It Is What It Is

           So after they carried me off the Pickle-ball court and put me on the IR - Group W Bench with my torn Achilles, shock began to creep in with the realization of what lay ahead.  I hobbled off before I got too Shockey-sad and told everyone in my best Forrest Gump voice 'sorry I ruined your white old guy Pickleball Tournament'.  

Tracey found an ER clinic our insurance might accept and the Doc-in-the-box there told me it was just an old tendon in my calf that we don't use anymore, so it was not a problem.  Although it still felt like a problem, there was some dubious rejoicing.  He did recommend a specialist Podiatrist and when we saw him the next day he confirmed a total Achilles tear almost immediately.  Our new man Dr. Joe Baker did the numbers and said I could get an MRI but he was 97% sure and he cold get me back to 85% within one year.  'It is what it is' said my dog Eva, knowingly and we scheduled surgery to get it fixed.  Listen to the pros but be your own health advocate.

We researched our good PEHP - IHC insurance coverage frantically for our out-of-state coverage and then gave them a call.  Several calls.  They told us that emergency work is covered while we were traveling but for repair work we had to come home to Utah.  We thought of our grim alternatives and how we might pack up and drive home but we kept plugging with the insurance company for the $50,000 answer we wanted.  

Finally one pleasant young insurance woman asked us if we were 'traveling' thru Arizona or actually 'living' there.  We told her we were 'living' there for 3-4 months.  She told us to change our address on our personal insurance web page, so we did, and then they told us that everything would be covered completely.  Sometimes you have to check the right box.

So a few days later, there I was alone at 6:00 AM on a Monday morning, counting back from 100, bummed and embarrassed to be in a cold, sterile operating room once again, covering my ass and cursing my fate, hoping I would wake up when this was all over.  I did wake up, all alone in the Covid isolation recovery room and after I stopped babbling incoherently about what a profitable assembly line of human carnage the hospital was, they let me go.

I hobbled out to the parking lot where Tracey was waiting patiently with warm poppy seed bagels and some OxyContin, one of which I was able to avoided life-long addiction to.  I still can't say no to a warm bagel.  Tracey took me home and we started our long rehab and recovery with a shmear of cream cheese and some blackberry jam.  You can't do anything without a great support team.  Thanks to Tracey and Eva, my family and good friends.