The high cost of healthcare, part 2

My mom made me a scrap book the year Gina and I were married. Among the mementos in it was my hospital delivery bill. I thought it might be amusing to see how things have changed in forty years. Only, it’s not so much amusing as disgusting . . .

NURSERY CHARGE

Baby Moose (1968), 3 days: $36.00 | Baby Ryan (2009), 2 days: $529.00

HOSPITAL ROOM

Baby Moose, 3 days: $105.00 | Baby Ryan, 2 days: $2,908.00

PHARMACY

Baby Moose: $11.50 | Baby Ryan: $1,081.55

LAB

Baby Moose: $9.00 | Baby Ryan: $606.00

Okay, I know that wages have multiplied since 1968, but have they kept up with, say, a hospital room charge that’s increased 28 times?

I don’t think so.

That’s also not accounting for the lower deductibles our parents paid, and the fact that their employers typically covered 100 percent of their coverage. Our out-of-pocket cost for Ryan’s delivery was right around $2,000. When I told this to my coworkers, they said, “that’s not so bad.”

Now make no mistake, Ryan’s worth every penny we paid to have him delivered.

But since when is paying two grand on top of insurance for a hospital visit “not bad?”

Checkup time

Today was the pediatrician visit we’ve been dreading, as Ryan was due to get three immunization shots and one oral vaccine. Gina was already having a rough day. Her back was almost out and she’s dealing with a smorgasbord of stress, so I offered to take Ryan to the doctor myself to spare her any more.

Ryan was a real trooper. He cried his little eyes out when the first needle went in his leg, but once he realized it was over he didn’t even need his binky. Maybe the weight he’s put on his chunky thighs helped cushion some of the pain. He’s up to 14 pounds, 15 ounces, the average weight of a five month old.

The doctor pronounced him perfectly healthy and utterly adorable, although she could tell from his semi-flat noggin that Ryan’s been slacking on his tummy time. The only snag to the visit was when I dumped half a can of formula on one of the examining room chairs (mental note: don’t lift it by the lid next time.)

How blessed we are to have such a beautiful, healthy baby boy.

Our son, the slacker

Ryan isn’t a big fan of tummy time, his only exercise of the day. The idea is he’s supposed to lie on his stomach and build his neck muscles up. His early attempts at tummy time resulted in much fussing and drooling, and one occasion in which Ryan spit up and then plopped his cheek in it. Another time he fell asleep on his back before we could flip him over. Ryan was putting more energy into avoiding tummy time than actually doing it. (The baby gets this from his mother, who’s a legendary staller. I’ve had ample opportunity to witness her practice the art of procrastination.)

What I didn’t get was why Ryan was so worked up in the first place. If someone put me on my belly, the only compulsion I would feel would be to take a nap. Yet he’d spend the ten to fifteen minutes slowly going ballistic. It was a rare session where Ryan managed to turn his head from one side to the other. More often, he’d wind up face-down in the blanket and turning a bright shade of red. He’s also yet to grasp the concept he can push off with his hands. Instead, they stay in angry fists, flailing at his side.

But today it looks like Ryan may have mastered tummy time. He spent ten minutes lying on the blanket, doing nothing but licking his hands.

Party pooped

Tonight we had our friends Denise, Aaron and Holly and their daughter Anna over to meet the baby. Ryan was his usual adorable self. He and I have been greeting each other by sticking our tongues out (another baby book exercise), and Ryan welcomed each of our guests by doing the same thing. He’s a really good baby in terms of warming to strangers and sleeping through lots of noise, and would have probably been game for little Anna’s idea of dressing him up like a princess.

It was quite a change since the last time we’ve seen Aaron and Holly, as none of us had children then. They used to come over for my videogame nights, where we played until 3:00 in the morning. But now we looked at each other around 9:30 and realized we were all pretty pooped. They were on their way a half hour later. It was past the adults’ bedtime.

The object of his attention

I was holding Ryan on the couch when Gina voiced her concern: “He hasn’t been following his toys very well when I hold them in front of him.” She was referring to one of the milestones the baby should have reached.

I’ve seen Ryan follow his pacifier with the tenacity of a linebacker, so I didn’t think he was lagging too far behind in this department. But I felt I should do what I could to allay my wife’s maternal fears.

