Time for Medicare

Holy Shit! Both T and I will turn 65 soon and we must sign up for Medicare.  Are you one of those people who always thought you paid into Medicare with every paycheck so that health care would be free when you got old?  Wrong.

We retired at 62 with The University’s fabulous health insurance plan. We were lucky to have that policy. We paid a reasonable monthly premium and, if we got sick, we could go to the doctor without breaking the bank. In addition to the reasonable premiums, there was a low co-pay and no deductible.

We’ll be kicked off the fabulous plan when we turn 65. The University requires Medicare-eligible retirees to switch to their less desirable 80/20 Insurance for Retirees as a secondary policy to cover what Medicare doesn't.

1.     MEDICARE AS PRIMARY INSURANCE

What is Medicare?

a.     Part A is “free” in that we spent our entire working lives paying into this fund. However, it is pretty much only for hospital bills.

b.     Part B is for routine medical services (e.g., doctor bills). You have to pay for Part B, so it is optional; however, you’d have to be wealthy, foolish, or poor enough to qualify for Medicaid not to buy into this program. After paying out of pocket for the annual deductible ($166), Part B pays 80% of covered costs.

For most oldsters the Part B premium is $104/month. Since we both turn 65 and sign up for Medicare in the fateful year of 2016 (when there was no Social Security increase) we are instead stuck paying $125/month (each). Don’t ask me to explain why. I don’t understand and I don’t really want to think about it overmuch. I have anger management issues. It is better for everyone if I think of it as simple bad luck.

c.      Part C is an optional “Advantage” program you can pay a private insurer for if you choose.  It then replaces Medicare Parts A and B (and sometimes D) and becomes kind of a super HMO, with similar restrictions on doctor choice. We are not HMO fans so we will not be opting for this.

d.     Part D is the government’s prescription drug program. You can choose to pay monthly for this if you want a prescription drug plan, which is not covered in Parts A or B. In addition to monthly payments, there are co-pays. Luckily, we will not need Part D because The University 80/20 Insurance Plan for Retirees has a decent prescription drug coverage. 

2.     SUPPLEMENTAL INSURANCE

Like I said above, our current fabulous University health insurance terminates when we turn 65.  Boo freakin’ hoo!  The University’s “80/20 Insurance for Retirees” will become our secondary health insurance. It requires a slightly lower monthly premium payment than the fabulous policy, but requires a yearly deductible before it will start paying 80% of the 20% Medicare does not pay. Yes, this is confusing, its not just you.

First there is the 80/20 primary Medicare Part B coverage (after their deductible is met), then 80/20 secondary supplemental coverage (after that deductible is met). I don’t know about you, but thinking in terms of repeating percentages  gives me a headache.

Here is the bottom line: When we 1. sign up for Medicare Parts A and B, and 2. switch to The University's 80/20 Insurance for Retirees we will pay $4,044/year more for health care for the two of us than we used to pay for the fabulous plan. And this does not include co-pays.  Ouch!

I wake up in the middle of the night trying to wrap my mind around this. However, I know it could be worse - we could be a struggling young family with obscenely high monthly health insurance premiums! I feel for them.

We are some of the lucky ones.  We knew this was coming and we will figure it out. We roll with the punches pretty well. We will just have to spend less on other things...

I understand why medical insurance becomes more expensive as one gets older, but I am not sure why it becomes more complicated. I had more brain cells to figure these things out when I was younger.

A brain cell image from the internet! Isn't she gorgeous?
medicalpicturesinfo.com430 × 323

Counting Calories, again

In October 2014, I wrote a post called Counting Calories. If you click on the link and read this older post you will get a pretty good idea how brilliantly effective counting calories is for weight loss, healthy eating, and promoting exercise.

Unfortunately, I am a bit obsessive when I go on a diet. I am a competitive soul, and even when I am only competing against my chubby little (5' 2") self, I fight to win. Everyday I was out on that bike trail burning up calories one by one. If T didn't want to go for a ride, I went by myself.

