This is the amount of money that the hospital alone - Alta Bates Summit in Oakland, California - is billing my insurance company for 25 days of treating me for acute leukemia. That is over $11,000 per day. That does not include the separate bills coming in from the assorted labs. The good news is that my Blue Shield of California policy will take the hit and do most of the grappling. My out-of-pocket costs should not be more than a mere several thousand dollars, when all is said and done. This is not how the system works, of course, with various labs already sending me "gimme now!" bills for the portions my insurance company has disallowed. That an acute leukemia patient would be on the receiving end of such soulful sensitivity galls me and most of my friends. Of course right work deserves right pay. And the vultures are circling already. Isn't our system truly - please pardon me, I really need to use this word here - fucked up?
I spent a week having stared at the pile of bills, frozen in anxiety. That the first one I slashed open was this $277,728.37 from Alta Bates slithered me to bug-eyed jello status. The amount is beyond surreal, on many levels. It is almost funny. Even while in the hospital, I'd mused that that portion of our show would run a hundred thousand.... perhaps even two. That the bill is pushing $300K, well over a quarter of a million USDollars.... wow. Am I in the wrong business or what? We won't even talk about the tanking global markets and my work on hold now!
So this is an intriguing distraction before I return for another round tomorrow. Stacey's museum shot will grace this page while I try and do as much admin as I can with strong blood counts and hearty adrenal glands egging me along. How much reading can I do on bone marrow transplants and long-term prognoses while I'm duking it out with an ending CalCOBRA policy and trying to find a Guaranteed Issue to invite me on board (for serious premium costs) beginning Feb. 1st? I have a mental image of a klutzy juggler being tossed more and more balls while on a creaking merry-go-round that's accelerating. Let's have some cranky bats darting amidst the painted carousel horses. Add 1920's music on crackling speakers. And one of these moments it'll all become so completely ridiculous that I'll start laughing.....
I will let all of you know my exact hospital address after I've been given a room tomorrow. I have a new hospital and new oncologist.... a new team. Stay tuned......
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Yes, it is outrageous the amount of money they charge. Did they actually DO $277,728.37 worth of service? As in "If you had not come to them would their costs have been $250K less?" (10% would be a reasonable profit.) Probably not, but if they are like most hospitals, they aggregate their costs over the year, add in a profit margin and divide by the number of paid patient days they expect to be able to collect from and then add on the %40 discount they will work out with the insurance co. I doubt what you see is what they will actually pay. That's why an aspirin costs $9. It's a numbers game intended to befuddle those who are distracted by more important things.
In 1995 my son was born with a condition (nesidioblastosis) that causes the pancreas to periodicly dump huge amounts of insulin, causing blood sugars to plummit (<20) which can cause brain damage, siezures and death. Some kids with this condition stabilize if maintained for a while. Others require a 97% pancreatectomy. Downside of the pancreatectomy is that the child will probably become juvinile diabetic.
We were hoping for a better solution, but after 30 days in the NICU they told us that we were up to $350,000 and the insurance Through my wife's job) would run out if we held out. Of course we caved. Today we have a 13 year old rebel with an A1C of 9.2.
I guess what I'm saying is that I share your outrage at the confusion, fear and intimidation used by this irresponsible, capitalistic healthcare system. There has got to be a better way. The professionals should be paid well for what they do when they do it well, but what we have now goes way beyond all that.
I hope this round goes well. Sending you thoughts of peace and love. Keep fighting. Never give up.
ß.
Hi "BMW" (wink): What is an A1C of 9.2? That code I missed.
I think the saddest I felt was when I asked one of the Summit (prior hospital) nurses what happens when someone like me with AML comes in with NO insurance. They get basic care - not nearly the amount of fussing and fuming I receive - and then are sent home. On a soul level I rail against my perceptions of "NOT FAIR!!!!" But then I'm not God and I'm not running the Universe. Apropos of nothing, that's why the MGM musical in the 1940's captivated a nation while WWII raged. Hope and goodness tug at our essential natures, even amidst carnage too evil and insane to articulate. I know that "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger" but sometimes I just want a nice chocolate-dipped soft ice cream cone with no consequences other than the moment's pleasure. (Does this make me a narcissistic Buddhist?).
BMW, I am wrapped in peace and love from you. BLESS YOU.
A1C is a blood test that guages average blood sugar levels over the past 3 months or so. For someone who doesn't have diabetes, a normal A1C level is about 5 percent — although it can range from 4.5 to 6 percent. Someone who's had uncontrolled diabetes for a long time might have an A1C level as high as 25 percent.
Target for diabetics is to get under 7. 7-11 is poor and above 11 is bad.
In Colin's case, he is at least down from the last 10.5, but at 13 1/2, with no palpable symptoms, he blows off his responsibilities. That 12" honkin' scar below his ribcage just isn't enough of a reminder. At his age, sickness and death is for old people who just kind of disappear.
In a couple of years I want to get him volunteering someplace where he can see and get to know late stage diabetics. There is nothing more eye opening than seeing someone you know and love (like you) going through serious illness. It's easy to feel invulnerable until you suddenly find out you aren't.
It's easier to feel whole and nearly immortal until one is ill and frightened. One of the ass-kickers about this AML is that it just leapt out of the bushes. One of the humbling aspects in being hospitalized is seeing my system weakened through chemo before it gets protected by a truckload of antibiotics and then allowed to restrengthen. Keeping psyche and spirit up come and go.
Survivors of grievous threat and near death know what I mean.
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