so which plan are you going with?

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted a guest entry. Betsy, who writes for me today, is my former coworker, former roommate, and friend from Chicago. She’s great, as you’ll see:

Before my work switched our benefits plan, they invited us to an informational meeting with a Blue Cross Blue Shield representative, a buttload of papers, and free lunch. It was not helpful. The guy didn’t even know how much the premiums were.

When we returned to work after the meeting, all anyone could talk about was how confused they were by this new insurance. So many of us were so confused that our company pushed back the enrollment date and scheduled another informational meeting with new Blue Cross Blue Shield representatives, more buttloads of papers, and another lunch.

I kept thinking about Lindsey at these lunches and subsequent conversations I had with my coworkers about which plan everyone was picking. I know her insurance is one of the most stressful things for her about her having cancer. I believe it. I was getting stressed about just picking a stupid insurance plan that I probably won’t even use much.

When Lindsey first shared her elevator speech with me, I felt helpless and sad. I didn’t know what to do or how to react, and I took a few days to think about how to respond. Once I got over knowing that Lindsey had pancreatic neuroendocrine cancer–and after I read about it and still understood nothing more than before I even knew such a cancer existed (thanks for nothing Google)–I began to think about how I could be a better long-distance friend without intruding on her already hectic life, whether Lindsey needed me or not, and whether she noticed or not. And I suppose this led to me thinking about Lindsey a lot, even if I didn’t tell her.

Mostly I think about the unfairness, because it’s not fair that all I have to worry about is paying $10 more a month for my premium while Lindsey has to worry about thousands of dollars of medical bills. If Lindsey allowed herself to get as angry about her insurance woes as my coworkers did about that one clueless and confusing rep, she’d lose her hair from the stress! Then, her doctors would bring her in for more tests because she’s not supposed to lose her hair from her chemo… more bills… I am stressed just thinking about this potential scenario.

Why can’t Lindsey and her family have a personal insurance guru? Kind of like a travel agent, who knows how to work the system from the inside to get the best deals. So that all she has to worry about is what she feels like eating today or looking good for that date with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Well, that’d be great, but I’m sure the insurance guru doesn’t accept Lindsey’s insurance, anyway.

So forget insurance guru. Let’s help Lindsey pay her bills. If you haven’t already, donate to her Paypal fund, so she can stay with her amazing doctors, stress about school projects instead of fighting with the endocrinologist’s office, and eat avocados and be happy.

Thanks! In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, i’ll say it: We love Betsy! And we love you, too, if you donate. Or even if you’re just a devoted reader. If you love Betsy’s writing, she blogs at Reve Rouge.

About these ads
This entry was posted in guest posts and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to so which plan are you going with?

  1. Bill Lascher says:

    Here here! The idea of an insurance guru is an awesome idea. Isn’t that what insurance agents once were? Anyhow, it boggles my mind that Lindsey, or anyone else with cancer or any illness, has to focus so much more of her energy on affording health care, rather than on her health itself.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s