I was losing weight like gangbusters for awhile until I hurt my foot. How did I hurt my foot? One day it rained and rained and rained. It became apparent that I was not going to be able to go for a bike ride. I was horrified, because if you read my older post you will understand that exercise buys you more calories each day. The more you exercise the more you can EAT, and by all that is holy I wanted to eat. So, instead of riding my bike that day, I cranked up the CD player and danced like a fool for at least 20 minutes.

I forgot I am aging and I forgot I was dancing on a tile floor. My dance frenzy resulted in a small foot injury.  Actually, let's not talk about that foot injury any more. Suffice it to say that I stopped exercising for a couple of months while my foot healed. And in my despair I also stopped counting calories. Of course, over time I gained all the weight back. 

Earlier this week, like Jennifer Anniston, I became fed up with everyone thinking I was pregnant.  Naw, just kidding - nobody thinks I'm pregnant...

Now I am on day 4 of a regimen of calorie counting. The difference is that I have not been exercising. I will start exercising, maybe next week. I cannot handle getting serious about exercising right now. My counting calorie self is still too delicate, too unstable. One thing at a time, please. For now, I am just trying to acclimate to a world where I live within my caloric means and pay attention to what I put in my body for fuel.

I am trying very hard to think about freestone peaches instead of salted caramel gelato.

Back on that righteous path

Summer in the City

It is really hot outside. 

The Lovin' Spoonful, Summer in the City, 1966

Photos from Orlando, 4 July 2016

I went with my daughter to Orlando the other day. We saw the makeshift mementos left after a memorial honoring the people who died in the Pulse Nightclub shooting.   

I was deeply moved by the love and the loss. I was painfully aware of the mementos left behind. They were especially meaningful because many were left by the grieving families and friends of the fallen.

I was struck by all the American flags and patriotic messages at the memorial site. I have not seen that many flags in one place since I was a kid watching a 4th of July parade in the 1950's. I'm not gonna lie, all those flags surprised me.

Most Pulse victims were either immigrants or the children/grandchildren of immigrants. Like most of our ancestors they came here because they wanted to be "free;" they actively chose to become Americans. And apparently, even after great tragedy, the families would still rather be in this large, violent, imperfect country than in their heritage countries.

The pride in Orlando is for being LGBT, Hispanic, a person of color. But it is also about remaining strong in the face of adversity, about refusing to be diminished or dehumanized by hatred, about being free to live one's life without fear or shame. It is still and always about freedom, isn't it? It is still a worthy cause to want freedom to be who you are as long as you don't hurt anyone else.

I understand how political disappointments can sour one's patriotism. Hey, I'm still mad Eugene McCarthy didn't get the Democratic nomination in 1968, and George McGovern in 1972. I can't understand why the NRA fights the ridiculously minimal form of gun control Obama is pushing. I wonder at the support Trump gets whenever he says something that lowers our moral standards. These are just some of the things that have driven me to despair about being an American. But you know, despair is a loser's game. 

Because there is also still, and always, the "Good Fight" we hear so much about. It has everything to do with  "freedom and justice for all." I have been cynical. I took my eyes off the prize.

Buddy the Cat

My shingles are almost gone.  However, when it rains it pours.

Buddy, our cat, died the other day. Although he had been really, really ill for a few days and was staying at the vet’s to be rehydrated and treated, it was still unexpected. Death always is for me. It catches me off guard every damn time and never fails to piss me off.

He was his sweet old self one night, begging for treats, waiting for us to get in bed, hissing and growling if T dared to put his arm outside the covers, etc. The next morning he was seriously ill, lying under our bed with the look of death about him. Even with our vet’s best efforts, he never rebounded. Based on his symptoms, it could have been any number of causes.

