Sicko

If you haven't yet seen Michael Moore's new documentary, I highly recommend it. I think it's his best, most unbiased report thus far and forever changed my idea of the American health care industry. Unlike his others, in this film he allows the stories to speak for themselves and he always has evidence to back himself up. It will no doubt show you sides of our "illustrious" and "top-notch" medical field like you've never seen before. There is a reason the American health care system is ranked 37 in the world and those "crazy" socialized countries (or at least, those who have socialized medicine) are in the top 10.

I had benefits orientation yesterday. From 2-3:30 I sat with 12 other new employees and we were schooled on how to choose the right plans, medical and retirement. I was only half listening, partly because the majority of the time was spent answering people's questions like "what's a premium" and "so, are you sure the university contributes to your retirement", but also because I already have insurance. My only decision needs to be made regarding retirement and whether or not Robin and I will be doubly covered, or which of our plans will be primary and which will be secondary. My intention was to take all the material home and decide for myself, so this whole orientation thing was much more of a brief rundown.

One man kept asking the most hair-splitting, nitty gritty questions imaginable. I couldn't quite place his accent, but it sounded French. It was obvious he came from a hybrid of cultures and was new to the block. He was confused as to how we know what 30% of the total cost of a special procedure is when we don't know what the total cost is. He didn't understand billing. He didn't understand emergency procedures. When we were covering the eye appointment section, it clearly states "$20 co-pay" but he didn't get that unlike billing, you had to pay a co-pay up front. This guy was really getting on my nerves. I was pissed because the questions he was asking were not for orientation. It was obvious that he needed far more help than could be provided while this lady was trying to orient 12 people. I kept it to myself, but the woman eventually had to say, "Okay, these are great questions, but we really have to move on. Talk to me afterwards."

I looked over at the man, who was accompanied by his wife. I stewed over the fact that we would barely scratch the surface of the "retirement" section, the one that interested me the most. Then I realized what a complete asshole I was being, but it really hit me when I heard him whisper to his wife, "If only we were back in France."

He wasn't "getting" it because he never had to deal with crap like co-pays, billing and the hierarchy of which medical procedures cost more than others. He never had to worry about whether or not he could afford it if he were injured and couldn't work for awhile. He didn't have to contemplate just how much he needed to pay out of pocket for extra insurance in the case that he or a loved one needed a really expensive procedure. He didn't comprehend why you wouldn't have to pay for the eye exam but the glasses would only be covered a certain amount. In short, he didn't understand why medical care cost anything.

I was enraged. Not only was I being a jerk for letting myself get so upset at this man, but I was even more upset and how he was absolutely right. Just why the hell is there a co-pay when the doctor's visit is only $100? Why am I paying for medical coverage only 70% of which is actually covered (some restrictions apply)? Why can't I get medical leave for more than 2 months should I get something like, say, cancer or lukemia? What's going on with us?

Greed. The reason people in our nation aren't cared for, from the richest to the poorest, is greed. A health care company's bottom line is mandated by whether or not someone receives care. If they don't get care but they pay into the system, they're a positive investment. If they someday need care, all those months of payment mean little when the poor company is forced to do what they said they would. And even then, Michael Moore does a phenomenal job of showing how quickly companies will deny claims, stop payment, or just pretend like their client is a huge risk (see: woman who because she once had a yeast infection and saw her doctor for medicine was dropped by her insurance). The more people can be denied medical care, the richer the company becomes. The more money an executive at that company saves by doing such evil, the more they are promoted and the higher their bonuses become. I sat staring at my paperwork, verging on simply throwing it in the air and walking out of the room.

The more I think about it, the more I worry about my future as a medical patient in our health care industry. I worry if I'll be able to afford expensive procedures should I need them. I worry about keeping healthy so I don't get fired from my job. I worry that if something happens to Robin, I'll have to keep plugging away at work, because if I don't I'll find myself unemployed. I don't know how or why we let ourselves be convinced that socialized medicine was an evil plague, illogical and a system of chaos. Let me tell you this: if you are able to watch "Sicko" and still feel yourself bolstered in the American health care system, you weren't paying attention.