“Maybe you just didn’t try the right toy,” I said. I grabbed the one that was closest to me: my Xbox 360 controller. The baby book claims that Ryan should like objects that are large, geometric and colorful, and the controller fit the bill. I held it in front of Ryan. He locked onto the enticing object and followed its every move. I set the controller back down on its hallowed spot on the armrest, proud of my boy’s discerning taste.

“He looks good to me.”

Over the hump

It’s been a bit of a rough night for the Moose family. Ryan was fussing well past his bedtime while I struggled to stay awake. Gina is fighting a stomach bug that keeps coming and going. Lost, one of the two shows we watch each week, is airing some lame recap special. And the crock pot roast we had for dinner came out a gooey mess.

Hardly the end of the world, I know. But we’re calling it a night.

Busted

Gina got a traffic ticket on our way to her mom’s on Saturday. The podunk town at the halfway point had a detour around its main drag. As we were driving through the local neighborhood along the alternate route, we waved to a couple of boys on the corner who seemed particularly friendly. Then Gina realized she’d rolled through a stop sign with a police car right behind us. Our theory is that the boys were actually in cahoots with the officer, and he circled around after he was done with us to give them their commission. That’s the last time we wave to a bunch of street urchins. It cost us 75 bucks! Or, in baby math, four weeks of formula and one package of Pampers.

Lucky break

Today we decided it was time to hang some things on the walls in the nurseryasium. This was a big moment for Gina, as we have still have two bare walls in our bedroom after three and a half years of marriage. Gina refuses to hang something until we have one or two other somethings that match it. But we figured Ryan should have something to look at besides the venetian plaster.

We’ve had a Winnie the Pooh painting languishing on the floor of the nurseryasium, and after some debate on what would look good next to it I placed the nail on the wall. After a few good taps with the hammer we heard a sickening crash next door.

At this point it occurred to me that the other side of the wall I was pounding on held Gina’s Waterford glass collection. Ironically, I had managed to talk her into hanging one of the pieces on a shelf above her nightstand, and that arrangement had come crashing down as a result of my hammering. The rest of the Waterford pieces, which were arranged on the nightstand, were now scattered on the bedroom floor in a sickening display. I immediately assumed the worst.

My mind flashed to my greatest hits, like the time I drowned our computer. Or when I ran over Gina’s stain glass project she had been working on for a year. The one that I had previously put on the garage floor so that I could use the workbench. There’s a thin line between careless and stupid, and I’ve managed to cover them both.

So we gathered the crystal into our arms and looked for signs of breakage. I’m happy to say the Waterfords live to fight another day. Apparently crystal’s a lot more sturdy than glass, and/or my guardian angel has a place in his heart for the Marquis collection.

Gina, who’s seen my more careless moments and barely blinked an eye, let me hang two other things in the baby’s room as a reward for not breaking anything.

Now we just need to find something that matches the Pooh painting.

Poker face

As you can see, Ryan is a sore loser at cards. This is after I caught him trying to pull an ace out of his diaper.

The family jewels

I’ve been building a Pandora charm bracelet for Gina a few beads at a time, and I wanted to buy her a couple more as part of her Easter present. We’ve transformed into last-minute shoppers since Ryan came along, and Easter was just around the corner with nary a bead in sight. So on Holy Thursday I decided it was time to hit the jewelry store.

Gina marked up a Pandora catalog with all of her bead selections, and my mission was to sneak it out without her noticing. The problem was I had to take it with me on my way to work, and Gina was between me and the door giving Ryan his bottle. My sleep-deprived mind struggled with ways to smuggle the catalog out. I held it in my hands, mulling my options. It was relatively small. So I did the first thing that came to mind.

I put it down the front of my pants.

Gina was on the couch with Ryan in the living room. I walked by briskly but nonchalantly. Surely she wouldn’t notice. Gina’s eyebrows raised a notch.

“Come here a minute,” she said.

Blast! She notices everything.

“Do you have something in your pants?”

Now, normally I would take the time to appreciate such a loaded question. But I kept on walking by and ducked into the kitchen.

“What?” I said, feigning surprise as I slipped out the book. I placed it on the countertop and reported to my wife.

“It looked you had an envelope or something in your pants.”

I tried to give Gina the kind of look that would convey “you’re crazy,” ignoring the fact that I had been looking pretty flat up front.

“No,” I bluffed, kissing her forehead as Ryan finished his bottle. Gina darted her eyes toward my crotch and seemed to be satisfied.

On Easter Sunday I gave Gina two new Pandora beads.

“Thanks, honey,” my observant wife said.

“A funny story about those. . .”