That Was Easy . . . .

I have decided that the alleged stress associated with signing up for Medicare is just that--- alleged.  

In fact, before hanging up from my "interview" with the Social Security lady yesterday, I was wishing I could run downstairs and grab the Staples "That Was Easy" button and punch it next to the telephone mouthpiece. 

Prior to the expected 9 a.m. call, the usual inexplicable nerves kept me walking up and down stairs, visiting the bathroom and looking for things to keep my mind off the upcoming telephone tribunal. 

For all who wonder----I'm just not a good at waiting---not in lines, not before speeches, not before company comes, not even waiting for pre-determined telephone calls from someone I've never met.

Once I picked up the phone yesterday morning,  the nice lady asked, "How are you doing?"

"I'm dressed for success and just combed my hair one more time," I told her,  tongue in cheek.

"You could be in your pajamas," she assured me.  "It wouldn't matter." 

"This has been just as bad as those moments I waited for Viggo Mortensen to call for an interview," I told her.  "Must have gone to the bathroom 15 times before the phone rang for that one . . . Do you know who Viggo Mortensen is?

"No," she said.

"He's the king in 'Lord of the Rings,'" I explained.

"Oh-h-h," she said, clearly impressed. 

I went on to explain to her the agony I endured while waiting for his phone call prior to the half-hour interview for Sandpoint Magazine a few years back (results of that can be found at my website:  www.mariannelove.com.  Look in "Love Notes."

The biggest problem I've noticed with these pre-arranged telephone calls for me and my nervous plumbing network is stressing about getting my pants zipped up in the bathroom before running to pick up the phone.  

There's this irrational fear that maybe someone has installed Skype at my computer and that the someone else at the other end could get an eyeful.

Anyway, the Social Security lady assured me that our phone interview would be painless.  Painless was not quite the word.  

"What is your full name?

"What is your home address?

"What is your mother's maiden name?

"Will you confirm that everything you said is true?"

Yup, that was easy enough for me.  She went on to explain that I'd receive my card in a few weeks, that Plan A (covering hospitalization) is automatic for everyone, that I may need to do a little thinking on Plan B with an insurance agent, that I'd start receiving coverage June 1.

That was it.  Why all this stewing, I thought.  Why don't they tell you these things are gonna be far easier than what we perceive of them for months in advance?

The week's trifecta of potential financial nightmares is two thirds over.  

Monday we learned that we would NOT have to pay income tax and that we WILL get a refund. 

Tuesday took care of Medicare.

Whenever my insurance agent connects with me, I'll work my way through Plan B and its supplement.

Thank God, he has given me no appointed time for when he'll call me because I won't have to worry about another siege of bathroom stress. 

And, when I visit with him, I'll bring along the red and white "That Was Easy" button, in hopes that I can punch it several times once our session has ended.