New Beginnings

I accepted and began my new position as the Administrative Assistant for the Law Library. Located in the fancy new Knight Law Center, the Law Library is located on the south end of the second floor. I interviewed for the position in early August. I can honestly say that it was my best interview ever. It was a two hour ordeal, the first hour being a panel of three people (the Director, her assistant and the Acquisitions person), the second hour being ten people (the rest of the staff). Each interview felt more like a conversation rather than a job interview. Towards the end of each hour, we were simply chatting about office stuff. I always kept it professional and cleverly found ways of tying what we were talking about to pertinent experience. My effort must have paid off, because when Mary Ann (the Director and my new boss) called, she said that her staff's official recommendation had a sticky note attached which read, "You'd be crazy not to hire him".

Also during my interview, I caught a glimpse of the office occupied by my predecessor. It overlooked the garden and was flanked by two beautiful trees. My first official day was yesterday and I breezed past that office only to find that someone else had moved in. At first, I was a little disappointed. That is, until I saw my office. It is a couple of doors down and was originally intended for the Director herself. It's absolutely humongous, has floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooks the garden, has maple cabinetry and is, in a word, stunning. I beamed with joy.

My boss proceeded to re-introduce me to the library staff and then took me on a brief tour of the school. Absolutely everyone I met was warm and inviting. They were authentically pleased to meet me, welcome me into their family, and ensured me that if I needed anything related to their field to give them a holler. I have to admit that I was surprised that in a law school, everyone was so incredibly nice. Prejudice be damned!

I meandered over to the main library complex to sign my paperwork. Mary Ann walked me there and we discussed lots of things, from my position to the school to Eugene in general. She is a wonderful, bright, caring, funny individual. To be sure, she gave me the best first impression any boss has ever given me. Because of my experience, she didn't want to start me off at the base salary for my position. She had told me as much but we never settled on a salary until I reached HR. There, I found out that her negotiations were successful and I did indeed receive a nice raise.

I was so happy leaving work yesterday. I dove right into my work and before I knew it, the day was over. I excitedly told Robin all about it, after showing him my office of course. He sighed and said, "I wish my corporate culture was like that. I'm so happy for you, but I'm envious". Then it hit me - I am fortunate. I'm incredibly fortunate to now be working where I am. A place where they actually appreciate their administrative assistants and pay them? Crazy.

Early this morning I checked my email. I had a personal message from the Dean of the Law School, welcoming me to the family and relaying that she had already heard good things and was looking forward to meeting me. I'm now sitting here towards the end of my day, looking out my window-wall and smiling. For a year that has been so rigorous, so demanding, this sure is a great way to start the next step in my career.

ZING!

Robin and I attended a "congratulations" party for our friend Aimee who graduated from her Masters teaching program. The potluck was a dazzling array of yummies, from dill havarti to pierogis. I love pierogis and speaking of, they happened to be vegan. Everyone was commenting on how delicious the pierogis were and how they wished there were more. I picked up mine, took a hearty bite, swallowed and said puzzled, "Wait. These can't be vegan. They don't taste like dirt and guilt."

Little Creatures

I must preface this by saying that the following post will probably come off as a bit self-aggrandizing. You know, because none of my other posts are ever written that way. I'm not trying to say I have a supernatural connection to little creatures or anything, but their lives are very important to me. To be unconscious and uncaring about squashing bugs is something for children (and even then, their parents should teach them otherwise), and in my opinion, should be something that stays with children.

On the bus this morning was a very frustrated little spider. At first glance, I thought the little critter in my arm hair was an ant, but on closer inspection, it was a very tiny spider. It was obviously pissed, awkwardly crawling around in my difficult-to-navigate forest of hair, trying to wrench itself free from the uneven landscape. I started laughing to myself and watched the spider climb and descend, climb and descend. The bus was entering the station and I realized that although I was amused, the spider was not and I felt a responsibility to help this little being onto a more hospitable surface. I placed my thumb and index finger in front of the spider, blocking the forest and ushering it onto the hairless underpart of my forearm. Once the spider reached the clearing, it stopped for a moment, and then skittered across the vast expanse. Now exiting the bus, I coaxed it onto my hand, where the spider immediately dropped, suspended by an invisible thread of webbing. Taking the opportunity, I held the dangling spider close to a tree and it latched on, detached from its anchor, and hurried off.

I moved on to the next bus and waited for its eventual departure. Alone with my thoughts, I took myself over the previous five minutes with the spider. I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of responsibility and joy in the closeness I had to the tiny critter. I mean, this spider was probably a baby. Or at least, a very very small breed of spider. I was full-on anthropomorphizing the whole situation, thinking about how the spider was "frustrated" and how it just "wanted" to get "home". This thought process brought a smile to my face. Why not fantasize about the spider's emotional state? Hey, if I were a spider in the same situation, I would be completely irritated.

