Breast Reconstruction – Take 61
Anyone who has read my book—or been within five feet of me during one of my rants—knows that I had insurance when I was diagnosed with Stage III breast cancer three years ago, but it didn’t do me much good. Hence, the “zero.” All during my cancer treatment, my husband, Ken, got the lovely job of switching from insurance plan to insurance plan six times while I parked it on the couch feeling sick as a dog. Hence, the six.
Now that Ken has a new job, I get to choose to stay on the sixth plan or go for a seventh provided through his work. I think I’d rather do housework and we all know how I feel about that.
I spent all day today calling doctors: “Hi, Surgeon Number One. Are you covered by Insurance Company Number Five? What about Company Number Six? Okay, good. By the way, I hope I never see you again. I’m hanging on to Boob Number Two for dear life… hello, Plastic Surgeon, I still need to see you because we uh…. never finished… the um… first surgery. I’m still missing a nipple. Oh, you aren’t covered by Number Six, but you are by Number Five? Perfect.”
Is there such a thing as supplemental insurance for mental stability? I think I need it.
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