At a crowded family breakfast some months back, my brothers Clay and Dick were talking about their assorted health concerns, when Clay unexpectedly asked me, “What’s your health insurance?”
I shrugged and said, “Good luck.”
“Wait, you don’t have health insurance?”
“Nope, I don’t have health insurance,” and ever since, Clay has been sending occasional texts urging me to sign up for Medicare, Medicaid, and/or to call his insurance agent. He enthusiastically recommends his insurance agent, who specializes in Medicare Advantage™ plans.
Clay thinks it’s crazy for a senior citizen to have no health coverage, and he’s right. It’s crazy.
For a year, I had Apple Health, which is Washington’s version of Medicaid. Never used it even once, but when it came time to renew the rules had changed, the funding had been cut, and I no longer qualified. My tiny income from Social Security puts me fifty bucks a month over Apple Health’s poverty line.
I do have Medicare Part A coverage — thank you, Uncle Sam. Part A is the program that offers partial coverage if I’m hospitalized. I signed up for it, because it’s free. Haven’t been hospitalized since I was a kid, though, so for now that coverage is moot.
There’s also Medicare Part B, the program that offers partial coverage for ordinary medical services. It costs $174 p/month. Being cheap and poor, I didn’t sign up.
There’s also Medicare Part C, private insurance that the government stupidly lets companies call “Medicare Advantage,” so when people get shafted by a shitty insurance company, they think it’s Medicare that sucks. Not that it matters for me — I can’t afford it, never signed up.
There’s also Medicare Part D, which offers partial coverage for prescriptions, but it’s only for people who have Part B or Part C or Part XYZ.
It’s all overcomplicated on purpose, because keeping things complicated keeps people away, which keeps costs down. It kills people, sure, but keeps costs down.
One of the rules is, you can only sign up for Medicare Part B during the first three months of the year, and that’s now. So, with nagging from Clay and the recent cancer death of a friend my age, I seriously considered signing up for Part B. Even had a frustrating conversation with Clay’s beloved insurance agent. Even filled out the Part B form. Even signed the form, and addressed an envelope to mail it.
Any responsible adult my age would sign up for Medicare. I’m in decent health for an old, fat man — no major issues, a few affordable prescriptions, but…
Dad’s dead from cancer.
Mom’s still with us, but needs doctoring on a regular basis.
My sister Hazel is on hospice.
My sister Katrina has recurring issues with her feet, because she had polio when she was a kid.
My brother Ralph is dead from cancer.
Clay had cancer too, and beat it with chemotherapy he doubtless wouldn’t have received without health insurance.
Dick is chronically sick, and has another surgery scheduled, later this week.
Of course I should sign up for Medicare Part B. But today was this year’s deadline, and I never mailed the form. The decision came down to that price: $174 p/month. That’s not a lot, by the insane standards of American health care, but it’s a lot when you’re surviving on Social Security.
Currently, I’m allowed out of my recliner to do something that costs money — a meal out, or a movie — 2-3 times a week. If I signed up for Medicare Part B, my allowance for fun would be reduced to 2-3 times a month.
So the choice is, continue enjoying retirement, having fun without insurance, or become a shut-in who has health coverage.
It’s a gamble, but all I gotta do is survive another nine months until the sign-up window opens again in January 2026. If there’s still Medicare, maybe I’ll sign up then.
3/31/2025
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