Back in October, I was unloading the dishwasher and a wine glass broke in my hand and cut my thumb. Now, being the tough broad that I am (stop laughing!!) I wrapped it up tightly in 3-4 band aids and got on with my day. Later that night, (about 6 hours later) Chris asked to see it, and the second the band aid was unwrapped, the blood started gushing.
"You have to go to the hospital and get that stitched", said my sweet, concerned husband.
"No- I think it will be OK" said the terrified chicken (hereby known as me).
After a bit of negotiating, including the words, "You have insurance, you should just go and get it taken care of. It's no big deal."
No less-true words have been spoken.
Now, the story of the Mt Sinai ER at 10:00 on a Tuesday night is a story in itself. Let's just suffice it to say it is run by teenagers. At least that's the way it seemed to me.
From the person who checked me in, to the x-ray "technicians" (U M Med students), to the pimple-faced resident/intern/nursery school student who did the actual stitching, I do not exaggerate when I say 90% of the people I dealt with that night were younger than me. By at least 10 years.
The only doctor I saw the whole time was some guy who came in, looked at the finger, ordered (unnecessary) x-rays (b/c I later found out that one cannot see glass on an x-ray so what was he looking for when I made it perfectly clear that this cut was created by GLASS), and glanced at it once again when the stitches were done. He then pointed out to the pimple-faced kid that he missed a stitch in the center and after my screams of fear and protest, told Kid to just glue it. (With crazy glue! Why all the needles when we could have done crazy glue all along?!?!?)
(PS-I had just finished telling Chris about the missed stitch and how I could totally live with it right before this so maybe I should go to medical school too)
So-once I was home with my finger wrapped in a ridiculous amount of gauze and my Tylenol PM for the pain, I thought - OK It's over with. At least I have insurance and I don't have to worry about this any more.
Until (UNTIL!) a couple of months later, I get a bill from the hospital. So, I fill out the back where it asks for insurance info (I already did this at the hospital but - Kids who run hospitals get things messed up sometime so I will tell them again) Still NBD.
Then I started getting a lot of bills. Bills with the words "Collection" on them. Bills that told me there was something wrong. Now, mind you, I have not heard one word from my insurance company (Hereby known as Bumana to protect the *cough* innocent)
Instead I called Bumana myself and told them I was getting bills that they should be taking care of. That is, after all why I saw off a limb each month and mail it to them in a little envelope. So when bad things happen, I don't have to worry right?!?!?
Wrong. I was informed that I have a $9000.00 ER Deductible. (That's right. Go back and count the 00000's.) And so, I am left to pay this out of pocket.
Me-"But I was never told there was a separate deductible for the ER. And definitely not that it was $9000.00"
Mean Nasty Bumana Lady-("HAHAHAHAHAHA SUCKERRR!!")
Me-"So why do I pay you hundreds of dollars every month if you don't cover an almost $3000.00 ER bill?"
MNBL- "Too bad. So sad. Why don't you cry about it."
(No, I'm lying, what she really said was-now get this-)
"You have insurance for catastrophic injuries. Once you reach the ($9000.00) deductible, we would pay everything else."
Me-"............."
Bottom line- there is nothing whey were willing to do. Joke's on me.
Ans here is where I begin my adventure in Collection Agency Land!!!
Stay Tuned...
(To be Continued)
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