February 26 – “Chained on bibs”

Well, I guess I have to go on another bit of a rant this morning.  I went to the dentist’s office yesterday for a simple cleaning.  It started out  nicely enough.  There were several people in the waiting room, all with whiter hair than mine, so I felt right at home.  One of the old geezers started right in with an entertaining array of jokes, all clean ones, mind you.  He was like a stand-up comic.  They flew one right after the other covering the gamut from blondes to wives (a touchy subject since one of the white-hairs was a wife) to politicians.  I don’t know if they paid him to take people’s minds off the inevitable or not, but maybe they should consider it.

They finally called my name, and on my way to the cleaning room, I stopped at the front desk and turned in my new insurance card.  That, as you may recall, was another story entirely.  This was the HMO card.  Same company – Blue Cross Blue Shield.  Just HMO rather than PPO.  I dutifully followed the tech up the stairs and took my place in “The Chair.”  She saddled me with that paper bib they chain to your neck.  I always wondered why  they used a chain.  Was it going to escape?  Not likely.  Was I going to attempt a getaway?  Perhaps within the realm of possibility.  I was all bibbed up, and she had just strapped on the blood pressure cuff when we heard footsteps on the stairs.  Rushing up the stairs.  Calling out my name, “Mr. Vaughan.  Mr. Vaughan.”  I mumbled to myself, “This doesn’t look like it will end well.”  And sure enough, she was not just returning my insurance card.  She informed me that it was an HOM card, so they could not accept it.  They only accepted PPO from Blue Cross Blue Shield.  Of course you don’t.  She graciously offered to do the cleaning anyway, for the full fee.  I think she said something like $81, but I was already answering “Nope.”  I told her I would call the insurance company when I got home and see where they sent me.  The tech asked if I still wanted my blood pressure taken, so I said she could if she really wanted to.  It was a little high.  She attributed it to the bad news.  I attributed it to all the moving around I was doing.  Either way, the visit was concluded.  Well, almost concluded.  You can’t just leave with one of their chained-on bibs.  I had to wait to be released from that bondage. 

I did call the insurance company when I got home.  Even got through to an actual human fairly quickly.  She asked all the required questions and duly transferred me to someone else who asked the same questions.  I just said all the answers before she could ask the questions.  Confused her.  A lot.  So I told her to start over again and we got it done.  I explained my situation, and she had an answer right away.  Seems the dental part of our insurance IS a PPO.  “The person in the office would have been told that, but no one called us to check.”  Well, that would be a problem, I agreed.  Next call went out to the dentist office again.  I repeated the insurance person’s claim (teehee, get it?  Insurance “Claim”?).  Sure enough the office lady confessed that she didn’t even call because she saw the evil letters, HMO, on the front.  She made a note on my chart and offered to work me in that very afternoon.  Honestly, I didn’t want to drive clear back over on the East side of 61^st Street twice in one day (an affliction most West End Islanders recognize).  She offered another appointment in two weeks, but I told I would call and set something up later.  I think Chris may be planning a call today if she thinks about it.  That’ll probably be the only way I’ll go back.  I just don’t do dentist very well. 

3 John 11 says, “Dear friend, do not imitate what is evil but what is good.”

Father, thank you for the insurance we do have.  Really.  Amen.