Searching for choice where there is none

I have been grossly remiss in posting an update about my family’s unemployment saga, so please bear with me as I bring you up-to-speed since this post .

Mark was hired as an IT analyst for a consulting company in mid-August 2010. Although the consulting company (surprisingly) had excellent benefits (reasonably priced, quality health care and paid time off, among other perks), we were living quarter-to-quarter (and sometimes month-to-month) wondering whether his position would continue to be funded by the on-site client.

In December, Mark was recruited by another consulting company to return to his passion – web analytics. The salary was higher, but the cost of health care benefits negated that (more on this in a moment). However, this new position was funded through the end of 2011 -- finally ensuring some semblance (albeit limited) of job security – so Mark accepted. Such is life in a job market where contract jobs are the norm, instead of the exception. (No, the recession is not over!)

But, back to the health care issue.

Throughout our life together, Mark and I have weighed more than a few job offers and, all things being equal, the decision always hinges on the health care plan – its quality (co-pays, deductibles, physicians’ network, etc.) and its cost.

With this new position, when we calculated family coverage for medical, dental and vision, the annual bill totaled about $22,000.

After I picked my jaw up from the floor, I embarked on a quest (a futile one, I suspected) to find an alternative health insurance choice that would offer quality and affordability for our family.

Right out of the gate, we knew Mark’s health issues would render him uninsurable outside of an employer-sponsored plan. This was confirmed by several insurance brokers I met during my search. In addition, J and I both have pre-existing conditions (if you are a Maria Talks Back reader, you are familiar with mine), so that was an additional factor to consider.

I was advised to apply for Blue Cross and Blue Shield’s well-advertised Blue Advantage plan, despite knowing that Mark would be denied outright. Those in-the-know said we could insure Mark through his employer and then compare the cost of Blue Advantage versus the employer’s plan for the kids and me. These same knowledgeable folks also said that BCBS was the most likely insurer to accept us since it is “more lenient” with pre-existing conditions.

When the much-awaited decision from BCBS arrived, only R qualified for BCBS’s “preferred” rate of $165/month. My monthly premium came in at $980 and J’s was $545 – and this was just for medical coverage.

Plan B: Since Mark was denied outright and J and I were “up-rated,” we were eligible to apply for Inclusive Health, a program in North Carolina that provides health care coverage to people “…who do not have access to an employer health plan and face higher premiums due to a pre-existing medical condition.” Inclusive Health’s rates were a bit lower ($694/mo for me; $353 for J). However, none of our doctors were in-network and there was a cap on how much the plan would pay out.

In the end, our choice was no choice at all. We are going to pay $22,000/year for health care coverage.

That decision made, a new wrinkle emerged.

The effective date of coverage for the new insurance is the first of the month, following 60 calendar days of employment. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, Mark’s start date changed from Jan. 31 (which would have initiated medical coverage on April 1), to Feb. 2 (which will start coverage on May 1). Therefore, by the space of two days, we will exceed the magical, mystical 63-day window that all health insurance companies use before subjecting you to their dreaded pre-existing conditions restrictions. In laymen’s terms, if we are uninsured for more than 63 days, the new insurer will refuse to pay for any claims that relate to health issues for which we have already received treatment during the first year of coverage. This basically means that we would pay for health insurance, but could not use it.

So, now we’re electing COBRA -- at $1,440/mo (just for medical) – to avoid the pre-existing conditions trap. Will we get our money’s worth for that coverage? Not likely. But, again, we have no choice.

Are you seeing a pattern here?

Walter Cronkite once said, “America's health care system is neither healthy, caring, nor a system.”

True ‘dat!

And yet, Americans accept the rules that health insurers set, jumping through their flaming hoops without question. I liken it to an abusive relationship where the abused doesn’t know that a better life is possible, and continues to suffer.

Health care reform may not be the perfect solution, but it’s a start. The alternative is to keep things as they are – and that choice is unacceptable.

Still the one

February 1983 --

Mark’s ship, the USS Forrestal, had recently arrived at the Philadelphia Shipyard for extensive renovations. After two years of prolonged absences, we were now a two-hour car ride apart, and planned to see each other every weekend he was not on duty.

