“Why don’t you just go to the doctor?” my husband asks after hearing my chest crack and pop.
“It’s complicated,” I moan in pain.
Maybe he doesn’t know about the extent of my white coat syndrome and that merely making an appointment makes my heart race and my palms get sweaty. Or that as a kid, I never went to the doctor outside of ingesting a battery or being covered with purple lesions. And if we did go, it always resulted in the occurrence of something uncomfortable or more painful than the original issue.
As an adult, there is little difference except that now the pain comes from the initial cost of the copay and then later the portion of the bill not covered through insurance.
“It’s all explained in your insurance policy,” the customer service rep explains. “You know, in the really fine print. You agreed to pay for anything not covered when you signed in to see Dr. Gulash.”
Trickery and crooks! I scream in my mind, and then passively settle on a monthly payment of six months to pay off the balance. It’s easier than taking a stand and getting sent to collections. The bitter sting of that bill is still on my mind as I refuse to get the cracking and popping evaluated, not just yet anyway.
Let’s follow the journey of Papa Puney who decided not to wait until there were no other options and his proactive approach to his healthcare.
Papa Puney is fit man in his fifties; he sits in a hard plastic chair at the doctor’s office, off to the side and away from the sick people. There are stacks of germ covered magazines next to a pump bottle of hand sanitizer. It’s a nice gesture but too little too late for most.
He calmly waits and peruses through emails and Facebook on his phone. He has been working to lower his blood pressure through diet, exercise and limiting his views on the Donald’s latest tweets. He moves his upper lip unconsciously and the mustache above it bristles out, not unlike a well groomed porcupine, as he flips through the online posts.
A young woman with dry, dyed black hair pops her head out of the door next to the receptionist’s desk.
“Mr. Papa Puney?”
She holds the door open with shiny, red nails. The man looks up in acknowledgement of his name.
“We’re ready for you now.”
Opening the door wider, she waits for the proactive patient to follow her down a tile hallway that smells of antiseptic cleaner.
The woman chews gum as she leads the man into his own room. PP feels a seed of irritation begin to grow with each snap and pop of the gum.
“Sit right here and the nurse practitioner will be right in,” she gestured with her hand to another hard backed chair.
“Wait a minute, what about the doctor?”
“Oh, he is too busy to see you today. The NP will be right in,” the woman explains cheerfully and leaves before PP can say anything else.
PP waits and feels his heart rate increasing and the blood pulsing through his veins. PP waits and waits, keeping busy by cruising the internet until he reaches the end of the interwebs and still he waits.
Finally, the door opens and a chubby blonde woman in her early thirties with purple Crocs enters the room.
“Hey there, Bub, what’s going on with this blood pressure of yours?”
“Bub?” PP asks.
He feels a pounding in his head as his blood pressure rises like a tribal drum urging him on to stand and leave. No, this is not going to work. There are other ways to lower blood pressure. PP excuses himself from the clinic and takes a trip to Burger King to reassess his health goals and the price of proactivity.