I ran into Sandy this morning. She was just back from camping vacation in New Mexico and southern Colorado. First week was wonderful, she said. Great people, beautiful places. Then things began to go downhill.
Sandy (not her real name) and her husband are in their late 50's/early 60's. I know her because she manages a small business I use frequently. Her husband is a life-long contractor turned odd-job renovator as he nears retirement. They are semi-retired and live in their RV. They moved here because they have children and grandchildren in the area and knew there was plenty of work to be found for older people with their skills. They try to take at least one trip a year with the grandkids as well as several long weekends throughout the year -- sometimes down on a favorite beach on the Gulf, sometimes in the mountains of central New Mexico. This Colorado trip was a two-weeker they'd been looking forward to for a long time.
The car, an aging GM, started giving them trouble towards the end of the first week. Sandy's husband thought the smartest thing they could do, rather than head straight for home across the empty spaces across West Texas in the full heat of summer, would be to head for Albuquerque first and take the car to a good garage. Sandy started feeling a little queasy on the way to the big city. She had tummy pains, the feeling that she was about to throw up. By that night, she figured she had at least a bad tummy bug, maybe something more serious.
The "more serious" threat hung over her head all night, so in the morning she went looking for a medical opinion. The hospital has a walk-in clinic attached to it. They looked her over and dismissed the problem as a plain old tummy bug. They took no tests, did no thorough physical exam. Another overnight with extreme pain and vomiting.
Next stop was the emergency room of the hospital itself. There she waited for ten hours before even seeing a medical professional. When she did, she was once again dismissed as making a big deal out of a tummy bug. By now, though, she knew better. She knew the symptoms strongly suggested appendicitis and said so. She was told to come back in the morning for some tests.
The next morning she went in for a CAT scan. Serious appendicitis was diagnosed and she was given a hospital bed where she was prepped for surgery that day. The next morning, she was released.
Sandy and her husband have a good nest egg but no insurance -- unaffordable at their level of income. Sandy's boss, a small business man, can't afford it; her husband's "early retirement" meant being self-employed and we know what that means.
Before she left the hospital, she was asked to write a check for $23,o00 for the overnight stay in a hospital bed. This included nothing but a (presumably uneaten) meal and an overnight stay with minimal nursing. $23,000.
The clinic asked for $170 for her visits. She protested and was told they would rewrite the bill and send it to her with a discount if she'd pay cash. When she got home, she found the clinic's bill had been upped to $400.
Still facing her (in addition to a woozy, painful car trip the morning after surgery) were the as yet unknown costs for surgery, for any meds, for the CAT scan, and for any other add-ons which she may have been unaware of when she was in surgery or in recovery. She hasn't had those bills yet. We talked about it a little and figured the nest-egg will be almost wiped out.
The amazing thing is that the appendix didn't burst; there was no peritonitis. But that was just damn good luck. What's not so lucky is that she lives in a country that sells health care at scam prices, and isn't shy about making you wait for it until you're in really serious -- expensively serious -- shape.
