Health Insurance Wrestling

On August 3rd this year my wife took me to Fisherman's Hospital in Marathon to have some wax in my ear removed. The offending item, lovingly recorded here, got wedged after I spent some time underwater snorkeling at Looe Key, near my home. After a few hours hanging around my ear was flushed by a kind nurse, I paid my hundred dollar copay and went on my way.I work for the city of Key West, a government union job that I took in 2004 fully expecting hard times ahead, times that have become considerably harder than I ever expected, and as a result despite the right wing attacks on this last bastion of living wage employment I am most grateful to have a job with health insurance. Then the paperwork wars started.
I paid a hundred, the insurance paid 154 dollars after a 28 dollar discount and then the mofo's at Fisherman's sent another bill for 495.73. This is the curse of unregulated private health insurance. there is no accounting there is no estimate there is no accountability. Send the money or we go to collections. These days my wife and I couldn't care less about our credit rating. like millions of Americans our only revolt is to tell the bastards to take their credit rating cage and wrap someone else around it, we've been obedient and trapped in it for too long.
I am boring and annoying when it comes to the issue of health insurance. My wife has rheumatoid arthritis and is uninsurable if she loses her job (Republicans please note: the system does need to be changed) but thanks to her government job teaching she can pay the co-pays on thousands of dollars of drugs monthly that have side effects but keep her mobile and employed. Embril, Methotrexate, Prednisone etc etc ends up costing thousands each month. Over all this is the constant demands for paperwork to "confirm" she still has arthritis. Threats to cut off her expensive medicine land on our doorstep from time to time. Complexity is sown in our path just to test our mettle. Believe me, if she could throw off the arthritis she would. So when we got a demand for $500 more I sent the above letter to the insurers and the hospital administration which I believe was engaged in illegal double billing. The Republican candidate for Governor in Florida headed a corporation fined 1.7 billion dollars for just such illegal practices so if he gets elected we can imagine what's to come for we the people of Florida...
No one I know believes me when I say single payer health care would be beneficial to us as a nation, would be better for us as patients and would eliminate the gross profiteering by companies that exploit our current non system. Fair enough I say, then lets reform the current system. Republicans made every effort to block reform while not to putting forward better proposals of their own, and I lost faith in the Obama Administration when they yielded to the corporate interests in this fiasco.The sad thing is I wrote the above angry letter and have received word the bill is paid and I owe 11 dollars which I will mail out tomorrow. How many uninformed semi-literate, fearful Americans would have stood up to these health care "providers" and faced off this bill? Not many, and I know this because there are numerous instances in my life where I have done this and my doctors and dentists have told me I am the only patient they have that will do this. They express the wish more people would. So go on, tell me the system doesn't need to be changed. Would you take your car to the shop and pay whatever the mechanic demanded, even months after service was rendered, with no accounting, no estimate. no recourse? I know single payer won't happen in my lifetime but I know this system such as it is has to change. With Republicans determined to wreck what little reform we have in place, I see no bright future for a country with no safety net, no private sector employment to speak off and burgeoning national debt. Oh and a massive, embarrassing and continuing wars in countries we can't even locate on a map. All those shredded bodies get single payer, government funded health care for life when they come from a war that has no meaning, no purpose and no end. We could fund everyone with the treasure we waste in war. But we won't by God. And then they wonder why I'm bitter. My wife's calling, her arthritis is bad today and she can't open a jar, so I'll go and do it for her, then I'll help her inject herself with her weekly dose of thousand dollar Embril.

====================================================================

And here's a funny coincidence: in today's Solares Hill weekly in Key West we read of a long time resident and all round good guy who has a treatable form of cancer of the jaw (I think) and he lost his job which had benefits, his COBRA has run out and he can't get treated because the charming Sylvester center in Miami demands insurance or cash. They give a 30% discount for cash but the bill is going to be $250,000. So they are holding a bake sale for him. Good luck with that.

Interestingly he applied for private insurance after his COBRA benefits ran out and they quoted him (before he got the cancer) a rate of $32,000 a year. It would have been a bargain had he known he was going to get cancer. Though of course as we all know insurance companies deny service anyway because they make up crap and claim non disclosure on your application.

