I'm healthy! I swear!

When you’re a freelancer and not yet able to mooch off of your partner’s health insurance, you’re forced to search under rocks for coverage.

Once you find an acceptable provider, though, you’re not much closer to being one of the insured.

When you’re not part of a group policy through work or a spouse’s job, you must divulge your entire medical history. Or at least a good chunk of it. Privacy is not an option, no matter how many HIPAA things you read and sign.

Every act of sneezing you’ve committed, every band-aid you’ve applied, every eye drop you’ve dropped is scrutinized.

Because if you have anything that’ll cost them 10 dollars in the long haul, they’d rather you die.

Normally a healthy 25 year old woman has no problem finding coverage. In fact, I’m probably in the healthiest stage of my life.

But (and there’s the but) I’ve had surgery recently.

Strike.

Which involved X-rays and MRIs.

Strike.

And crazy prescriptions for pain killers.

Strike.

Which I’m allergic to.

Strike.

And an unplanned follow-up procedure.

Double strike.

“We see you’ve been taking xxx recently. Why is that?”

“Well,” I hesitantly reply, “I have asthma – but it’s only bad in the winter!”

I can hear the consultant making notes.

"How many inhalers?"

The answer isn't good.

“Have you been hospitalized for the asthma recently?”

I had to tell her about going on a trip and not being able to breath due to dust. And then getting a steroid shot. After all, you can’t lie to these people. They’re looking at your life on some little blue screen while you talk.

The negatives keep piling up.

She asks if I’m still as tall as I was a week ago. And if I weigh as much. I readily admit that no change has occurred.

“Did I mention that I work out everyday and I’m a vegetarian?” I nervously add.

Then I mute the phone so I can cough because this phone call has made me wheezy.

I’m so screwed.