Have
you ever been listening to someone, or having a conversation with them, and
suddenly realize you’re talking at cross purposes? That’s happened to me several times lately
and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s my listening or my speaking skills that are
lacking. Here’s what happened:
My
sister, Betty, needed to visit a doctor she’d never seen before and as part of
the initial visit, we were told we would need to speak to their financial
counselor. Okay fine. After we finished our paperwork, the
financial counselor – a very solemn young woman – came to the waiting room and
took us to her office. After seating us
in the chairs opposite her desk, she sat down and regarded us with an
uncomfortable expression – as if she’d eaten a chile dog for lunch and it was
backing up on her.
“You
understand that you’ll have to make a co-pay today?”
“Yes,
of course.”
“It
could be quite substantial, as much as thirty percent of the cost of an
encounter with the doctor.” (they call
them ‘encounters’ now as if it were a chance meeting in a back alley). “Do you think you can pay that much?”
Having no idea how much that might
be, I said, “Absolutely,” and immediately tried to remember if my credit card
was in my purse and to wonder if I’d need to take out a second mortgage. My sister looked at me as if she was wondering how I could make such a reckless and hasty promise, but she knows me well and understands I occasionally say crazy things.
Looking vastly relieved, as if the
chile dog had decided to stay down after all, Ms. Finance pulled out charts and tables
and spreadsheets and finally determined that our cost would be . . . wait for
it . . . thirty-one dollars.
I managed to repress a snort of
laughter as I assured her we could pay that amount. The girl was practically skipping with
delight as she escorted us back to the waiting room.
A few days later, I called Medicare
to see if Betty might be eligible for help with prescription costs since her
doctors tend to go for the hundred dollar meds instead of the ten dollar ones. The lady I talked to said she couldn’t talk
to me about that without Betty’s permission, so Betty had to get on the phone
and say that as her caregiver, I, Patricia, could have access to this
apparently top secret information.
Once we got that straightened out,
I asked my question again.
“Actually, Geraldine, your sister
has been eligible for this benefit since 2006.”
“Um, my name is Patricia and we
knew nothing about this eligibility in 2006.”
“Geraldine, a notice was sent to
her. If you want to instate this benefit
now, I’m afraid there will be a penalty.”
“My name is still Patricia and how
much of a penalty?”
“It could be quite substantial.” (Financial people seem to like that
word. I think it means ‘open a vein and
be prepared to start hemorrhaging cash’.)
“I’ll have to look it up for you, but I need to tell you upfront that the
penalty is retroactive. Since she didn’t
pick up this benefit seven years ago, you’ll have to pay the penalty plus the
same penalty for every year she didn’t pick up the benefit.”
“So, the penalty times seven?”
“Yes, and she will be assessed the
same penalty every year from now on.”
Gulp. Waving goodbye to my pension and any hope of
future financial security, I asked, “Will it run into the thousands of
dollars?”
“Oh, no, no, no.”
“Well, how much is it?”
There followed a couple of minutes
of keyboard clicking, gasps of dismay, mutterings of ‘Oh no, that can’t be
right’, and ‘Oh dear’.
Finally, she came back on and said,
“Thirty-two.”
Seven times thirty two is two
hundred twenty-four. Feeling faint, I
asked, “Is that thirty-two hundred dollars?”
My shell-shocked brain figured that’s more than twenty-two thousand
dollars a year to get prescription help for my sister.
“Oh, no, no, no. It’s just thirty-two.”
“Dollars?” Two-hundred twenty-four dollars a year is
more reasonable. I can live with that.
“No, no, no. Cents.”
That was the moment when I totally
lost it and began laughing with hysterical relief. “So every year we have to pay a penalty of
two dollars and twenty-four cents?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
So here’s my question – is it my
listening or my speaking skills that are lacking? I need to figure this out before our next
‘encounter’ with a new doctor – or maybe I can just send in my alter ego,
Geraldine, to take care of it.
Three days later I had company for a few hours--people who wanted to see where I live and work. I gave them the full tour of my apartment: Stand in center of apartment, turn 360 degrees. We also strolled around the town square and stopped in at all the shops. We ate a delicious meal at a restaurant just a few hundred yards from my front door. Our waitress, and all the shop owners, were gracious to my friends. I'm certain they enjoyed the visit as much as I enjoyed having them with me.
Her newest release is Book Four in the Serendipity, Indiana series: THE BLANK BOOK. Paperback is coming soon. The ebook version is available here:
