I am meandering the health insurance road a lot more these days. It's the fun of becoming an old fart. I should be happy. I'll never be bored.
Let's start here: The rumor that I snore has been confirmed by medical science. My wife knew. The neighbors who had to replace window pane after window pane due to the force of the soundwaves knew. The dog knew. That cat knew. Every doctor, nurse and medical technician I had to deal with during my recent medical adventures strongly suspected it.
But according to the insurance folks, they wouldn’t pay to test me for sleep apnea because I had no history of sleep apnea. Now there’s a Catch 22 for you.
After my dual stents were put in (which took 3 catheterization attempts which the insurance folks had no problems with) one of my doctors resubmitted the order for sleep apnea testing, stating it was ‘critical’ I be evaluated for it.
The bean-counters met him half-way and approved a take-home test.
The test …are you sitting down? …indicates that I should be evaluated for one of those damnable CPAP things. (When I was a kid down south, CPAP meant if I looked out my window, I might see daddy. I might CMOM too).
Of course, there is a catch: They won’t approve the evaluation unless I see a pulmonary doctor first. The earliest appointment: Late November.
If I die in my sleep between now and then, I am requesting all the mourners make snoring sounds in the funeral home so the folks in the afterlife know I’m on the way. And remember, there will be wings at the funeral lunch, so stuff a bib in your pocket or purse and some moist towelettes for those pesky wing-fingers and sauce-lips.
Meanwhile, the cochlear implant processors the insurance company said back in June are okey-dokey are well on the way to failure. The right one, which serves me best, works intermittently. I am able to get 4 hours a day at most out of it. I call it my Congressional processor.
The left processor changes channels and volume if I smile, move my head, or even think impure thoughts about Mary Lou Higginbopp from my high school days.
Any given day, I spend hours revisiting the good ol’ deaf days. I am going to explore sending them out for repair. I have until the end of March, 2019 to do that because after that they are no longer supported. I will try one more time in January to get replacement processors. A stroke of a bean counter’s pen will be all it takes. I am not hopeful.
As I’ve said before, if you don’t think health care is already being rationed, you’re fooling yourself.
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I will shortly make some kind of post regarding the upcoming one millionth consecutive most important election of my lifetime. It won't be much, because as I've said before, I've done enough damage.
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Be good to each other.
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