Medicaid

 

(It's tough being poor.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 11 a.m. and stumbled to the patio for a cigarette. I was dead on my feet due to my overnight work schedule. Some days, I’m forced to survive on catnaps. And let me tell you motherfuckers something. It’s not the easiest thing in the world for a man of my advanced years.

As I was puffing on my generic cancer stick, I decided to call a local clinic to make an appointment for Rice-Boy Larry. He starts his senior year of high school in August, and he doesn’t have all of the required vaccinations. South Korea and the United States have different standards.

A woman answered the phone.

I said, “I’d like to make an appointment for my son.”

“How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

“And are you insured?”

“Sort of. He’s on Medicaid.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Finally, she said, “Well, we’re all booked up until July.”

“That’s six weeks.”

“I’m well aware of that, sir. But we’re very popular in the area. Are you still interested?”

“Yes.”

“Has your son been here before?”

“No.”

“Then you need to go to our website and make an appointment.”

And that’s exactly what I did. I filled in all of Rice-Boy’s information and pressed the submit button. A message soon popped up stating that I’d be getting an email within the next few days.

I started getting paranoid. Does being a Medicaid deadbeat interfere with proper scheduling? I mean, six weeks seems like a hell of a long time. But I remembered that my mother has to wait ages to get to see her physician. It’s just the way that America seems to roll.

Then my mind started getting hit with nightmare scenarios. What happens if the kid comes down with something like strep throat. It’s a common ailment that can turn fatal if left untreated. By the time he gets to see a professional, he might actually be dead.

I certainly don’t want to badmouth America. It’s my country. Yet the healthcare system seems a tad shoddy. No wonder our life expectancy lags behind the other OECD nations. I bet I could fly to Djibouti and get the same level of service. In fact, it’s kind of shameful when you think about it. After all, we’re supposed to be the best nation in the world.

Mom said, “There’s probably another option. Call the Department of Health.”

So I gave it a try, and I explained Rice-Boy’s situation to the receptionist.

She said, “Do you have a list of the vaccinations he received in Korea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ve got a division not far from your house. Bring his information, and we’ll get you squared away. We even have a clinic that will give your boy the shots he needs.”

I hung up the phone. It was a huge relief.

I looked at my mother. “You know, not having insurance could actually be deadly in this country.”

“You need to start talking to more poor people. They know all the tricks.”

“Where am I gonna meet poor folk?”

“Excuse me. You work at the Waffle House.”

She certainly has a point. A network of deadbeats could help guide me safely past the slings and arrows of this unforgiving life.

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