3. “We are all X-men” series: “What if” you can’t lift? This is a test
The following days were weird, to say the least. In Brazil, we have a pretty different health system – different from all the major models, such as the American or most European systems. Public health is a total disaster, but that is what most of the population has to count on. Besides that, there is a health insurance market, but much smaller and more diversified than the American. Only some companies offer corporate health insurance and then it is the cheap package. Those of us who can afford pay for the packages that offer a better coverage. Coverage, whatever it is, is always 100% of the cost (unlike the US). In this case, we run from companies (such as UNIMED – yes, read your name here, you parasites) who restrict both patient and physician freedom to chose where to go and what lab tests to have. These companies resemble the American system, where the physician is not allowed to request any test he or she considers necessary or prescribe any intervention.
The company I chose (Medial) is a more flexible and obviously more expensive one, where I get to choose any physician and all appointment costs (actually the least of a patient’s problems) are reimbursed up to a limit. Lab tests and interventions are 100% covered. But!… and this I learned now, when we enter the realm of the more sophisticated and expensive tests, they adopt a procedure of systematically trying to obstruct your request. That was the case with the scintigraphy. I was instructed to send the physician’s request by fax (does that still exist??), then check their receipt, and then wait 48 hours for their approval. That sounded funny – I had never handled such a bureaucratic and stupid procedure, but, ok, I really needed the test. I did what I was supposed to and one day later they called. They told me that they needed a “temporality” report. I asked the woman to explain what this was and I immediately understood that these people were trained to handle only the cheap package costumers, who see physicians from the insurance’s list and use the company’s own forms. “Temporality” is the period elapsed from the identification of symptoms related to the disorder being verified. It is supposed to be on “box 50” on a certain form that I obviously have no intention of even getting acquainted with. I called my doctor and we sent a report with this information. Following that we called and they told us we had to re-send the original request. Why in hell? Ah… they had discarded the first one. Discarded??? Although really piss**d off, I did get my poor doctor to send everything again. When I did not hear from the insurance company, I decided that that was GAME OVER for them: I sent an e-mail to all my journalist friends on the major TV channels and told the insurance company to expect the worse. In a couple of hours I received calls from their costumer director promising to investigate this “unacceptable procedure” and apologizing copiously, and another call from the approval department, not only releasing my approval code, but registering me in a special fast line approval service.
Hours and hours of phone calls and e-mails later, this part was done. I was flooded with work and work related problems. My mother had an accident and I had to take her to the hospital to get stitches. A (obviously) tropical storm produced lightening and one hit my house, burning my telephone. And a bunch of other unbelievable and unexpected little tribulations – the unproductivity gnomes were loose.
Basically, I had no time to worry over that part of the discussion at my doctor’s office that read: “you might never be able to lift again”.
When I did have a few moments with myself, that first weird Monday, during my Tai-chi practice, I had a sort of hallucination. We were meditating and focusing on our bellies. Then I felt my abdomen swell with fly worms, which started coming out from my belly-button. I opened my eyes. My tai-chi master led me to the tatami and I slept for about ten minutes. When I woke up, the worms were gone and I had a life to manage. A war to win.
So that was it: a war to win. Was I really prepared to cling to my vows of never leaving the bar and weights? To lift until I die? What was at stake here? Would I submit to surgery, chemotherapy or whatever, if necessary? Did I really believe that my mind was more powerful than anything?
Everybody else seemed to be expecting an answer from me. I feel quite guilty for having lost my patience with my mother and, replying to her constant “what ifs”, I said “then I die, ok? Everybody does! But no – I will not undergo vegetable-transforming treatment, no chemo, no surgery, forget it!”
At night, my daughter looked at me with those wide, scared eyes. Silent “what ifs”. She tried to extract promises from me. To never do this or that again. All I could say was “baby, this DX is probably wrong. Give me one or two days and I’ll show you, ok?”. She went to bed and had nightmares.
I went to bed and woke up with no recollection of whatever nightmares I had. I still had a war to win.
