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Before separating from my husband, one of my very biggest logistical concerns was in maintaining proper health insurance for myself. The children I did not worry about; I knew they would stay insured through their father. But me? Without proper planning I’d lose my coverage.
That was the last thing I wanted to happen. I take medication daily. There’s a history of some nasty illnesses running through my family. And while I could almost certainly afford the routine visits that are typical for me, my already tenuous financial infrastructure would be utterly devastated by an uninsured car accident. Or cancer.
As perhaps you’ve deduced, I am nothing if not a meticulous planner. I almost always have a list of things to do ticking away on kitchen counter and computer; I follow it with zeal. This is not to say that there aren’t times when arcane paperwork-related tasks fall through the cracks. They do. But I do my very best to stay on top of the monumental job of managing my family’s paperwork and setting thing aright when they go off course.
And so before the divorce was even close to becoming final, I investigated the proper procedure for transferring my insurance to COBRA. I made careful notes. I put instructions on my calendar.
As the finalization date drew closer, I double-checked those instructions with my benefits contact person at least twice. I was given the same advice on procedures each time. And when at long last the marriage was over, I did indeed follow the given directives.
My ex dutifully filed the appropriate paperwork, partially because he didn’t want me bitching at him and partially because it would save him money. And then, as instructed, we waited. And continued to wait. And then we waited some more.
But alas, no COBRA paperwork arrived. After a handful of phone calls to my benefits contact person, it came out that the paperwork had been lost. So (bless his heart) my ex refiled. We were told to wait some more. Which we did. And then we waited for even longer, during which time I called benefits again, and again, and again, only to be told that things were in the works.
After waiting for over five months from the date of our finalization, I called one last time. “What the fuck is going on?” I screamed, but only in my head. “Can you please tell me what the status is on my paperwork,” I instead very politely asked.
She assured me once again that things were moving along, but I insisted that she check. She refused. I insisted once again, and when finally she came back on the line, she grumbled that somehow, some way, the paperwork had failed to be filed. That’s when I felt the adrenaline surge through my body as I envisioned this person roasting slowly over an open pit. Once again I contained myself. “What does this mean for my coverage?” I asked, teeth clenched.
“I really can’t say,” she admitted, and ended the conversation with a continued admonition to wait.
I didn’t have to wait long. Just two business days after our last talk, paperwork arrived from the folks who handle COBRA. Denied, the paperwork said. I’d missed the window of application. I could no longer apply for COBRA. Ever. Once the window closes, it cannot reopen. Moreover, I would also have to pay back any care I’d received since the date of the divorce. All told, this disaster could end up costing me thousands of dollars.
I pictured my benefits person’s skin crackling greasily as I spooned barbecue sauce over it.
The rest of that morning I spent shaking with fear and range, making call after call to the people who seemed the most likely to be able to help me. As I write this post I’m clinging to some hope that the mess can be rectified.
Because if it’s not? I’m going to be a very very unhappy blogger.
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Omg you guys are going to love the Babeland swag. Another hint? You want another hint, do you? Well ok. We’re also giving away this, which is like a sweet little g-spotting hat for the Hitachi Magic Wand. And these two things are but the tip of the proverbial iceberg, my friends. Keep watching for more information.



