Near Life Experience

I almost died on my half-birthday yesterday. At least that’s what it felt like was happening. The day started out like any other including an early morning walk with Groom, a camera in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

We were savoring the light, the shift in late summer flowers, noticing the bounty of growing squash in neighborhood gardens and having a great conversation.

But within 30 minutes of coming home, my throat started to swell and I was having trouble breathing. I could barely swallow and each attempt was excruciating. I could not eat and certainly could not speak.

Without insurance, things that would be scary enough under any circumstances tend to take on diabolical dimensions. My experience was abnormal and medical attention certainly needed. Groom called my doctor, even though I have not seen him in years (uninsured, remember?). Unfortunately, his office is in the midst of being relocated.

We were given the option of seeing another doctor later that afternoon out in Thurston or going to a walk-in clinic immediately here in Eugene. In between crying from the pain, trying to catch my breath and learning very quickly not to swallow, I made what I thought was a fiscally sound and life-affirming decision: The walk-in clinic.

I didn’t know if I would be around long enough to be seen late in the afternoon and when Groom called the clinic, they told him no one was in the waiting room and there were two doctors on staff so to come on down. We made sure that it was not the ER and we were assured that the ER had moved to RiverBend.

Fifteen minutes later when we walked through the door to the clinic, it was not empty. Several scary looking people, yes, scary, in various states of drug impairment were crying, yelling, coughing and one woman was complaining there was blood on the chair. Another man was taking a taxi to the Mission. This only confirmed that this was a “we see everybody” clinic.

Throughout the entire ordeal, I asked every person I encountered, from the check in person, the man who took my temperature and blood pressure, the nurse, the doctor, to the X-Ray technician how much these services were going to cost as I was uninsured.

 Each person told me, “don’t worry about it.” Then added their own special deflection, “That’s not my department,” “I make sure not to know about the financial end of things,” “you’ll have to ask the front desk,” the front desk told me I’d have to ask billing, billing told me they had to wait for the coding which could take up to fourteen days.

 Afterwards, to allay my concern (she says bitterly) they said I was being charged for an emergency visit. Plus a hospital room (you mean that little curtained cubicle?), plus the services of an ER doctor, plus emergency X-Rays, the strep culture, medications (liquid steroids to calm the swelling so I could breathe).

What? On a Tuesday mid-morning? This was a walk-in clinic. This was not after hours, this was not on the weekend, this happened in the middle of the day during the middle of the week. The billing clerk estimated the charges as several thousand dollars. For someone to look at my throat and peer into my ears?

 I am almost speechless. After all my asking about the cost of services before I accepted them, why could they only tell me that on my way out the door? How is it that nobody could or would answer my questions so I could make an informed decision, but acted as though they had no idea until it was too late?

By the way, in case you’re curious, negative on the strep, normal blood pressure, no temperature.

But imagine this if you will. Moments earlier, my 80-year old father was painting his bedroom. He set the paint can on top of the ladder. He bumped the ladder, paint fell down went boom. All over his clothes, all over his shoes, all over the carpet, all over the plastic covered furniture.

My mother hears from the other room, “No. No no no. Nooo.” She enters the room to see my father covered in white paint. Next, they are squatting on the floor (not easy to do in my 40’s!), scooping up the paint with spoons. Retaining their renowned senses of humor, my mother asks dad, “Hon, was this on your list for today?”

He replies, “Of course it was. Was it on yours?” Then the phone rings on their end. Groom is calling to tell them about the near miss with their youngest daughter while we wait for my emergency room prescribed Rx. They don’t miss a beat, don’t bother to tell their son-in-law that they are covered in paint, they just lend their ear and support.

So if I didn’t die yesterday, but am not yet totally excited over that fact (too tired, bummed about the looming bills), then I can certainly at least look for the life affirming lesson and possible gift from this whatever it might turn out to be.