few moments later as she's shaking her head slowly, I begin to feel annoyed.  Perhaps she's new on the job. Surely she knows I have health insurance.  "Sir,  the doctor you're seeing is out of network.  While you DO have coverage for that, your deductible will be around $700." As she says this,  I wonder how I didn't notice the fact that her left eye is slightly bigger than her right.

Perhaps it is this glitch in an otherwise perfect body that is causing her to a make things up. I must have looked mildly stupid because she felt the need to repeat herself. Loudly.  This time she wonders if I'd like to see the doctor despite the expense.  Yea.  The mental doctor. I mumble that I suppose I'll see someone at another time and turn from the desk. I feel the sympathetic eyes of patients glance at me, and one even nods at me in solidarity. I have been vanquished by the American health care system like so many before. Maybe I'll move to Canada to get my back checked out...