It seems like it wasn’t too long ago that our little pipsqueak was born, but the bills are beginning to trickle in.
It’s my second most valuable lesson in American healthcare.
(The first being, as a suaku new transplant in New York City, I once ended up paying US$500 for dental cleaning because I didn’t know what in-network or out-network meant, or the whole health insurance rigamaroo for that matter. NOW I DO.)
So the bills are coming in and I find out that birthing is a complicated affair, with everyone, and I mean everyone, charging SEPARATELY for their services to you  from the hospital for use of their bed to the nurse who rubbed down Ruby. Of course she’s worth every darned cent.
But having spent the past few days reading about famous politicians and celebrities going to the hospital (Did you hear the one about Pitt-Jolie going to France to deliver in a castle?), I am left wondering how, and if, celebrities even pay for any sort of treatment.
I mean, is anyone asking them for their health insurance information? Or are the doctors too star struck to ask for payment because it is a privilege to work on such important bodies? Really, what happens? Do they not even have health insurance and pay full price in cold hard cash?
Sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder about the life of the truly rich and famous.
Because I don’t think you’ve lived until you are put on indefinite hold listening to Kenny G while the customer service representative of your friendly healthcare insurance company looks up your records.
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