I remembered being on a walk earlier this summer with some friends in the gorgeous Deer Creek wilderness. We were walking along, and on the ground I saw a beetle. It was larger than normal, black, and had iridescent purple, green and blue wings. I crouched down and marveled at its beauty. This little bug, walking around and doing its little buggy thing. Right then, a pink polished foot smashed the ground in front of me. I was horrified. The foot removed and there lay the beetle, instantly crushed by someone I knew. My temper flared. I had to contain the rage that I wanted to display and said, "Why did you DO that?!" My friend shrugged and said, "It was a bug. I tell my kids [in the classroom] that whenever they see a bug to do the same thing." I turned away disgusted. I was incensed. I couldn't even talk to that person for the remainder of the walk.

After helping the spider to a more amenable locale, I thought of my friend. I thought of how easy it would have been to smash that little spider and wipe my hand, disgusted at the mess spiders make when crushed. I thought of the callous attitude one must have towards other creatures, be they big or small, and how if they don't "fit" into your existence, you just erase them. Bugs are not gross. Sorry to break it to you, but without those "bugs", our world would be vastly, enormously different. Just ask a biologist friend or perhaps read a book! Unless you can't read. But then how have you made it this far into my blog post? Weeeiiiird.

Personal reflection has brought me to a point of no return concerning critters and nature in general. To stomp on anything we please, to squash beings that have no mal intent or avarice towards us seems to me to be a reflection on one's character. It is one thing to kill a creature because it is truly harmful if left unchecked (e.g. black widow nest in one's house), but it is quite another to willfully destroy a life because you "just don't like bugs". Part of me wishes the same were true for us. You know, like in the case of my friend. I could smash one of her extremities and just say that I "just don't like pink nail polish".

The Fair

Long time, no post. Oh well, I'm sure the summer days have seen you baskin' under oak trees, throwin' rocks, fishin', and chewin' on wheat stalks. No?

We went to the fair last night. Robin and I met up with Doug, James, Eric and Chandra. The checklist we had (and always have) was to see the animals, booths, midway, get dinner, basket fries, funnel cake and if there's room onion rings. You see, I normally do quite a good job of staying away from the fried foods. When ordering at restaurants, I am shameless enough to ask for a few fries off another person's plate while smugly asking for a side salad with olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing. One time at Steelhead Brewery, I heard their dressing options but didn't hear "balsamic vinegar", so I asked if they had an oil and vinegar dressing. Turns out they don't, but the waitress told me they did and proceeded to bring me two individual plastic Pepto-Bismol cups, one filled with red wine vinegar and the other with Canola oil. By the time I realized that the oil was of the Canola variety, the server had strolled off and I was too hungry to ask for more dressing. Bad idea. Don't ever put Canola oil on your salad. For the love of god, DON'T do it. Wait, what was this post about again? Oh yeah.

The fair is always such an interesting experience for me, both socially and culturally. Going with another gay couple (Eric and Chandra), I was hopeful that I wouldn't feel the same way I did last year when we went with a straight couple. That is to say, I didn't think I would suffer the inevitable glares from people who don't get out much and see difference in their world. After all, with two gay couples, we were twice as formidable! However, a powerful insecurity soon choked me when I felt the first stare. All Robin had to do was pat my tush or say the three words and we got families, parents and others silently screaming for us to take our faggot asses out of their quality time.

(Note: blogger.com is trying to spell-correct the word "faggot". Hooray for you, Blogger! Way to avoid lawsuits!)

I let my insecurities get the best of me by allowing those people to win. I would quickly (dis)regard Robin's affection rather than basking in it like I desperately wanted to. The food was great, the animals are friggin' adorable (e.g. piglets who were rubbing against our hands and sniffing us with their soft little noses), and the booths were chatchkirific. Everything I wanted from the fair was bestowed upon me, with beloved memories of my childhood surfacing again and again. Everything, that is, except the ability to cope with my own insecurity. But that isn't the fair's fault now is it?

I went home with a tummy ache from the oily food and a sincere displeasure with myself. What are those country bumpkins going to do, anyway? Start shit? Why shouldn't I be able to have fun with my man in my town? This morning, I feel ashamed that rather than have to bravery to show others that love comes in all shapes and sizes, I stopped myself from being a genuine person. I walked around like a shadow of myself, dodging the faintest light. Last year, I just blamed my reaction on the "rednecks", but next year I'll tell you what. No more Mr. Nice Gay!