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I can be difficult, but I am rarely confused. (Or if I am, I’m not aware of it.)

Call to Medicaid this morning:

“I have a question about this form you mailed me, and I made some mistakes when I tried to fill it out.  Can you please send me another form?”

“Let me put you on hold.”

Long wait.

“Ma’am, the reason you lost your insurance is because you failed to provide us with the correct information.”  I lost my health insurance?  Was anyone going to tell me?

“I haven’t yet provided you with any information;  can you please send me another form?”

“Let me put you on hold.”

Long wait.

“Ma’am, I think I know why you’re confused.  You failed to provide us with the correct information when you called to re-certify, so we dropped your insurance coverage.”

“I never called to re-certify;  I was filling out the paperwork, and made some mistakes, and called over a week ago to get a new form.  I haven’t received anything.  Can you please mail me a new form?”

“Let me put you on hold.”

Nothing, not even elevator music.  An entire cup of coffee later:

“Ma’am, I spoke with my supervisor.  You actually have no insurance because you did not give us the correct information, and did not tell us everything about your financial situation.”

I now have to go to the bathroom, so am getting a bit impatient.

“I actually have yet to tell you anything, correct or incorrect, as I need a new form to fill out.  As soon as I get it, I will fill it out and mail it in, and then you will have all of my information.”

“Ma’am, I think I know why you’re confused.  We’re all just trying to help you.”

“Can you please ask your supervisor to send me a new form?”

“Ma’am, you filled out your forms incorrectly.  That is why you have a problem.”

“I haven’t filled them out at all, or mailed them to you.  How can they possibly be incorrect?  And what did you base your determination on?”

“The incorrect information you gave us.”

This was all said with great patience and authority, as though she was explaining things to a small child.

Then she says:

“What we’re going to do is mail you a new form so you can provide us with the correct information, but until this is resolved, you have no insurance at all.”

Okay.  So what about the appointments I have had this week, or last week?  Or the week before that?

Oh, that.  Well I guess you will have to pay out-of-pocket for those appointments.

My pockets are empty, Lord.

Yesterday was a very bad day.  The Kidnappers (AKA:  The Ex-Husband and The Girlfriend)  showed up at 7:00 a.m. to take my daughter to Florida for two weeks, and then I got ready and left for a dentist appointment to see if they can tell me why my jaw won’t open.  When I signed in, I was informed that they couldn’t see me at all, because there Appears to Be a Problem With My Insurance.

After that (and an unexpected phone call from my Therapist-Who-Insists-She’s Not-My-Therapist) I went to my primary care physician to fill out disability forms.  He said “I can’t fill these out, I just met you.  I don’t know anything about you.”  This is the same doctor who, back in 1999, was called into the room to look at the inexplicable rash covering three-quarters of my body (cortisol overload) and jumped back, exclaiming: “What the hell is that?  Do you do drugs?”

No, it’s from finding out that my husband has been sleeping with an elf for the last couple of years.  (I can explain, but not now.)

Another call to United Healthcare to find out what is going on assured me that there is no problem, and as far as she can tell, “my insurance is fine and there are no changes.”  I then called the Department of Social Services, where a bright and happy young man assured me that even if I were to lose everything, I will still have Medicaid “which is the best health care there is.”  (And I quote.)  Never mind that none of my doctors accept Medicaid.  And does this kid not realize that perfectly good people die every day on Medicaid, usually while standing in some over-crowded, un-air-conditioned hallway waiting for Their Number To Be Called?  Not to worry, though;  I also qualify for Family Planning, which means that although I cannot get treated for any of my other problems, if I want birth control or an abortion, it’s on the House.  Well, thank you, Mr. President.  Should I accidentally get pregnant while going through Menopause, I’ll take you up on that.

Until then, I just want my Zoloft.

And this, my friends, is how we create Mental Illness in America.

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