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Some time ago, a friend commented lightly that I seem to have some issues around the medical profession, and that perhaps I should seek counseling for that. While I understand that she meant well, I must assume she and I have had fairly differing experiences with the American medical care system. Since as near as I can tell, if you don't have issues with the American medical care system, chances are you need counseling.
A little less than ten years ago, I went to the emergency room in Juneau for a dose of Plan B. (Funny thing how condoms always seem to break on a Saturday night, so all the community health centers and doctors' offices are closed the next day.) The price tag, for two pills and a fifteen-minute chat with a doctor, was $158.08. (Cripes, I cringe at my younger self.) Which, at the time, equated to more than half of one of my meager paychecks (working part time at the University library), and was especially grating as, if I'd waited a day, I could've gotten the pills for free (or the next best thing), but their chances of being effective would've been proportionately lower. Fortunately I had a good boyfriend who paid half the cost, and my mother helped me cover my share.
A couple of months ago, I went to the emergency room here in Bisbee after slicing the tip of my thumb half-off. The nurse gave me some soapy water to soak it in, then the doctor stuck it back on with some Dermabond (medical superglue) and wrapped a bandage around it.
Total charges to my insurance? $1,985.
Obviously I'm a little flabbergasted at this. But I reason that perhaps they've mis-billed me, or gotten my account mixed up with someone who had to go in for a biopsy, or something, so I decide to wait for the itemized bill.
Wait, "itemized bill"? You mean, like, where we tell you exactly what we've charged you for? Where we volunteer information that could potentially cost us money, especially given the prevalence of incorrect billing in the medical industry? Ha! You must be joking, says the billing department. Here's your statement. Your share is $558.05. Pay up.
So I call the number on the statement, assuming that I should at least be able to have someone tell me what I've been billed for.
Oh no, says the operator, I can't possibly read you that over the phone, despite having just asked you for about ten different pieces of information to verify your identity. But I can have them send you an itemized statement. You know, like the one any other sort of company would have sent you first thing. You should receive it in seven to ten business days. Then if you have a charge you want to dispute, you can call this number, or if you feel something's been mis-priced, you can call that number.
What's really worrisome is that between that, and the month and a half it took them to send me the goddamn bill in the first place, and the week I was on vacation, exactly how long do I have until they send my bill to collections?
A little less than ten years ago, I went to the emergency room in Juneau for a dose of Plan B. (Funny thing how condoms always seem to break on a Saturday night, so all the community health centers and doctors' offices are closed the next day.) The price tag, for two pills and a fifteen-minute chat with a doctor, was $158.08. (Cripes, I cringe at my younger self.) Which, at the time, equated to more than half of one of my meager paychecks (working part time at the University library), and was especially grating as, if I'd waited a day, I could've gotten the pills for free (or the next best thing), but their chances of being effective would've been proportionately lower. Fortunately I had a good boyfriend who paid half the cost, and my mother helped me cover my share.
A couple of months ago, I went to the emergency room here in Bisbee after slicing the tip of my thumb half-off. The nurse gave me some soapy water to soak it in, then the doctor stuck it back on with some Dermabond (medical superglue) and wrapped a bandage around it.
Total charges to my insurance? $1,985.
Obviously I'm a little flabbergasted at this. But I reason that perhaps they've mis-billed me, or gotten my account mixed up with someone who had to go in for a biopsy, or something, so I decide to wait for the itemized bill.
Wait, "itemized bill"? You mean, like, where we tell you exactly what we've charged you for? Where we volunteer information that could potentially cost us money, especially given the prevalence of incorrect billing in the medical industry? Ha! You must be joking, says the billing department. Here's your statement. Your share is $558.05. Pay up.
So I call the number on the statement, assuming that I should at least be able to have someone tell me what I've been billed for.
Oh no, says the operator, I can't possibly read you that over the phone, despite having just asked you for about ten different pieces of information to verify your identity. But I can have them send you an itemized statement. You know, like the one any other sort of company would have sent you first thing. You should receive it in seven to ten business days. Then if you have a charge you want to dispute, you can call this number, or if you feel something's been mis-priced, you can call that number.
What's really worrisome is that between that, and the month and a half it took them to send me the goddamn bill in the first place, and the week I was on vacation, exactly how long do I have until they send my bill to collections?
