About six months before my son was born, I discovered that I had degenerative damage to both of my retinas, the origin of which is still a mystery to several specialists.
Initially, I was told that I would go blind. It took several years for my doctors to realize that the condition was (apparently) non-progressive, and I was finally able to stop wearing sunglasses indoors and stop being afraid.
My insurance company at the time paid a $600 claim (less the copay) from the first ophthalmologist I saw and then promptly sent me a letter informing me that they were dropping me from coverage. The $600 represented about two-and-a-half months of employer contributions plus my own contributions. Fortunately, I was gainfully employed and I had another (albeit inferior) health plan to fall back on.
I was forced to conclude that my eyesight and my ability to work in my vocation were worth less than $2,880.
It was the second time in my life that I realized that I was a feedbag. The first time was when I was an undergraduate at Penn State getting stood up by my professors during their (theoretical) office hours.
This story was just the beginning of my family’s medical meltdown.
Take from the anecdote what you will. Here’s your open line.