TheBanyanTree: Humiliation: excerpt from Borderland

[Monique Young]

Hello boys and girls. Here we have an excerpt from Borderland, a work in
progress which is nearing completion, but not nearly fast enough. 

 

Humiliation

 

Mental illness alone isn't enough to deal with, when dealing with it. The
collateral damage extends throughout our normal lives, tentacles of
additional discomfort weaving here and there, no region left safe. 

            A simple thing like going to the doctor can turn into a
momentous event. First, there was the time factor. When was one to go to the
doctor, when one was supposed to be working or caring for Stew? Less time
working meant less money, and money was tight enough as it was because I
could never spend enough time working. Caring for Stew took hours every day.
Then there was the money factor. I was uninsured. This is not uncommon,
unfortunately, so this is a story that is far too familiar to too many. 

            But on my eye, my right eye, there was something. Not knowing
what it was, I couldn't call it something. It was clear, in a manner of
speaking, and globlike, and remained firmly attached to the eyeball for
several days, a rolling mass of gelatinous material that interfered with my
vision, which I found to be a necessary sort of thing for getting through
the days. 

            And so I went to our local family practice clinic. They would
eventually cut me off and refuse to see me ever again, but at the time they
were still allowing me to make payments when I needed medical care. The PA
looked at my eye. Said it looked okay, but she wanted me to see an eye
specialist just to make sure, someone who might actually know what was going
on. I groaned. Inwardly, but it was still a groan. How was I to afford a
specialist? We were at a particularly low point in our available cash
balance. The PA said to go, and so I said okay. (The idea that I'm a
hypochondriac gnaws at me, an idea that I've had in the back of my head ever
since I was young and told that I made things up when I thought I was sick,
and so I hesitate to seek medical advice, knowing that I will soon be
discovered as a fake sick person.)

            Stew was with me that day, of course, he had driven me to the
doctor's office because I couldn't see very well. And so they sent me to an
eye specialist, and we drove to Northgate to see the one specially selected
by my doctor who had managed to find time for me in his busy schedule.

            His office was deserted. We were the only people there, which
was a very good thing as it would turn out. The doctor came out to tell me
his fee was $100, payable in advance, and then he could look at my eye. I
looked at Stew and said, "Let's just go," because I didn't have $100. I
could have written a check, but it wouldn't have been a good check, so there
seemed no point to that. Stew asked the doctor if he'd accept payments. The
doctor said no. One hundred dollars in advance, payable now, if we wanted
him to look at my eye. No payments, no something down, $100 all or nothing,
and we were free to leave if we didn't like it.

            I wanted to leave. Stew was adamant that I would be seen. I
wanted to go, Stew wanted to stay, the doctor wanted his $100. Stew said
he'd pay for it and took out his checkbook. I was familiar with Stew's
checking account, since I managed it, and I knew he didn't have $100 either,
and so I told him no, not to write a check, that we could just go and I'd be
fine (since I am, after all, a hypochondriac), but Stew was agitated, and he
wanted me to be seen so we could know if there was anything wrong with my
eye or not. He told me to just let him deal with it, and so I gave in. He
paid the doctor his $100 with a bad check, and the doctor said he would see
me now, and I went back to the exam room. He flashed a light in my eye, he
spent all of five minutes with me, and then he said it was nothing, it would
resolve itself in a few days or so, and if it did not, to return, pay him
another $100, and he'd take another look. 

            I felt scammed. I understand the whole "paying for services
rendered" sort of thing, it is not foreign to me, and I understand doctors
have expenses, and I fully expect to pay for services received, and I most
certainly want to pay my own way and be a responsible adult, but at the same
time, I felt scammed. 

            No matter. The important thing was that the suspicious eye
problem could be chalked up to a harmless anomaly and was nothing to worry
about. Didn't help with my immediate vision problem, but all the same, it
was a relief.

            Until we got back home to my apartment and the doctor called me.
On the way home we'd come up with a plan to get the funds in the bank
account to cover the check, perhaps a parental loan, perhaps a payment I'd
get for services rendered to a client, I'm not sure, but we had a plan to
cover the check. It didn't matter. The doctor was already on to us. He'd
called to verify funds, found out it wasn't available that day, and he was
irate. He yelled at me. He told me he would have my friend arrested for
giving him a bad check. He ranted. He raved. I ranted and raved back. It is
not one of my finest moments, my ranting and raving, but it comes now and
then nonetheless. I told him we'd have the money in a couple of days, but he
was not to be soothed, nor placated, nor reassured. He wanted his $100, and
he wanted it that minute. 

            Behavior like that could indicate that the good doctor himself
was having a cash flow crunch, or maybe he just didn't trust low lifes like
us who expected free treatment. I hope it was the latter. Doctors should not
be that desperate for a hundred bucks. 

            We once pawned some of my jewelry, in a fit of desperation, when
we needed enough cash to buy some food to get us through the weekend. I felt
as I did with the doctor: incompetent to run my own life, irresponsible, a
blight on the face of society, too humiliated to face life straight on, or
to look anyone in the eye and pretend that I was like them. The fact that
many people face the same sort of problems every day did not help, because
at the time, for all I knew, we were out in the world alone. This is not the
sort of thing one shares with others, and it is not the sort of thing people
bond with, at least not people like us who are trying to give the impression
we are like everyone else. And sometimes, though I now have health insurance
and a better income, I still feel like an imposter.