Seven is the New Eighteen

I'm not having a great 24 hours.  Last night, I watched GI Joe: Retaliation.  (Jon Chu, you owe me an apology.)  Then this morning happened.  I am no longer fit to be around people today.  No amount of coffee can fix it.  I'm going to quit.  Lock myself in my bedroom, watch The West Wing on Netflix, and ponder a new business.  

Yes.  I'm thinking of starting a business.  I'll call it something like Bitch For Hire.  The name pretty well describes the service I'll provide.  Prospective clients can pay me to scream at their insurance companies.  I do it all the time for free.  I figure I might as well profit from my expertise.  I really do excel at being a raging, monstrous bitch.  It's almost a superpower.  The more timid percentage of the population could really benefit.

While you ponder this brilliant idea, let me back up and explain...

I spent the morning at the dentist with a completely freaking insane child.  My sweet daughter ceased to exist.  She was replaced with a tiny, little, human-sized mass of anxiety.  It was ugly.  She was absolutely terrified.  She was a maniac.  She wouldn't even allow the hygienist to take X-rays.  It was not the most fun I've ever had.  In fact, it was not fun at all. 

It's not like she's never been to the dentist before.  We go every 6 months.  The only explanation I can come up with for this borderline mental patient behavior is my daughter's new found total hatred and distrust for all people in scrubs or lab coats.  A little spider bite PTSD.
  
Our dentist didn't seem too invested in the battle, and surrendered fairly quickly.  She referred us to a pediatric dentist in another town. (That's how badly she wanted to get away from us.  She sent us to a dentist in an entirely different town.)  She said it would be best to have the girl sedated for the whole exam.  After what I had witnessed, I didn't think that was a terrible idea.  In fact, I kind of wanted to sedate her for the car ride home.  Or sedate myself.  Whatever.

I took the referral form from the receptionist, and we left the office.  The belligerent little angel was victorious over the evil hygienist, and my humiliation was palpable.  At least my son was leaving with sparkling teeth, and clean bill of dental health.  He was the only evidence that I have any control whatsoever over my offspring.  I may buy him a video game as a reward. (Kid if you're reading this, I love you, but I am not really buying you a video game.  Sorry.)

I called to schedule a new appointment from the car only to find that our insurance won't cover a pediatric dentist.  You see, according to the Mensa members who are responsible for planning out the terms of our medical coverage, you are an adult once you pass the ripe old age of 7.  7?  Seven??  S-E-V-E-N???  You've got to be kidding me. 

The receptionist at the office very patiently explained to me (Apparently she mistook my disbelief for stupidity.  She talked to me like I was Forrest Gump.) that I would need to pay out of pocket, and I'm not eligible for reimbursement.   Zero coverage.  None at all.  The visit, the X-rays, the nitrous and the IV would put us over $300 before she's even treated.  The treatment is additional, and they can't (or won't) price it out until these fees are paid.  Naturally, the treatment wouldn't take place on the day of the initial visit.  We would need to schedule another appointment several days later.  This is done to "make the patient more comfortable".  (This begs the question:  Can a person be uncomfortable in a nitrous haze?  Is it even possible?  I'm no expert, but I kind of thought that was the point.)  That means that we get to pay for everything, except the X-rays, twice.

How much do you think I could get for a gently used kidney?
 
All this brings me to my new venture.  Over the last 6 months or so, for a variety of reasons, I've made many, many calls to our insurance company.  (So many that I'm thinking of looking at properties in Canada.  I hear Saskatchewan is nice.)  This afternoon, yet another unsuspecting service rep will get to take my call.  I pity him/her on a personal level.  I'm sure they are actually nice people.  I'm sure they aren't medical despots lording over the sick and injured.   I'm sure they just needed a job, and only the insurance phone bank was hiring.  Hopefully when I'm done shouting, and cooler heads prevail, we can be friendly.  I'll explain to them that it's just business, and convince them to give my number to other people they're screwing over.  I could use this unfortunate situation to drum up some customers.  Bitch For Hire could my silver lining.