Your Tax Dollars At Work (At Last)

The very first day of the month you turn 65 you're suddenly covered by America's version of socialized medicine, Medicare. If you join an HMO you discover that even the co-pays are minimal or non-existant. My "primary care" doc even suggested which HMO to join. Decisions such as this are likely based on such important medical considerations as which HMO lets him see me the most often for a minor chronic condition or which HMO has the largest roster of his golfing buddys on their roster of approved doctors.

Within days of the start of that Magic Month I was suddenly getting referals to get every possible medical test known to science as eager doctors and medical testing labs seemingly came out of the woodwork, buckets in hand to milk the Cash Cow. I think that the only thing that they overlooked was whether or not I might have a propensity towards ingrown toenails (I don't). For a couple of months the week didn't go by when I wasn't subject to a test or two, or off to see a specialist.

Going from seeing a doc once or twice a year, mostly because I really HAD to, to becoming such a fixture in their examination room that we're now on a first name basis sure is different, as is discussing whether or not the knockers on the new receptionist are really that high and firm sans bra. I've also discovered that doctors, male docs anyway, are constantly kvetching about sex, or lack there of. "My wife never puts out, but if I divorce her she'll take me to the cleaners!" is a common refrain. Another frequent complaint is hair, or lack there of. It seems that a lot of guys in the medical field start losing it early. They look longingly at my big mop of the stuff, and they never fail to inquire about my secret. I tell them "Hell, you're the doctor! What do I know! I dropped out of college in the first semester!" Then I try to make them feel REALLY bad. "The secret to having a full head thick curly hair at age sixty-five is to screw lots of young chicks on a regular basis" I tell them.

Good For Thirty More Years!

That's what I'm hoping for, anyway. Here's part of the office staff at my doctor's office. He's part of a group practice. Sole practioners are so passe these days. It requires a staff just to hassle with all the paperwork connected with dealing with HMO's and Medicare. I like the Medicare thing, Uncle Sam paying for my medical care. On the other hand it makes you wonder if there's any money left for the doctor after trying to pay the staff from the negotiated low rates the HMO will pay. I told my doc that as long as the magazines are new and the coffee pot full of fresh coffee (and he doesn't keep me waiting too long) I'll come in for a visit whenever he can think of an excuse to examine me. We both come out ahead and I get to flirt with these smiling young ladies. As for my health? Everything looks good! "Thirty more years" he said. I wondered what that cute young lady on the left will look like in thirty years. I wondered if I'll even still care.