Ouch!

I reported last week about my disappointing visit to the pain doctor last week, a ten-minute interview that led to no change in treatment despite the fact that I told the doctor I am desperately hoping to change my treatment.

Yesterday another sharp pain arrived: A letter from the insurance company. That tiny appointment, where no exam and no test was done (not even weight and blood pressure), cost $400, $187 of which I have to pay. 

This is insane. 

"Tell me, doctor, will he live?"
"As long as his money holds out, yes."

I understand that when you go to the doctor, you're not just paying for his time and expertise, but for all the expenses connected with running the practice. Same if you hire a plumber; his vehicle and tools are all part of what he has to charge. But $400 seems pretty excessive, more so since it was a very unsatisfactory visit. 

My wife suggests that I get in touch with the original doctor who saw me, the one who runs the practice, and explain that I am dissatisfied. I think it's a good idea, although I doubt I will get any joy from it. This is all part of the mess that is the state of modern medicine -- overworked practitioners; patients who abuse services paid for by others; free marijuana; astronomical costs for malpractice insurance; pressure from snake-oil salesmen to cover Reiki and supplements and dance therapy and Chinese traditional medicine and crystals and all manner of woo-woo stuff; practices consolidated into pill mills and poorly run clinics; insurance companies putting the squeeze on customers while colluding with government to get richer; patients who expect to be fixed after a lifetime of bad choices; and medical education that is sure to teach students carefully how to address patients by preferred pronouns but not to actually listen to their concerns. If I could stay away from it all and take my chances I would, but this stenosis is more than I can handle on my own. 

So, the bills must be paid. 

  Sheesh.