I’ve spent the last two days on the phone with the friendly folks at Medicare. Seems I’ve been on disability long enough that I’m eligible and — unless you tell them, “no thanks,” — they sign you up automatically.
So I spent a half day wading through Part A, Part B, and the exceptionally confusing Part C, and a day and a half on Part D, which is prescription drug coverage. It has got to be the greatest shame ever foisted on the American public, and I defy any Congresspig to explain it to their grandchildren. Of course, they couldn’t. How on earth did this debacle, this tragedy, this bloody abortion of a prescription drug plan ever get passed? It boggles the mind.
There are prescription-drug-only plans and prescription-drugs-plus plans (which may include vision or other coverages.) After providing a list of my daily meds, the Medicare Rep told me about what the computer says is the best plan for me. But one drug was in dispute: I said there was no generic equivalent, the computer insisted there was. Many phone calls later, I prove I am correct, but the computer won’t let the agent (a different one, of course) override the generic option. Of course, there has to be a way, I insist ten times. After the eleventh plea, Ms. Helpful finally talks to a supervisor and finds there is, indeed, a way to do so. And the chip on her shoulder grows exponentially.
Now I have a new price for the recommended plan but, she explains, it’s only good until I hit the infamous “donut hole.” (I won’t even try to explain this to you, even though I finally understand it, although I still don’t understand whether the criteria for reaching it is based on what I’ve spent or what Medicare has spent.) But yesterday, I say, I was told this plan has no donut hole. Every plan has a donut hole, Ms. Helpful insists, and not five minutes later, she’s trying to explain a different plan which has no donut hole. I just don’t have the stomach to point it out.
After getting off the phone and doing lots of calculations based on information that may or may not be correct, it appears that my DieSuckah Health Insurance policy is actually very close to my true cost of Medicare. And at least I’ve met my deductible for the year, and at this point I know what is and isn’t covered — including that disputed prescription which I take daily, which doesn’t have a generic, and which, until I hit the deductible, costs me $500/month.
(This is true now, but I will be getting my annual premium increase in April, which has been running close to 20% per year, in which case, Medicare probably will be the better option. But — get this — if you don’t sign up as soon as you become eligible, the Part D premium goes up every month. Sooo… it’s impossible to know which will be the better value in 60 days.)
I’ve wasted two days of my life just sorting it out and coming to this conclusion, although as I said, I don’t have much faith that I’m basing my calculations on correct data. Oh, boy. Who would have thought — it seems our friends in the federal government may have provided me a raison d’etre after all.
My new goal is not only to campaign for health care reform, but to strip our Congresspigs of their gluttonous plan, which includes donations to their election campaigns, luxury travel, and complete health, vision, dental, botox, shoe shines, massages and prescription coverage for themselves and their families, staff, neighbors and acquaintances, for their whole lives and at least one afterlife. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?