Burning Questions I Have
Burning Questions I Have
another tiny little mother mind™ listicle
Since we’ve come back from our long stay in the hospital, I’m noticing that my tiny little mother mind™ is either in recovery mode having suffered great insult due to forty-four days dealing with the American Industrial Medical Complex (with the near-death of one’s daughter in said complex only parenthetical because that’s the way it is) or in a state of permanent decay due to the incessant demands of dealing with the aftermath. I have questions, dear Reader. I have lots of questions, and the tiny little mother mind™ needs some help. Please answer in the comments, if you’re so inclined.
What is hold music really? Is it music? Does anyone enjoy listening to instrumental Foreigner? Is it manufactured like canned laughter? Is there a creator? Is there a way to turn it off?
Is the kind and reassuring mechanical voice that periodically interrupts the hold music or, even worse, is laid over it necessary? Do we really need to hear thank you for your patience we celebrate 45 years of helping our community thank you for holding the line we believe that children are our future, we want to teach them well and let them lead the way (Reader, I kid you not) in an endless loop?
Does anyone pine for the telephones of old, the plastic scoops that you could slam down into their cradle or drop on the floor?
Why does bougainvillea grow out of nowhere, its majestic pink a mockery of anything around it? Honestly, the one outside my dining room window that is draped over the garbage cans is on fire (much like these questions).
Why is the language of the American Medical Industrial Complex similar to that of a large corporate hotel chain and when not that, more like an early 20th century rooming house? For example, why does the Explanation of Benefits list the hospital charge for Sophie’s literal bed and hospital room as “Room and Board”?
Why does the tiny little mother mind™ conjure up a small garret, a neatly made single bed with a neutral throw, a chest of drawers on which is a basin and pitcher of water, a round or perhaps oval rag rug, and a dining room downstairs where fellow boarders gather at 5:00 for corned beef and cabbage with a weekly charge of $20.00 instead of a beige and metal square, crowded with equipment and broken clocks, computer screens and clattering, hissing machines, fluorescent lights, tubes and wires, giant receptacles for medical waste and linens, a dirty window and a constant stream of humans at $22,000* a day?
Why is the contracted rate The Hospital accepts from The Insurance Company so much less than the initial charge of $22,000 for Room and Board? Which leads the tiny little mother mind™ to wondering
Why did it cost $285** in cash for the follow-up consult with The Dietician but $832.76*** if filed with insurance and denied? Why was this presented by the Kind Office Worker in the Medical Industrial Complex as a choice?
Why is the total amount charged to the Insurance Company by The Hospital (not the doctors, not the supplies, not the various procedures and emergencies and and and — JUST THE ROOM AND BOARD for TWO WEEKS) a certain six figure amount (nearly seven) with 42 cents at the end? Why the $.42****?
Why does each Explanation of Benefits consist of one page that outlines the horrifying charges for Room and Board followed by several pages of a statement about consumer rights in twenty-six languages? The tiny little mother mind™ gets stuck on the word consumer and wonders whether it is operative (in any language).
We need some relief here: why did Montana outlaw TikTok and how will this be enforced? Will people have to cross the border to take their eyes off of their Big Sky to watch funny dance videos?
Why did I show up at my 10:15 am eye doctor appointment at 11:00 am when, in my former life, I never, ever made such a mistake?
Why did I completely forget an appointment at my house with The Woman Who Determines Whether Sophie Is Being Properly Taken Care Of By Her Conservators? Thank Jesus the woman was extremely patient as I regaled her with my tale of having my eyes dilated and therefore unable to scoot out to prove that I am, indeed and however tiny in mind, a worthy conservator?
Why did The Woman have to do that thing where she asks Sophie a series of questions like do you want to vote? are you being well taken care of? do you understand this process ?while I sat there rubbing the sole of Sophie’s little foot and she stared into the distance? Bless The Woman’s heart and The System that employs her. For anyone tempted to answer this question, refrain as I actually know the answer but wanted to emphasize that these are the questions that not only tax the tiny little mother mind™ but turn, one more time and a little bit deeper, the hatchet embedded in the heart that it persists in making beat?
What is rest, really? Many people tell me to do so. How does a tiny little mother mind™ rest?
* This number is entirely factual.
**This number is also entirely factual.
*** This number is completely and utterly factual.
****This number is, yes, you guessed it, astoundingly factual.
What a day to read this post. Having participated in the medical industrial complex as a patient, as a caregiver, as a left-wing, progressive, most ExCeLLEnt medical social worker, I can address all of them. Not tonight though, having had a foray into the dental complex. Also, I suspect your questions are largely rhetorical. But I do have a few things to say. ALL with a LOUD voice. But I’ll hold off being like Emile Zola. Have a good night everyone.
I have pondered the same questions while dealing with my husband's cancer treatment. I have come to the following conclusion: all of the numbers are made up. No one knows how much anything in healthcare actually costs. The insurance companies and hospitals agree on a certain made up number and then they agree to screw you, the "consumer," if you don't play their game.