Humor

When Your Health Insurance Company Comes Calling

A wellness checkup during a house call

My health insurance company called recently to schedule a house call for me. A house call? Didn’t those go out with the Eisenhower era? I thought about a country doctor with his little black bag driving down a dusty road to reach an isolated farmhouse where a woman is in labor.

“No need,” I said. “I’m healthy. You must have the wrong number.” But they explained that they just wanted to check in on me as a new member of their Medicare plan. So, I made the appointment and spent the next two weeks worrying about what kinds of things they might want to be checking in on me about. Should I be concerned that they might be looking for reasons to cancel my policy already?

On appointment day, I was prepared. I had dressed in workout clothes, even splashing some water on my shirt to make it look like I’d worked up a sweat. I wanted them to know that I was staying fit. The nurse, a bouncy pony-tailed blonde, who looked like she might have just climbed out of a pink Camaro convertible, leaving her pompoms in the backseat, introduced herself as Amy.

She did not seem impressed with my look as she walked confidently past me and into my condo. She set her very large backpack on the floor and proceeded to extract a slew of things that she apparently would need for the visit. It was just like Mary Poppins’ magic bag. Out came a laptop, a blood pressure cuff, a scale, a device to measure my height, an oxygen monitor, a needle to prick my finger for a blood sample and a cup for me to pee in. She even had a couple of footwarmers, which she explained she’d be using to warm my feet before checking my circulation. She spread out all these items on my dining room table and on the floor. I’d never seen this much medical equipment even in my doctor’s office. Apparently becoming a senior citizen has some advantages.

Amy and I sat down at my table. She opened her laptop and began asking me questions. “This is just to verify that you are the correct patient,” she said as she typed in my answers. She explained that she had once gotten about 15 minutes into an appointment before realizing that she was in the wrong house. The lady, Amy told me, never questioned why she was there. She let her in and answered one question after another about her medical history — until they got to the birthdate question. That’s when the mistaken identity became apparent.

“I figured she was probably just lonely and wanted company, which was why she never even questioned why I was there,” Amy told me with a wink. “So I closed my laptop, packed up all my things and told her I could stay for lunch if she was making something good.”

I was pretty sure that Amy was just kidding, though I couldn’t be entirely sure. I started thinking about what I had in my refrigerator that I might be able to throw together for lunch — just in case she decided to invite herself. I was, in fact, in good shape in that respect. I had loaded up my fridge with lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, yogurt and cottage cheese, carefully arranging these in front of the Chinese take-out boxes, which I pushed to the rear.

Amy chatted incessantly throughout the visit, telling me one story after another as she did all her tests and measurements and typed the information into her laptop. I learned about her children and their problems, her husband and his problems, her house and its problems, her job and its problems. It was a clear pattern.

“But let’s talk about you,” she said finally. “You don’t seem to have anything wrong. No medications, no pre-existing conditions, you’re not seeing a cardiologist or any other specialists, no recent operations? I’m used to seeing some real train wrecks.”

Concerned that she might launch into a story or two about recent train wrecks she’d visited, I took control of the conversation. “Wait, I forgot,” I said. “I did actually have a couple of operations. They’re not all that recent, but I think you would be interested in knowing about them.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it,” she said.

“I shattered my ankle during a skydiving jump, and everything had to be put back together with a screw,” I told her. I related how the guys I was with had put me in the back of their VW bus and got me drunk on Boone’s Farm apple wine to ease the pain during the hour-long trip to the hospital. When we arrived, the orthopedic surgeon examined me and announced that he’d have to wait until the next day to operate — by which time he hoped my blood alcohol level would be considerably lower. And then there was the time that a foul ball had slammed into my shoulder at a Red Sox game.

I was feeling increasingly confident that I was going to come through this visit with flying colors. Amy was not only impressed with my vitals but also with my stories. On the other hand, I could also tell that she was still hoping to find at least one little issue to record so that she could justify her visit.

She inquired about my bathroom habits and whether I suffered from incontinence. Nope, no issues there, I told her. After delivering her advice about the benefits of emptying one’s bladder every two hours, she began asking questions about sleep disorders. I told her that I had no trouble sleeping and in fact could easily doze off when hanging out with dull people. She wanted to know if I had to get up at night to pee and if so, how often. “Yes, maybe once during the night,” I told her.

She looked up from entering the information into her computer. “Really? Is that every night?” she asked. “That’s not good.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “It’s not like I’m peeing every two hours as you recommended.”

Next on the agenda was the memory test. Amy said that she was going to tell me three words that I should remember and she would then ask me for them a few minutes later. The words were pig, pink and pork.

“Sounds easy,” Amy said. “But it’s harder than you think.” She wasn’t about to take any chances that I might fail, so she had some advice for how to memorize the words. “Just remember: Pigs are pink and we get pork from them. And the words all start with the letter p.” About 30 seconds later, she asked if I remembered what the words were. Again, flying colors on this test. What a surprise!

The next feat was to remember my manners as I tried to figure out a way to politely let Amy know that the visit had lasted long enough. Looking at my watch, I told her, “We have to wrap this up now, Amy. My Zumba class is starting in exactly 15 minutes, and I don’t want to be late.”