Thursday, August 21, 2008
I Wanna Be Like Mike (Phelps, That Is)
One of my secret wishes in life is to be an Olympian. When I was eight-years-old, I saw Picabo Street bomb down the slopes in Nagano and decided that it was my dream to become a gold medalist in alpine skiing. As I grew older, my love for politics and music took over, banishing my dreams of skiing stardom to the realm of memories. Every two years, the Olympics invade my television screen, inspiring little Antigone’s athletic dream to escape its cerebral confines and revolt against big Antigone’s intellectualism and pragmatism. As the 2008 Summer Olympics come to a close, I need your help, dear reader. What sport can an aggressive but uncoordinated nineteen-year-old pick up and pursue all the way to the Olympic stage? Keep in mind that I am not fast, but I have a lot of endurance and an eight-year-old’s enthusiasm.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning to Be Freed of Injury. I Will Reject Them at the Doctor's Door.
I have never felt much passion for changing U.S. health insurance. Yes, I have rambled about the plight of millions of uninsured Americans. But have I ever made much effort to enact change? No. I come from an upper middle class family. Until the end of college, I will be covered by both of my parents' extensive health insurance plans. What do I have to worry about? As I discovered this week: plenty.
Last Wednesday, I broke my ankle at my summer job in Massachusetts. Early this week, I set about finding an orthopedist to monitor my care near my mother's home in New Jersey. Normally, I am able to call the doctor who has the best referral and quickly receive an appointment that does not even require a copay. This time was different.
(Please note that this was not our verbatim conversation.)
Receptionist: Do you have insurance?
Antigone: Yes. It's a Massachusetts Worker's Compensation case (since the injury happened at work, it is not covered at all by my personal health insurance).
Receptionist: Sorry. We do not handle Worker's Comp.
I tried another orthopedist. The second office was less elitist. They accepted Worker's Comp claims, but not from other states. I called office after office. Each receptionist gave me the same reply: they were not willing to treat a patient covered by Massachusetts Worker's Compensation. I called my insurance adjuster and asked for her advice. Her best recommendation: drive to Massachusetts for weekly x-rays and appointments.
In the end, I found care. My mother called in a favor from a friend who works at a major hospital. The same day, a pediatric orthopedist returned a message that I had left, saying that he might be able to help me. Even though I found a doctor, I am outraged. My ability to receive care from an orthopedist who has been trained to treat adult bones should not depend on who my mommy and daddy know. We really live in a country where it is the norm for doctors to refuse to treat major injuries on the basis of bureaucratic red tape.
Last Wednesday, I broke my ankle at my summer job in Massachusetts. Early this week, I set about finding an orthopedist to monitor my care near my mother's home in New Jersey. Normally, I am able to call the doctor who has the best referral and quickly receive an appointment that does not even require a copay. This time was different.
(Please note that this was not our verbatim conversation.)
Receptionist: Do you have insurance?
Antigone: Yes. It's a Massachusetts Worker's Compensation case (since the injury happened at work, it is not covered at all by my personal health insurance).
Receptionist: Sorry. We do not handle Worker's Comp.
I tried another orthopedist. The second office was less elitist. They accepted Worker's Comp claims, but not from other states. I called office after office. Each receptionist gave me the same reply: they were not willing to treat a patient covered by Massachusetts Worker's Compensation. I called my insurance adjuster and asked for her advice. Her best recommendation: drive to Massachusetts for weekly x-rays and appointments.
In the end, I found care. My mother called in a favor from a friend who works at a major hospital. The same day, a pediatric orthopedist returned a message that I had left, saying that he might be able to help me. Even though I found a doctor, I am outraged. My ability to receive care from an orthopedist who has been trained to treat adult bones should not depend on who my mommy and daddy know. We really live in a country where it is the norm for doctors to refuse to treat major injuries on the basis of bureaucratic red tape.
Antigone Cannot Wander
Last Wednesday, I broke/fractured my ankle. I will be in a plaster cast until mid-September. Having finished my 80+ hour per week summer job, I am spending most of my time sitting in bed with my leg propped in an upright position. My immobility leaves me with plenty of time to share my musings with you, dear readers. Check in for updates.
