A doctor’s visit is a beautiful thing. It’s a union between a person who needs medical care and a professional who can offer that medical care. But quality healthcare can have unintended consequences, like a bill costing thousands of dollars, or having to endure waiting room small talk. Instead of engaging in risky, unprotected behavior, I’m making the choice to save myself from going to the doctor until I’m emotionally and financially ready for it. That is until I can marry someone who has health insurance and can add me to their plan.
Even though 69% of American voters support Medicare for All, and even though insurance company profits have ballooned during the Covid-19 pandemic, many of our elected officials oppose universal healthcare. And that’s unfortunate, but I like to see the bright side. I think about how lucky I am to be uninsured because it reminds me to be careful, lest I end up in a mountain of debt (silver lining: it’s kind of like the DARE program, but for your organs). I want my first adult experience at the doctor’s office to be unforgettable. I only want to go to the doctor after I find someone who completes me, and who can also provide health insurance for me, so that the receptionist at the doctor’s office doesn’t have to shout “You don’t have insurance? Why?” while reviewing my paperwork. I’m not shallow — if my future partner doesn’t have health insurance, I’m sure I can learn to love my big, wet rash. But preferably, I would like my future hubby (who I will also call my hub-bub or even hub-hub), to have good health insurance from his finance job, so he can look me in the eyes at the doctor’s office, credit card out, and say, “Don’t worry about the copay, my tiny wife!”
Even if I did have health insurance before marriage, the copays, premiums, and deductibles are too confusing to navigate. I’d rather use that brain space to store trivia about my favorite reality TV stars. This could help me win a game show one day, whereas knowing how the complicated American healthcare system works will only give me a headache, requiring further medical attention. And until my hubcap (legally, my spouse) and I can be together, I cannot afford any pain that can’t be fixed with two Tylenol pills and a can of Tecate.
Abstaining from routine healthcare is a spiritual decision. Instead of going to the doctor, dentist, or eye doctor regularly, I find myself soothed by the idea of going to an urgent care clinic every few years, or whenever it feels like my appendix is about to burst. When I’m married, no more one-night stands at urgent care. I want to be committed to my beautiful, wonderful, scrumptious other half, and our habit of getting routine checkups every year on his — our — health insurance. My Big Sugar-Free Honey Bear and I will build a life together in which we will both receive little goody bags from the dentist.
Despite my personal beliefs, my friends are constantly telling me I should consider seeing a doctor. They say that I am “physically green all over my body” and that my “cheeks look like they’re melting.” They tell me I am “visibly bleeding” and even go as far as to say, “I can’t date you because you have the wheeze of a dying real estate tycoon.” Look, I understand where they’re coming from, but I don’t want to get my body fixed until I find a strong hunk who can love all of me — including my wheezing — and then also have adequate health insurance to stop my ribcage from sounding like a family of four playing ping-pong.
The temptations of a doctor’s visit make it hard to abstain, but there are ways to self-administer healthcare that are just as fulfilling as the real thing. I get medical advice from teens on TikTok who are still on their parents’ health insurance. For self-care, every morning and night, I put a Q-tip in each ear, and masturbate the regular way. I brush my teeth normally and hope for the best, and when I have a toothache, I politely ask it to go away. When I croak out a violent, fiery burp, I snort my powdered Tums and meditate while thinking about all those casual doctor visits Europeans luxuriate in. Sometimes, when I think about how my bowel movements are not supposed to be that square, I feel comforted knowing that when I marry someone with health insurance, it’ll all be worth it.
Speaking of steaming-hot husbands with health insurance, is anyone looking to get married?