It’s no wonder health care costs so much in this country. A few years ago, I went to the doctor because I had such constant pain in my right shoulder that I couldn’t sleep some nights. I had electric shocks going down my arm that made everything between my neck and wrist throb and spasm. Some days, I could barely get my fingers to move.
So I finally broke down and went to see the doctor that I pay for health insurance every month to have at my disposal.
That was a big step for me.
I don’t like doctors. I’m sure they’re nice people, but there’s something about a white lab coat and an office that smells cleaner than it should that makes my blood pressure start spiking. So they focus on the blood pressure instead of what drove me so reluctantly to even find out where there offices are.
I explained the blood pressure issue to the GP and reassured him that, not facing a white lab coat and an overly-sterile smell, my blood pressure is fine. I can’t normally hear my pulse in my ears.
So he checked me out, decided there was nothing blood-pressure-related to the pain shooting down my arm, and sent me off to get an MRI.
Having an MRI is about the closest any of us will ever get to putting our head first and then our whole bodies into a giant condom made of plastic so hard it would defeat at least on of the purposes of condoms. Thank God the Xanax took over before I realized I had been stuffed into a giant tube like so much manicotti stuffing before it goes in the oven.
The only thing the MRI showed told them was that, yes, I do have a brain.
Not that I always use it, but it’s definitely there. At least I have proof.
From there, they referred me to a neurologist. She was a nice lady until she pulled out the tiny needles that she was going to poke into my skin and then give me a small jolt of electricity. Small is relative, by the way: it depends on which side of the button you’re sitting on. Got the button in your hand, no big deal. Can’t reach the button, small gets really big.
So she poked me, prodded me, tried to electrocute me and said she’s get back to me. It was almost certainly a herniated disc in my back.
She also prescribed a home traction unit. That involves filling a plastic bladder with water, hanging it from a hook that fits over the door, and then connecting all that to your neck. Fill it up too much, and presumably your neck with either snap or you will slowly choke to death.
I used it, but very carefully.
Thousands of dollars later (the insurance company’s, not mine), I was with my sister at a CompUSA. I saw a track-ball mouse and bought it on a fluke. I figured that it would be easier to use than what I had at the time and also take up less space on what is a decidedly crowded desk.
I wasn’t sure I would be able to use it, but I knew it would give me my shopping fix. Cheaper than me in Steinmart when things are on sale. (Sales don’t work, by the way, if you buy everything you see that you like. They only work if you exercise restraint, and I ain’t talking about cotton-ropes-around-a-bedpost restraint.)
I took my new mouse home, plugged it in and within minutes my shoulder was feeling better.
Then I looked at what had been right in front of my face: I spend a lot of time using computers, both at home and work. Using a regular mouse means a lot of repetitive motion for my right shoulder. I had told all the doctors I had seen as much.
None of them picked up on the $20 solution to a problem my insurance company paid thousands to treat.
A $20 mouse fixed my shoulder. Well, it didn’t totally fix it, but it sure-as-hell helped out a lot more than all the money Aetna spent.
Sometimes the answer’s so obvious it’d you on the nose if it were a snake. Sometimes the $20 answer makes a whole lot more sense than endless referrals and endless co-pays.
Think about that the next time you talk about health insurance.
Sometimes, less really is more.
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