The night after he died I had a dream about change. First I dreamed I saw his dead body. Then suddenly Buddy the Cat was alive again and with my Mom, his original owner. We took him in 2008 when she went into assisted living where they did not allow pets. I remember we had to pull him out from under her bed and he clawed T’s arm open. Buddy was always a bit anxious and neurotic, as I am. We shared the same mother.

Then, in my dream of change, I was suddenly in my old workplace. There was no one there I knew. All had changed. All was different. I was alone and it was disconcerting. And like dreams always are, I remembered that dreams are about the dreamer. This was a message to me from my self. I had to think about it hard.

Change has always been a trigger for me. Even if I try to ignore my fear of change, my discomfort with loss, they are always there. They do not go away from refusing to feel. I know, I've tried.

Unresolved emotional themes have a life of their own. They come back to haunt us, to try and get our attention in the form of nameless anxiety, depression, and also in archetypal dream figures.

It is odd, this particular fear, since change is the stuff of life. Do we all ultimately fight the same fight? Is it the nature of being human to fear change?  Do I have to become a "*&!@#" zen master to achieve some peace of mind? 'Cause I don't think I have the stamina for it and I certainly do not have the attention span. 

Our lost boy, Buddy the Cat, on our deck in NYS overlooking one of our equally lost perennial beds

Shingles

I have shingles, and I'm not talking about the siding on my house. 

According to the Mayo Clinic:
Shingles is caused by the varicella-zoster virus — the same virus that causes chickenpox. After you've had chickenpox, the virus lies inactive in nerve tissue near your spinal cord and brain. Years later, the virus may reactivate as shingles.

I have a mild case because when I turned 60 my good doctor gave me the shingles vaccine.  That is the magic age healthy people are supposed to get the vaccine.  Getting older seems to be an invitation for the varicella-zoster virus to return.  I wish my body would start consulting with my mind about issuing these age-related invitations. 

My doctor said the vaccine only reduces your chance of getting an outbreak by 50%.  Don't be discouraged though, for those of us who are vaccinated an outbreak isn't nearly as painful or intense as it would be otherwise. I have heard horror stories of how painful a full blown attack of shingles can be, so I am thanking my lucky stars that I got the vaccine.

It usually presents as a small strip of blistered rash on one side of your body.  I know, ick. It often appears on your torso, sometimes on your face. I have it on my right forehead and the top of my scalp. The shingles itch and ache with some nerve pain in my neck just below my ear. FYI it is very bad news if shingles form inside the eye. If you get shingles on your face an eye doctor will examine the eye and apply eye drops that ward off the worst of it. And by the worst of it I mean loss of vision. Scary, especially since my right eye has been swelling up overnight since the outbreak. I wake up each morning looking like a boxer who took it on the eye instead of the chin.

I went to my regular doctor (GP) and then an eye doctor. Helpful tip: if you really need to see a doctor tell the receptionist you think you might have shingles. Both places got me in immediately. The GP said that the shingles medication is only effective if you start taking it within 72 hours of the outbreak. I got in just in the nick of time and I am happily and earnestly taking my medicine 3 times a day for 7 days.

The eye doctor examined my eye and said no shingles in there!  I am so relieved.

He also said because I have shingles now, I only have about a 2.5% chance I will get it again.  I do so like those odds.

An old tree with an extremely odd trunk.  Nature will do what she will.

Tree Houses

Southern live oaks are remarkable trees, the ones you think of when you imagine the Deep South. They are tall, craggy, sprawling trees with Spanish Moss dripping from the sides.

At least one nearby live oak is about 350 years old. It lives where many trees have been cut down recently to make way for a large, upscale housing development just off the bike trail.

Although most of the trees on the land were felled to clear land for houses, developers left this 350 year old tree intact. They put up a sign extolling its virtue. I suppose they want us to think they care about the environment. Sadly, compared to some slash-and-burn developments popping up along the trail, these people actually ARE the environmentally right-on alternative in this area. 