Ain't the private sector great? Not slimy at all.

Big Pine South

Bright sunshine, an empty road and a dog that needs walking. I spotted a small trail leading off through the bushes and off we went.Cheyenne's pleasure at being outdoors and taking an interest in absolutely everything has been excellent for me. I am alone among the people I know who actually enjoys tramping the mangroves, so it would not quite the same without Cheyenne's company.I am never quite sure what motivates the dog. Some days she likes nothing more than to walk inhabited streets which she has to do on a leash as she isn't quite au fait with wheeled vehicles. In the woods she wanders at will, more scared of wildlife than scaring any.There were loud rustlings in the bushes as we walked, splashing and crashing out of sight and I'm sure a nervous walker would have considered the place to be littered with alligators. They were just Key deer changing their plans as they saw us coming.

As is so often the case the deserted woods of the Florida Keys are not actually that far from civilization, if you can call it that. The trail sank out of sight under a large puddle right next to an osprey pole.
We back tracked briefly and turned toward the paved road...
...where we found a sign advertising the value of federally protected lands. I'm all for it, federally protected land. Of course I guess I am supposed to feel as though I am in a minority when it comes to proof positive of the value of governance. Oh and roads too. As long as we have gas we should have government provided roads. These homes are at least an hour from Key West, the major source of work around here so they are a bit far for commuters. Other than that, a peaceful neighborhood like this with easy boat access to the protected waters of Newfound Harbor are ideally situated.

This place had a large fuel tank and commercial traps so perhaps they don't need to commute which would be nice if you like that sort of thing.

Open space and palms (and a not very visible No Trespassing sign, as usual).

I like this driveway. I think it is a lot better than pea rock. The house looked cool and breezy in the unusual west winds blowing that day.I am voting for him on November 2nd for my local County Commission seat. George Neugent used to be a Democrat but then I guess he saw which way the wind blows in the Lower Keys (outside Key West) and he became a Republican of the grounded, down-to-earth sort, the ones that leaves witchcraft and anti-gay, anti abortion rhetoric in the closet, and he offers thoughtful responses to prickly questions. He also pisses a few people off so he can't be all bad.PLus he used to live on a boat when he first came to the Keys which means we have something in common. So I vote Republican -sigh- I must have been hit on the head by a coconut recently.At the top of the street we turned left and headed towards the waters of Newfound Harbor, a body of water that lies mostly to the west of Big Pine, separating it fromLittle Torch Key. Cheyenne apparently poses little threat to wildlife. This wader was puzzled by her lack of interest in chasing a bird. It's hard to conceive where this massive trunk may have come from, here in the land of spindly saplings.

>Here's Bryce's winter home away from the frigid Canadian prairie. I think I met the current occupant cycling away towards Big Pine as Cheyenne and I arrived in the car. He gave us a cheerful wave as we passed so he seemed happy, and why wouldn't he be? The rent is right. There is free dinghy parking under the Conservation Area Boundary sign and even though the fresh breeze was out of the west, a strange direction around here, the waves were entirely manageable.Even by a Labrador ready to cool off a bit. When Cheyenne sinks into the water to cool off I judge the walk to have been a success.

Oh dear me there are a lot of signs around the car. You'd think people couldn't see the mangroves blocking the roads without them...almost as windy as the backroads of Pennsylvania.

Hidden Big Pine. It's not exactly the Rocky Mountains or the wild open spaces of the desert South West or any really big deal, but I do like it, in all it's modesty.

