Warning: This is a rant, though a fairly mild one. And if you read on, I’m fairly certain you will be able to relate, and will have no trouble understanding why I felt the need to vent.

First, a little background. I am a senior woman, single, living on a limited retirement income. I did not have wealthy parents to leave a nice little trust fund in my name, or a highly successful husband with a huge life insurance policy; nor do I possess any of the kinds of talent from which I might have earned gobs of money during my productive years. But I’ve never been poor, either.

My health is pretty good (“for my age,” as doctors are overly fond of pointing out). But as we grow older, sh*t happens: parts begin to wear out, you develop aches in places that you didn’t even realize you had places, and you start thinking that twinge you always assumed was just a gas pain might actually be something entirely different and much more scary. So your list of specialists begins to grow, because the old-time family doctors who diagnosed and treated practically everything short of major surgery died out about the time you reached middle age.

And that’s why man invented insurance.

Ah, yes . . . insurance. The biggest money-making scam ever devised, whereby a bunch of bean-counters sit at their desks and make life-or-death (YOUR life or death) decisions that determine whether your doctors will be allowed to treat you in accordance with their years of actual medical training and experience. And they send you a big fat bill . . . every single month, month after month, year after year, for the privilege of spending the rest of your natural life fighting with them over whether removal of that ruptured appendix was really necessary.

But they know we can’t afford to be without their coverage. And since Medicare is notoriously insufficient unto itself, a supplemental — or “Medigap” — policy is a must. And they’re outrageously expensive, allegedly because older folks require more medical attention. So, just at that time of life when we can least afford it, we lose our previous employers’ group coverage and begin paying extortionate prices for individual coverage.

And each year, we get to look forward to that inevitable notice of “premium adjustment” — praying, as we slit open the envelope, that it won’t be more than this year’s half-baked cost-of-living increase in our Social Security checks so we can at least break even.

*. *. *

I needed to pause for a moment there, because this is where I get to the guts of this dissertation, and I felt myself getting worked up again.

You see, my annual notice of premium adjustment arrived in the mail yesterday. Without going into too much boring detail, let me just say that, not only did the dollar amount far exceed my last Social Security increase; the new premium represented a whopping 19.6% rise over last year’s premium . . . whereas Social Security only allowed a cost-of-living increase of just 2.5% over last year.

And the new premium now represents 21% of my total monthly income.

“But Donald Trump said . . . ”

Yeah, yeah . . . I know what he said.

Well, anyway, after crunching those numbers — and indulging in some much-needed Haagen-Dazs — I began an online search for Medigap policies that might be a bit cheaper than my current one. And guess what I learned?

I’m screwed. In fact, we’re all screwed.

All of the Medigap policies are regulated as far as coverage is concerned, so you will receive the same benefits under, say, Plan “A” regardless of what company you choose. But there is a choice of several plans, and the premiums can vary widely.

I did find some that would have cut my premiums by about $300 a month, but they involved huge annual deductibles that totaled almost that much per year. So I wouldn’t have saved a dime; I would simply have had to put that $300 aside each month to cover the deductibles.

Admittedly, I only looked at a summary that offered a range of premiums, and I based my calculations on the top of the range. I haven’t yet checked out individual insurance companies, and that might make a difference. So the search continues.

But my point is this: In today’s economy, we ordinary people have two options: (1) die young, or (2) face an uncertain, less-than-dignified old age. Talk about Sophie’s choice!

But at least I can take consolation in knowing that Donald Trump and his cronies don’t have to worry about paying their bills.

Don’t you feel better now?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
6/2/26