I had always imagined middle age to be a long leisurely time spent recovering from the rigors of youth, years of work etc and preparing for the “golden years”, you know, that time you quietly slip into disrepair and your dotage. I had always heard that middle age was when you were too old for women to care and too young for Medicare. Seems I shot through middle age like a case of the Aztec two step!

There I was picking up the mail at the local pool supply and a note from SSI was included. I opened it when I got home and it informed me in large black type they were going to hack me $96.80 per month starting next month for Medicare? My first thought was that I had opened someone else’s mail, but no my name was prominently displayed at the top of the page.

Being retired (so far) has been a semi-endless series of calls to the homeland to straighten out stuff and so I braced myself for a protracted attempt to communicate with a nameless, faceless voice mail machine that would attempt to subvert my every attempt to talk to a living breathing human that might help me. I put on the headset and dialed and began the waltz of frustration with the voicemail system and its Machiavellian labyrinth of “push 1 for” or “push # to return to” etc. etc. and definitely etc.

Eventually I did encounter an apparently living breathing human (not even in Tibet, but can that time be far away) who was actually a nice fellow. I explained to him that I was only a kid and far too young to qualify for Medicare but he said their records, which are infallible, indicated otherwise. Ok, so I lost the first round, undeterred I pressed on by pointing out that I hadn’t requested Medicare – he countered by reminding me I was talking to the Government and they could darn well do whatever and whenever they pleased and had automatically “enrolled” me – this guy was good, that’s two rounds for him. 

Being a salesman I was working a plan by reeling him in, I’d let him win the first two rounds, but now I was going to hit him with the smackdown, the big closer, the pièce de résistance – why would I want to pay $96.80 per month for a system that can’t do anything for me because I live in Mexico and Medicare won’t do a blinking thing for me here, it’s reserved for illegals NOB – right?

Finally he’d fallen into my trap and had no good defense, so he asked if I wanted to be “disenrolled” – and I swear to you that word rolled off his tongue as easily as his Mother’s name. Disenrolled huh? – maybe, but I’ve heard there is a penalty for not being “enrolled”? – yes, 10% per year for each year you don’t choose to pay and/or use the Medicare system (and be an additional drain on the failing system all the Pols insistently whine about), and that IS permanent and ongoing! At that point I burst out laughing; I explained to him it was a defense mechanism I use rather than crying in anguish.

I pressed on to make sure this wasn’t a dream brought on by too much pizza – so, if I didn’t join for 10 years then you would charge me 100% more? – yes, again as cool as a mountain stream. “Unbelievable” was the only word I could muster up, totally unbelievable that I’ll be penalized for NOT being a drain on a failing system that I don’t want, don’t need and can’t use. As I was howling and rolling on the floor unable to contain my incredulity the words “mandated universal healthcare” were ringing in my ears – the Hill-a-Beast wants it??? – she’s late, we already have it, it just starts a bit later in life. 

Once I settled down he said I could “disenroll”, I said “DO IT” – to which he said I would receive a form (of course, why didn’t I think of that, didn’t need one to “enroll” but you darn sure need one to “disenroll”)

Whilst looking in my rearview mirror I apparently shot on through “middle age” and am now in the “golden years” – which apparently means you need lots of patience, tolerance and lots of GOLD to get through the years? – are we having fun yet?