I've been living and breathing insurance quotes and underwriting and deductible this and out-of-pocket that for three whole weeks now. I've spoken with a number of people at a number of companies. I've been rejected by Humana for the benign lump and the PCOS. I had a follow up appointment for the very lump in question today and the surgeon was appalled. " That's ridiculous! It was benign. Did you tell them that it was benign?" (No, I thought, I told them it was cancerous just for the joy of being rejected out right. Of course I told them it was benign. Multiple times. With all manner of tone to my voice.) "What do I need to do?" she asked me. "I can tell them that you need only routine exams until you're 40. Would that help?" Have I mentioned that I love her? I don't have any desire to spend a great deal of time with her, mind you, because that would mean that my breasts were up to no good but I kind of wish she'd invite me to go for coffee.
I'm really weird like that. Every once in awhile I form strange attachments to physicians and I think about blurting out that they should come over for dinner sometime. My obstetrician in San Diego. My breast surgeon. Apparently I get attached to doctors who have to deal with my unmentionables. Wow. This is not really the direction I'd intended for this post. Moving on.
Where were we?
Altius. Rejected. Their reason: Recent use of Metformin. If by recent you mean last October then, sure. But since I've almost had time to gestate an entire human--not that I am gestating an entire human--I don't really consider that recent. I'm appealing that decision although, it should be stated, that I am not holding my breath.
We also applied with Select Health. I sent in the online application with them about two and a half weeks ago. Last Monday I contacted them directly and found that they needed my medical records. So I had them sent. Then I waited three days and called them back. They needed something else. Something they hadn't asked for originally. So I had that sent. Then I called back the next day. It had been sent back to underwriting. I could call back on Monday. Today.
So I called.
And they said they hadn't received what they needed. So I nearly lost my ever-loving mind. There was this biting tone that kept coming out of my mouth. My head knew it wasn't the poor man's fault on the other end of the phone so I kept saying things in a measured but irritable voice like, "I don't understand how I'm back where I was a week ago. This is what I was told. I'm running out of time and, frankly, I'm getting tired of this." And then, no sooner would I finish the sentence that my voice would turn all soft and sweet, "I'm sorry. I know this isn't your fault." I was straight up Jekyll and Hyde. It was a little disturbing. Speaking of Jeyll and Hyde which, well, we weren't but Troy and I watched Van Helsing last night because you can't go wrong with Hugh Jackman, right? Wrong. That was certainly a party I wish I'd never been invited to.
Anyway, it finally got worked out and the application was sent back to underwriting. The nice man--who kept telling me that I didn't need to apologize--told me to call back tomorrow. But I've never been an overly patient person.
So I called at 4:30.
And there was good news and bad news. The good news is that the whole family was approved. Praise God! Hallelujah. After being rejected by two companies I know that this was all God. The bad news was that because of my "risky preexisting conditions" they are only offering it to us at a 35% cost increase. And the number is pretty steep. It's doable but it's steep.
I did have them send the proposal back to underwriting at Select to ask how long it would be before that additional 35% might be lifted. One year? Ten? And I'm seriously considering calling them tomorrow and trying to negotiate the price. Is this even a thing? Can someone try to do that? Will I be laughed off the phone? Because you know what, I negotiated my Santa Fe to a price I could live with. They never saw me coming. The salesman said he couldn't do it so I turned around, walked out, and drove home. He called me a half hour later and said he might be able to work something out.
Of course, there was that time in Mexico where I could not get the sombrero seller to give me a ten dollar hat for eight. Could not. And I bought the hat anyway. That dude totally called my bluff. So I'm one for two.
But what if I sent the underwriters a basket of mini muffins and a note that says, "Pretty please lower my premium?"
I could so do that. I would so do that.