Life Insurance is Hazardous to Your Health, Barton’s Version

June 21, 2009 at 6:13 pm | Posted in Adoption, Ramblings, Wild Stories You Just Wouldn't Believe | Leave a comment
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Pardon me, for having what some might consider high expectations, however, when we were told that we were going to receive from a nurse to do our medical history and some basic health tests to apply for life insurance, I assumed that this “nurse” would be a well-qualified medical professional. After all, all of the nursing programs I had ever heard of gave people a minimum of Masters or an equivalent there of. How was I to know that the nurse that we were to receive a visit from was the medical equivalent of a rental cop.

I assumed for most of her visit that she had much more experience, and therefore understanding then in fact was the case. When we sat down to the medical history, everything seemed quite normal. She even understood me without Megan’s interpretation for most of the conversation. This only fermented my belief in her professionalism. The first time, however, that something was amiss was when, after pulling out the scale and asking the best way to take my height and weight. She gave Megan a questioning look, almost as though there was some disbelief that I could safely get out of my chair.

As I stood up on the scale, I thought I had said to be careful of the controls or perhaps I didn’t, making an assumption that a nurse would have been around wheelchairs before and thus would know that the joystick makes the contraption move. Was this too bold of an assumption? I regret to say that it was, and no sooner than she bent down to read the scale, did my wheelchair go careening full speed ahead into the refrigerator as she attempted to use the joystick to stabilize herself. As Megan said, unsure that she was aware of the potential to severely hurt herself, I let out a full body yell trying to stop her in her tracks, which only rattled her more.

Once we were recollected, and I was back in my chair, I knew that she had yet to draw my blood. As she began to pack the files of records, I assumed that she was getting ready to take the blood samples, so I suggested the best way for her to do this. But this only got a blank stare.

A couple seconds later, and she registered what I had said and looked at me like I was nuts. And when her shock wore off, she was getting frantic and said, “I have to go” about five times in twenty seconds. She threw her bag over her shoulders and tore frantically through the front door never to be seen by us again.

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