Chapter 1 - I remember talking with my Dad about my company medical benefits back in 1988 after having landed a job with a Fortune 500 company. I really didn’t think much about it one way or the other because I’d never really been sick and wasn’t planning to start now. Being pretty smart about employee benefits, he started salivating like a fox in the hen house as I ticked off the benefits of the company plan. The plan was that good. Today I realize that I was truly blessed. That said, I’m sure my dad was thanking God that I was finally out of his pocket for good and was no doubt looking forward to buying those “Cowboy Delux” Alligator Skin boots he’d been dreaming about since 1951.

The premiums were 100% paid by my employer, my deductible was $150 and everything else was split 80/20 with a lifetime maximum of something like five million bucks. Of course my salary pretty much was at poverty level, but in the unlikely event Mr. Invincible ever got sick, paying for the doc, was not going to be a problem.

The insane thing is that over time the benefits, from the perspective of my plan, actually got better. With the advent of PPOs my benevolent employer continued to pay my premium. I think I had a $10 co-pay, and I swear prescriptions were practically free. I got my knee and shoulder rebuilt for free, my wife (and I—although she gives me no credit) had a couple of kids, practically for free and my kids, over time, enjoyed every type of childhood plague they could contract, also practically for free. And all those inoculations that were supposed to keep them from ever catching anything, well, those were pretty much free too. Who would have ever thunk there could be such joy in being sick?

My family had a license to enjoy all the sickness we could possibly handle. And brother, could we handle a lot. It was like “all-you-can eat night” down at the Pig-‘N-Whistle. Can someone please pass me another napkin?

Looking back on it, we were practically being encouraged to live as unhealthy as possible. Chapped lips? Go to the doc. Paper cut? Might get infected. Head for the doc. Mosquito bite? Could be West Nile Virus. Off to the doc. Sun burned? Definitely skin cancer. Call the doc. We weren’t quite that bad, but close, and I’m pretty sure we did more than our share to expedite the health dilema many red blooded Americans are having to deal with today.

A year ago, when I left my job, (I was still working for poverty wages) and my formerly maternal and benevolent, but now cheap assed employer was bankrupt. In 18 years, I’d put on 35 pounds and felt like dirt. My health as well as my healthcare, were damned near killing me.

As luck would have it. My broke employer offered me 13 weeks of salary to go away. “Shoo boy! You get outta here!!” The place was a friggin’ mess, but at least I was slightly less broke than they were. Heck, I woulda left for free.

It was a beautiful spring day when I walked outta there and I really can’t describe the burden that was lifted from my back.

Stick with me here. I promise all of this is going somewhere.