Health care is my newest hobby. It’s pretty fun. I’m like the Six Hundred Dollar (deductible) Man. I never had health care growing up, so access is still new to me. The whole “Go to the doctor when you don’t feel right” is a little odd. But when the semester ended, I finally gave in and yelled “ALRIGHT” to my body and took it in for an oil change or three.
SIDE NOTE: This is no Obamacare message, kids; I had to have it for college. Obamacare, however, I have no real issue with despite its $300 million faulty website.
I’ve been playing catch-up. Doctors here, dentists there, dermatologists here, physical therapy there. It’s become apparent that my body is no longer the free-spirited albatross it once was. I used to pass doctor’s offices like a bicycle passes gas stations. “No thanks!” I would yell, though really, I didn’t even see them. But health is something I actually have to think about now.
And you should see me, really, selecting boxes on forms and explaining details to assistants like a novelist. “The pain in my knee visits like an ill-fated wayfarer in late winter’s morn, a bitter kiss of chillness, a choking warmth of distasted familiarity, financing terror in—”
“So it hurts here?”