However, unlike the slash-and-burn subdivisions, this development is building big new houses right up to and facing the trail; that is, no privacy fences.

Before you start thinking about how much you hate privacy fences, let me say this. This particular development has a large pond on the property, AND this development is built right alongside Lake Apopka. Considering the number of alligators in that lake and (no doubt) in the pond, I don't think I'd want to live in a house without a protective fence. If you think I'm overreacting, let me just say the Fish and Wildlife people had to move a large alligator off the bike trail in that area just a couple of months ago. For some odd reason alligators are not respectful of private property and think they can go wherever they want... 

AND the developer turned the houses around so the front is facing the trail. The other developments that build along the trail put the back yards up against the trail and then put up fences. Yes, these homeowners can sit on their front porches and watch the bikers ride by a few yards away. Aack!

I miss the shade those felled trees provided. It is super freaking hot and relentlessly sunny down here. I am an overweight oldster huffing and puffing my way up and down the trail. I could use some shade. But I must confess I don't really like people sitting on their porches watching me bike past. I am probably being overly sensitive, but it creeps me out.

I know, I know, as if those people are thinking about me at all! I am not all that interesting unless you enjoy judging chubby older women. Then I can guarantee you I am absolutely fascinating.

I should take that high road and imagine they are cheering me on for biking against the odds. Or, I might consider this an opportunity to practice my retirement goal of not giving a damn what other people think.

Maybe tomorrow. Today I noticed about 5 more houses going up in that development, once again right next to the trail. In a few days the beauty of that parcel of land will be just another memory.

This is the real Florida, not a gated community in sight.  Don't worry, it is at a state park so it can't be developed.  I'm almost sure of it!

Digging Deep: The Blame Game Part II

Today I do not want to read any mean spirited, self-serving, blame the victim, I told you so, I'm better than (you, your country, your religion, your sexuality, your political candidate, your parenting skills) blog or Facebook posts.

Tragedies happen every day. Sometimes they happen because a person runs smack into evil through no fault of their own, sometimes bad things happen simply because a person is in the wrong place at the wrong time, other times tragedy hits because someone made a mistake.

I am no better than anyone else, especially when it comes to making mistakes. I look back at my life and I wish I could go back and be kinder, better, somehow atone for things I did that caused pain to others. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure I am not perfect and will likely make more mistakes before I die. This makes me more than a little nervous because there seems to be a long line of blamers out there just waiting to kick people when they are down. 

Why is it so important to cast blame when the victims are still reeling from the blow? I wonder if we will ever evolve to the point that our first reaction to tragedy is compassion, and our first action is kindness, regardless of the cause? 

Sometimes you just don't see it coming

Orlando

The massacre at The Pulse nightclub last night took place at a venue about 25 minutes away from where I live.  Am I horrified by how close terrorism has come to my home, my turf, my family?  Yes, I am horrified.  

I am also filled with grief for the beautiful young lives that were lost.  The sorrow I feel for the loss of great potential, and for the pain their loved ones feel this morning is beyond words.  

Am I afraid?  No, I am not afraid.  I am angry. 

Cypress trees on Lake Eola, Downtown Orlando

Accepting Reality?

The month of June ushers in the heat, the humidity, the rains, and hurricane season. It has been very dry for a long, long time, so in some ways I welcome the rainy season. I just hope the pool doesn't overflow...

Last year we lost quite a few new plantings to the summer rains. This spring we took care to plant hardy native plants in the wet areas of the lawn. By the end of the summer we shall see what survives the deluge and what doesn't. I am trying to make peace with Florida, which (when you get away from the housing developments) is a big, beautiful, wild, and altogether primordial place. I am also trying not to become too attached to plants and flowers, knowing that they may not be here for the long term.

As I get older I find myself fine-tuning my attachments to people, too. I dunno, they don't seem to last either.

An old fashioned yellow iris from my gardens up north