The Auto Train

My escape route from the riepe fastness in the endless blind cul-de-sacs of East Goshen involved sticking my motorcycle on the train, a service that used to be provided by private enterprise, but unfortunately free market capitalism failed to do the job and the US government's rail service stepped in and is doing fine work up and down the east coast.riepe yanked me out of bed at some ungodly hour and dragged me screaming into the kitchen where Atticus gnawed on my extremities and stiffie poured cups of hot coffee down my throat. There's rain in the forecast they crowed as I tried to crawl back under the covers. It did what it hadn't done so far on the trip- it poured cats and dogs buckets of cold hard rain from about the time we arrived at I-95 inside Maryland. When I say "we" I mean riepe showed me the way through the back roads from the comfort of Leslie's heated SUV while I flailed around trying not to get run over outside by enthusiastic government workers hurrying to their jobs (they couldn't have been private sector workers as they have all been fired, I'm told). My journey down I-95 was two hours of epic bloody hell. I have no pictures as the rain was coming down so hard I couldn't see literally anything. My visor fogged up, my glasses fogged up, the whole world fogged up as the rain came pelting down. Government largesse meant road works as quantitative easing is employing people to repair crumbling roads in anticipation of major gas price hikes in 2012 when economists predict oil output will fail to meet increasing third world demand. That was a problem for the future, as there and then I had my hands full on the Highway To Hell. The rainwater was brown and sludgy and the trucks threw up ponds of it into my face. Then the Bonneville started backfiring and I thought I was toast. I noticed the left cylinder was getting wet so I deduced it was a spark issue and not a fuel issue so I fiddled with the spark plug cap on the left cylinder as we farted along at 65 miles per hour, and miraculously my Bonneville shook off the last of riepe's evil influence and took up running as sweetly as ever once again. I passed through the I-95 tunnel near Baltimore (I think) and the toll lady took my $2 with a look of intense pity on her face. I thought for a second she was going to raise her shirt to cheer me on my way but then I understood I was hallucinating and riepe's evil influence hadn't quite melted away entirely. "Be strong," she said and with her words ringing in my ears I plunged into the tunnel. Coming out the other side the raid was still hammering down, worse than ever. It was once again 55 degrees and freezing cold but fortified by my stay with riepe, and terrified of having to go back with my tail between my legs, we soldiered on my Bonneville and I. And finally we arrived at the Auto Train Depot in Lorton, Virginia, some ten miles south of the District of Columbia.The motorcycle loading area is a separate staging ground, completely exposed to the weather, which was an absolute joy in the conditions. I was the first motorcycle to arrive so I rode up onto the wooden loading ramp and waited for a second machine to arrive. I bundled my wet clothes into a garbage bag I carried for just emergencies on the road, and strapped it onto the seat next to my soggy ballistic mesh riding suit. When a Harley (what else?) pulled up alongside me they rolled us from the wooden ramp onto the motorcycle trailers like this: I stuffed my helmet and waterproof jacket into my top case and scuttled for cover in the dry clothes I had put on in the loo inside the train station. Official details about riding the train can be found here:

http://www.amtrak.com/servlet/ContentServer?c=AM_Content_C&pagename=am%2FLayout&cid=1241267292998

What I did was show up at the entrance, they found my name on a reservation list and they told me to go in. Inside the station I lined up at the ticket booth and they found my name and gave me a boarding pass and asked what time I wanted dinner (which is included in the ticket price) and I never had to show ID or anything. It was dead simple. I made my reservation with a credit card two weeks before and the cost for bike and myself was $260 or thereabouts, one way.

17 motorcycles were scheduled to ride but in the end one guy fell off on the way to the train and had to bag the trip so 16 eventually showed up to travel to Orlando overnight.

While motorcyclists fumbled around in the rain car drivers got to pull up under the shelter, take their over night bag and amble into the waiting while an Amtrak worker put a plastic cover on the driver's seat and assigned the vehicle a number before driving it onto the covered car carriages. It was still raining cats and dogs.Loading starts at 11am and the last motorcycle can arrive by 2pm, the last car (which is easier to load) by 3pm. The train leaves around 3:45pm and travels on CSX freight tracks so delays can occur though our train arrived in Orlando 20 minutes early at 9:10 the next morning (another sign of government inefficiency and bumbling no doubt!). The motorcycle carriers have channels for the tires and racks to hold the front wheels. The motorcycles are strapped down by their forks and at the rear wheels. Amtrak will transport weird shaped bikes and trikes but you have to sign a waver for them. No pets anywhere and no access to the vehicles en route are the rules. Car occupants left their vehicles in the hands of the Amtrak employees to load them and bike riders got to do the same after they helped load the bikes onto the trailers.Then the bike trailers were towed into the car carrier carriages.All vehicles loaded onto the train are videotaped to avoid accusations that the train caused existing damage.

