"How May We Help You?"

I am coming up on an auspicious anniversary. In October of 2005 I was digging a ditch in the backyard of my daughter's home in Tampa as part of a self-imposed project to relocate a washer & dryer into a utility shed for her and her college roommates. The task was progressing nicely when I became aware of some unusual discomfort in my chest. Being an astute monitor of my personal health, I immediately evaluated the symptoms and declared, "What the hell is this all about?" The sharpness abated and I returned to the task of completing the ditch, dismissing (typical "male") the episode as nothing more than indigestion, scurvy, or an attack of gout. In the small recesses of my mind I was beating back the prospect that what I had just experienced could be symptomatic of something far more serious. The following day it got a lot more serious! Wednesday afternoon found me the star in my own E.R. episode, having been admitted with unrelenting chest pains. Bottom line...I had total blockage in my lower right ventricle, which was corrected with the surgical insertion of a metal stint. By Friday afternoon, I was well enough to go home and, with the watchful care of my cardiologist, I have been recovering nicely every since. "If you continue to follow my instructions, said my doctor, and take your prescribed medications, you should live a very long life." So far, so good.

As a vital and continuous part of my health care regiment, I am to take daily doses of four different types of medications in order to keep my cholesterol and blood pressure in normal bounds. I also am required to consume one aspirin daily, the side effects of which render me prone to the noticeable bruising of the skin. My blood is now so thin that if I sneeze I bruise, and shaving has developed into an adventure at self-mutilation. But I digress... Here's the rub. I am dependent upon my health insurance provider to fill my prescribed medications. This service is allegedly saving me copious amount of money. Thank goodness. Even with the "savings" I feel as though the cost to renew my prescriptions would otherwise put a sizable dent in the national debt. But one must do what one must do. After all, it is my longevity that is at stake.

What drives me up the wall of exasperation is when I must contact my insurance carrier to place a renewal order. One can't just call up these conglomerate companies and say, "I need more. Send now." No, that would be far too easy. No, one must navigate all manners of bureaucratic madness, not the least of which it an attempt to talk to a "real person" on the phone. One must converse with a computerized voice, who sounds very human, dripping with sincerity, but possessing a woeful hearing deficiency. I am convinced that the insurance companies adopted this method of communication from the fat food industry's major contribution to society; the drive-through. "May I take your order, please?" That's usually the last bit of intelligent conversation one may anticipate, hoping beyond reasonableness that what one has ordered will somehow be successfully translated by the time one makes it to the drive-up window. It is very similar to the dialogue one has with the computerized Mr. or Madam at the insurance company.

"Welcome to..." Name your insurance company de jour. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like to renew my..."

"Please speak or enter your 212 digit personal subscriber number."

"Okay, it's....."

"Thank you." Long pause...

"Is your 212 digit personal subscriber number...?"

"Yes."

"I did not understand your answer. Please say 'Yes' or 'No.'"

"Yes!!"

"Thank you." Another long pause...

"Do you or any member of your family have additional prescription medication insurance coverage?"

"No."

"I did not understand your answer. Please say 'Yes' or 'No.'"

"No! No!!" Another long pause...

"Thank you." Another long pause...

"Please speak or enter your 212 digit personal subscriber number?"

"What!?! I just did that!!" Still another long pause.

"Hello. How may we help you?"

"Hey!! Get with the program! I'm trying to refill my prescription..."

"Thank you for calling. Please call again when we may be of service for any of your health care prescription needs."

Hey! Hey!! I'm having a heart attack here!! Hello? Hello!?!"

Click.

Get my drift? Extractions of impacted wisdom teeth is far less painful and time consuming than this excruciating exercise in futility. Every three months I put myself through this torture. My most recent attempt to renew my medications was met with the revelation that the prescriptions had all expired...even though my records indicated I had one refill remaining. Silly me. Try explaining that to Mr. or Madam computerized voice. Bottom line? I had to personally go to my cardiologist's office and have them issue new prescriptions. Next I had to fill out and attach a special form (theirs makes the IRS income tax return look like instructions on how to open a box of cereal) for each of the medications, then mail the documents to their attention. It has now been over two weeks since I went through that exercise and not a word of confirmation have I heard from them. In the mean time I am rationing what little medicine I have left. Panic hasn't set in, but it's just around the corner! I would venture a phone call to them, but I would just as soon slam my thumb with a five pound hammer than put myself through another conversation with Mr. or Madam electronic voice.

So, if I don't blog again in the near future, there's a good chance that I have gone on to whatever reward awaits me upon departing this earth. Guess I'll just double up on my aspirin and hope I don't bump into any sharp objects.