Sick Day

Sorry for the not-topical photo... 
it was this or my bleeding tonsils

I’m at home with strep throat, something I thought only children get but I’m young at heart and at throat apparently, so boo hoo and a whole lot of guck. I took a couple days off to rest and it hurts too much to talk or eat so I try to do a bit of writing, but that’s the thing about being sick: you've got the whole day free but really you’re so weak that just getting up to pee takes up every ounce of energy, forcing you to go back to sleep to conserve enough for the next potty break. So I give up and put the laptop away, cozy into the couch and finally get aboard the Game of Thrones train (better late than never!). I’m nearly done with season 1 but let me guess… EVERYONE DIES.

I started getting symptoms on Sunday at which point I followed my usual “freak-out-when-my-body-does-something-slightly-abnormal” routine: go onto WebMD, search every fatal disease I could possibly have, narrow my diagnosis to either aids, cancer or scarlet fever, write a eulogy for my parents and friends, decide what I’ll do with my remaining money, and end with going through facebook albums to determine whether “I’ve lived life to the fullest.” From there I’ll waste another hour or two online, thinking how lucky these people have it to be alive. And my mother says I need to be more cautious.

this is the waiting room...

I got my actually diagnosis today at my pediatrician’s office. That’s right, pediatrician: doctor for KIDS. His name's Dr. H and he's a pretty cool dude. He’s the same guy I’ve been seeing since elementary school and for some reason I’ve never managed to find or need a doctor after turning 18 or he’s just nice enough to keep me as a patient. So there I am in the waiting room, sitting beside a mother and her five-year old playing with action figures. The only reading material consists of highlights! magazines and picture books (both of which I am a huge fan) so I get down to word play until the doc calls my name. Yada yada symptoms, yada yada tests, yada yada knick knack and he prescribes me the pills. Only this time, assuming that I’m of age to be “off of my parents’ insurance,” he asks me if I’m on a good enough plan to afford the medicine. Excusé-moi?

At times like these I miss the good old days of socialist France. I’d go to the doctor, pay my 23 bucks, get a laundry list of medications, take that to the pharmacy, not pay a cent, then get the 23 bucks reimbursed back within two weeks. Pas mal, pas mal. For specialists like ophthalmologists and coochi clinics I might not get the full refund but still it was a no brainer to pay a visit at the very moment I felt a bit ill.  

Now back home and at the prime age of “almost 26,” I need to pay attention to things like PPO, HMO, HBO and other things that can seriously stack up my bills. At the time Obamacare became a thing I was already abroad, and from an external point of view it’s like “well no shit, Sherlock. Everybody should be able to afford healthcare.” But now as I dive into my new life as a “freelance artist,” picking out plans, determining coverage, and paying for it out of pocket each month directly applies to ME, and I am not at all excited to be dealing with that. Especially coming from a country where month-long (paid) sick days can be issued simply because you’re feeling triste (that, by the way, means "sad," and people use that to get paid to stay home). 

Today's affair was relatively painless, with a co-pay here, and a co-pay there (and a cotton swab all up in there). I won’t be getting that 23 bucks back in the mail this time, and in a few months time when I’m no longer covered by mommy and daddy, it’s gonna be more like “here a Co, there a Pay, everywhere a pay! Pay!” Until then, expect to be seeing a LOT of me, Dr. H!

LESSON LEARNED: Always wash your hands. And don’t kiss strangers. At least not strangers who might have mono. Or if you must, do it while you're properly insured. Or just do it in France.