I bought a sandwich and a coffee at the cafeteria and news stand inside the station and waited for the word to board the train, which when it travels southbound is numbered 53. I was in carriage 10, seat 66.

I was at the front of the carriage, upstairs, and ended up with two seats to myself like my neighbor across the aisle. The seats lean back like airliner seats. Finally the rain stopped, the sun came out and we hooked up the car carriers to the back of the train and took off exactly on time, per government inefficiency regulations. I wandered down four carriages to the lounge car and picked up a couple of free coffees (the samovar is available all night for tea coffee cocoa and all the condiments) and a five dollar bottle of wine. Alcohol is free I am told in the sleeper carriages.

I had a book I was looking forward to reading The English Assassin and indeed I finished it just as I was waiting to pick up the Bonneville in the morning. Riding the rails is an excellent way to relax and enjoy the passing scenery.Cell phones work with occasional dropped calls. Seats are equipped with a 120v plug for people who need electrons to while the trip away. Quiet time starts at 9pm when you are supposed to use headphones.

I spent some time standing downstairs outside the toilets where I got an unobstructed view to the west at sunset. Most of the viewing from the windows was rather dull as the rail line runs through woods and down embankments.

Around 11 o'clock at night we arrived in Florence, South Carolina where the train stopped to refuel from a couple of tanker trucks and some personnel got off the train in a shift change. Auto Train staff live in Virginia and complete round trips home, rather than stying in Orlando, poor things.

Dinner was served at 5 7 and 9 pm and consisted of meat, chicken fish or vegetarian choices with cheesecake or a brownie for dessert and as much sweet white boxed wine as you could drink. They seat you as you come and I sat with three not terribly interesting strangers but the food was okay and had I wanted to stretch out the entertainment there was a movie showing after dinner in the lounge car. Smokers apparently have a small smoking compartment downstairs in the lounge car. I picked up some free cookies and took a coffee back to my seat for more reading. My only complaint was the reading lights were rather feeble and a book light would have been useful. There is a water fountain in the carriage and I found the amenities to be very efficient.

Breakfast starts at 6, I was awake at 5 after a restless night and I made my way to the lounge car to read in some decent light with a cup of coffee. When the restaurant car opened at 6 the snow birds, reminiscent of the woolly heads who invade Florida in winter were eagerly lined up to get first seating at breakfast. The tables had cereal hot muffins and bagels and assorted jams and spreads. The staff came by with hot drinks and conversation was much as the night before. I retreated to the lounge car with my muffin and book and made myself more free coffee.By now we were in North Florida and after 7am the speaker system started announcing our location and Danny, a disembodied voice with a decidedly whiny drawl kept trying to herd people into the dining car before it was too late with constant repetitions of that irritating phrase "at this time." Deaths were piling up across Europe in my book and his mangling of the English language was a minor irritant.

The morning conversation among the leather clad pirates in the carriage was about biketoberfest or some such event in Daytona and the banter was a clear symptom of their excitement finding themselves finally in the Sunshine State. Once the crew allowed us to "de-train" there was a mad rush to disembark and suddenly the Auto Train ride was over 18 hours after it started. I ambled off, last to leave, figuring there was no rush as we had to get our vehicles next.It was sunny and warm and gloriously dry outside the station. Car drivers stood around waiting for their cages and much to my surprise the motorcycles were off loaded equally fast, as the literature says they usually come off last.Sanford, just north of Orlando and about 30 miles down I-4 from the Turnpike was where we had landed. The arrival of the cars sounded like a bingo came as they called out the numbers for the waiting drivers. Motorcyclists met their rides on the trailers and rolled them off onto the wooden ramp before parking and sorting out their gear for the ride away. I was out of there by 10:15. My riding gear was rather soggy and nasty but a couple of hours in the hair dryer warmth of Central Florida and everything was dry and comfortable once again.

The Auto Train was an excellent adventure and when my wife and I go together we will take the sleeping car and ride in style. I was home by 6pm and Cheyenne was as overjoyed to see me as I was her.