Valentine’s Day weekend was the first such opportunity, but Mother Nature had other plans as a blizzard arrived on Friday, crippling the East Coast from Virginia to New England. Regardless, Mark traveled by train, bus and – eventually -- his own two feet, to get to his parents’ house in Irvington, NJ. But he didn’t have a car to drive to West Orange, so the rest was up to me.

The storm was gone by Saturday morning, and the sun shone brightly. Roads were slushy but passable. As Dad and Anthony shoveled the driveway, I anxiously waited for this final barrier between me and my Valentine to be removed.

Belatedly, Anthony paused with a puzzled frown. “Wait a minute, Dad! It’s Saturday. Why are we doing this?”

“Because your sister’s in love!” my Dad said with wry exasperation. Shaking their heads in unison, the scrape of shovel-removing-snow resumed and, before long, I was on my way.

I don’t recall the restaurant where we ate dinner that night, but I do remember Mark double-parking the car en route to dash into a store. He returned with a perfume bottle filled with pink carnations. I still have the bottle – with its heart-shaped stopper -- on my dresser.

Back then, I had no idea that our love would continue to blossom and deepen as we have shared the trials and triumphs of our life together. The song, Still the One by Orleans, sums it up nicely.

We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Paging Dr. Mary

It never ceases to amaze me – how the simplest, seemingly effortless exercise can make such a dramatic improvement in my flexibility, muscle strength and, yes, quality of life.

When I started seeing Doug in August for my hip , I never imagined I could feel this good and, more importantly, be in control of my body.

During the past five months, he has discharged me three times – once for my right hip, a second time for tendonitis in my left shoulder and finally, yesterday, for my right knee.

Doug’s combination of targeted massage and an exercise program designed specifically for my multitude of issues has yielded tremendous results.

Yet, sometimes, a simple suggestion from a good friend can also be effective.

You may have read about my friend (and twisted sister), Mary , in previous posts. Although we are both scoliosis patients, we are as unique in our respective skeletal muscular issues as our DNA. But that doesn’t stop us from comparing medical notes.

Recently, Mary told me how she has strengthened her knee by using it. She ascends stairs without aid of the handrail, and also does knee lifts while sitting on the edge of her bed -- simple stuff that made me realize I’d been “coddling” my own knee.

The proof came just one week after I incorporated these changes into my day. I noticed an improvement in strength and flexibility, not only in the knee but also my hip. Then, when Doug tested my hip strength he noted it was “much better.”

As he discharged me yesterday, Doug said he had a feeling he’d be seeing me again. “But let’s make it a good, long while from now,” he joked. Armed with his email address and Mary’s advice, I’m off to a good start.

Dreaded first impressions

The holidays are traditionally a time for reflection. For better or worse, I tend to focus on my spinal health, gauging my progress -- or lack thereof -- from one year to the next.

I’ve heard that, as you get older, you start to care less about what others think about you. But, for some reason, I seem to be going in reverse with regard to my physical appearance and its inevitable influence on people’s first impressions of me.

During my years of back braces and body casts, I enjoyed staring down those who dared to gape at me, often giggling with delight when I turned the tables and made them feel uncomfortable.

Then, I was dealing with morbid curiosity – and outright rudeness. But now a greater challenge looms – kind concern.

As my flat-back syndrome has progressed, I have become increasingly self-conscious – and defensive – of the kindness of strangers and their concern for my well-being. I have reached the point where I can recognize that slight frown and quizzical expression before the question about my assumed pain can be asked. “No, I’m fine,” I mutter with a smile and a head shake. “Nothing to see here. Move along. Back to your lives, citizens!”

This year, as the arthritis in my hip has further altered my gait, I have convinced myself that these physical “differences” will prevent me from making a positive impression on prospective clients and colleagues ~ anything to avoid networking! Worse, I worry that, without a carefree spring in my step, people will not look beyond my “old” appearance to discover all that I have to offer as an experienced writer and communications professional.

Recently, I shared my concerns with my friend, D. Like me, D is a scoliosis patient so she understood – more than most – where I’m coming from.

“You’re not alone. Everyone has issues, something they’re uncomfortable about, so don’t let that stop you,” she urged.

She’s right, of course. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and adversity provides some of the best material.

So, in the New Year I resolve to venture out from behind my desk and seek some face time with new friends and prospects.

May you successfully keep your resolutions and enjoy good health, peace and happiness in 2011.

