I hate insurance. Especially mine, which is just beyond crap. I have to call a different place for every single question, so the person who tells me which doctor is covered can't tell me at what rate, and the person who tells me how much it will cost to go to the doctor can't tell me which medications are on the "preferred" list, so that I can ask specifically for that drug. I've been on the phone for an hour, and every single person I've talked to has been completely useless. (Thanks for everything you do Yvette, Jessica and Sarita. *scowl*)
My place of employment no longer has in-house HR, and the people in the corporate office have no idea why I'm calling them with questions that should be directed to the local representative (who doesn't exist). They also don't have the answers to my questions, since they apparenlty can't be bothered with trivial details like insurance, FMLA and workman's comp. They have much more important things to discuss, like where exactly the motivational posters should be placed in the break-room. There are a number of websites that I can go to to find out bits and pieces of the information that I need, but it's pretty much "enter your question and we'll give you the answer." So, I can type in the name of any drug that I want, and they'll tell me if or how it's covered, but there's not just a list so that I can go to my doctor and say "here, pick one of these please." Fabulous, insurance provided by Magic 8-Ball®.
No one will tell me if a skin-cancer screen falls under "preventive care." If it does, I can head off to the doctor right now, and the deductible won't apply. If it doesn't, I have to wait until we can afford to shell out $250 for someone to make me take off my clothes and take pictures of my freckles. There's a big difference between $25 and $250 and I don't understand why the girl on the phone can't tell me which amount I need. Also, I might need to get pre-approved for care,but it depends on what the doctor does. How the hell am I supposed to know that before I go in? Insurance girl doesn't know. She says "I know that sounds like it doesn't make sense." Well, yeah. I feel like screaming and crying and throwing myself down the (nonexistent, in this house) stairs. Instead I'm going to clean out the car, dust and vacuum. Diversion therapy. Free. (Although probably not covered under my plan.)