Featured resource

In August, I wrote about a scam email I'd received from the International Blogging Recognition Council (IBRC). The email claimed Maria Talks Back had been deemed a "Recognized blog" and offered me a badge to publicize my award -- for a fee. I passed.

Today, another email arrived announcing that MTB is listed as a featured resource for www.onlineenglishdegree.com:

"As a website dedicated to help those consider a career in english, we only provide the best information available. Whether it's a resource that explores different writing styles, or provides inspiration for your next novel, we provide them for those seeking to obtain this information. This is why we've featured your blog, as it is one of the best to teach our readers."

The badge now located in the upper-right corner was free, so I think this one is for real.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Holidays are a time for reflection. As I look around the dinner table today, I’m remembering Thanksgivings past at my grandparents’ house, surrounded by my boisterous, extended family.

Things are quieter this year, but no less thankful. Mark and I have faced many challenges, including his extended unemployment and several health issues.

We’ve come through, still intact and stronger for the storms we’ve weathered. For that, and all my blessings, I am profoundly thankful.

Thank you for reading my blog. May you and yours savor your holiday feast – and each other’s company – and find joy and appreciation in all of your blessings today and every day.

RIP, Grandma

As he was leaving my engagement party, my grandfather turned to me and said, "My last wish now is to dance at your wedding!" He didn't make it.

Now, almost 27 years later, Grandma has joined him in heaven. When Grandpa met her at the pearly gates, I think one of the first things he said was, "Mary, I owe you a dance!"

Grandma would have been 100-years-old on Nov. 26, 2010. The last 15+ years of her life were spent in a nursing home as dementia gradually claimed her mind and body. But that's not how I will remember my fiercely independent grandmother.

I always considered Grandma to be somewhat of a feminist long before the term was defined. A product of the Depression, she quit school after receiving an elementary-level education so she could work to help support her family.

Shortly after she and Grandpa became engaged, Grandma's fiery spirit sparked an argument that almost changed the course of our family's history. As the story goes, she wanted to go dancing, but Grandpa did not.

"Well, I'm going without you!" Grandma said.

"Oh no, you won't!" Grandpa replied.

"Oh yes, I will!"

"Then, give me that ring back!"

Grandma complied and went on with her evening. The incident postponed their nuptials, but they (obviously) later reconciled.

After they married, Grandma continued to work full-time as a seamstress, eventually becoming a forelady at Sherman's sewing factory in Orange, NJ. She made most of her own clothes, always in the latest styles. She prided herself on being a salaried employee throughout her career, while Grandpa had "only" worked on commission as a salesman. She was thrifty and disciplined about saving money, yet she treated herself to a weekly hair appointment at "the beauty parlor." When I was old enough, Grandma shared her passion for sewing and crocheting (she made beautiful afghans) with me, although I never mastered them the way she did. She also encouraged me to patronize her "girl" to have my hair done, often pressing money into my hand to fund my visit.

I have cozy memories of Saturday nights at Grandma's where Anthony and I were treated to pan-fried lamb chops, Kool-Aid (something my mother refused to buy!), and staying up past bedtime to watch Mary Tyler Moore.

During my recovery from spondylolisthesis surgery, my parents gave me one of Dad's police whistles to summon them from the second floor, since I was confined to bed in the dining room. One afternoon, Dad was upstairs asleep after working the midnight shift. I don't remember what I needed; only that I kept blowing the whistle with all of my breath and he didn't respond. Panicked, I called Grandma thinking something had happened to Dad. "I'm sure he's alright, but I'll be right there," she assured me. Minutes later, I heard her coming through the back door after speed-walking (she didn't drive) up our street -- one of the longest, steepest hills in West Orange. After checking on me, she charged up to my parents' bedroom and brought my sleepy, bewildered father to my bedside to confirm all was well.

Together with Grandpa, Grandma was the focal point of my extended family. She brought us together every Sunday for dinner -- a meal that always included amazingly moist meatballs. And, afterwards, as I watched from the corner stool in the kitchen, Grandma and her sister, Rose, would good-naturedly argue about who would do the dishes, their cackling laughter reverbertaing off the walls and tin ceiling.

I feel so blessed to have had Grandma in my life and I'm comforted knowing that she is finally at peace. When I think of her now, I can't help but smile at the image of her and Grandpa, dancing again among the stars.