I don't have to tell you what a disaster the American health care system is. We use words like broken and dysfunctional - along with some choice swears - to describe our experiences with it. It doesn't work, and it needs to be dismantled and rebuilt as something that actually benefits people, not the obscenely profitable insurance companies that run it.

Having said all that, my experience with the system is not something that will ever be profiled by ProPublica or some other investigative journalist. I'm fortunate enough that it's been pretty straight-forward and, while not necessarily pleasant, fairly benign.

But I'm also a pretty risk-averse (and lucky) guy, so I haven't required much serious medical attention. I've never broken a bone or had any major surgery. (I did have my gallbladder removed last year, but even that didn't require a hospital stay) And I absolutely know that there are huge disparities in the health care system for those who aren't cis white males such as myself, so I definitely take my privilege into consideration when I look at my medical care history.

But I'm certainly no stranger to doctors or hospitals. In the late 90s, I checked myself into Abbott Northwestern Hospital for suicidal ideation and did some out-patient treatment. The program was insistent that I abstain from alcohol, but I wasn't about to stop drinking. (which, of course, was the source of most of my angst at the time)

And not long after my daughter was born, I was feeling helpless again and unable to adjust to my new role as a father. I ended up spending 2 nights at the psych ward in Regions Hospital, followed up by another 3 days at a halfway house. All of that was covered by insurance, or came with little out-of-pocket costs.

Woven in between these warehousings was talk therapy, mostly under the auspices of CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, for those not familiar) and various antidepressants. The drugs did nothing, mostly because I'd negate their effects with alcohol or stop taking them.

But the CBT didn't do much for me, either. I felt like I had to perform for the therapists so they would react positively to me. (thank you, traumatic childhood, for making me such a people pleaser) Or I would elide and downplay my alcohol use so as to keep the focus on the "real problem", which was probably something like everyone's wrong except me. One therapist's plan for me to stop feeling like people were judging me for what I eat was to simply ignore them. Easier said than done, doc.

The last therapist I had was flustered and frustrated by what I brought to our sessions. I don't know if it was because they weren't prepared for what I brought, or just wasn't particularly adept at their job. But it was like they were throwing crap against the wall and seeing what sticks. Granted, I had a LOT going on at that time. But these sessions made me feel even more lost.

I stopped attending therapy after I received my Autism diagnosis. Frankly, I wanted to see if anything I had learned from these years having my brain shrunk would be beneficial before I leapt into another relationship. What I did learn is that, while I did pick up some useful things here and there from various therapists, nothing I had learned prepared me for this.

And to be fair: it's not like anyone of these people knew I was Autistic so as to suggest a different line of treatment. But you'd think at least one of them would've picked up on it.

Fast forward to today. I was set to have my first session with a new therapist that specializes in neurodivergence. It would be the missing link between where I've been stuck and what my real potential is.

But I had to cancel.

Just like everything else, it came down to money. This therapist, like many therapists that specialize in people with Autism and neuro-complex minds, doesn't take insurance. Or at least my insurance. Every session was going to cost me $275, which I knew going into this. I had planned on using part of my holiday bonus to at least pay for the first session, but I ended up not getting a bonus this year.

And then I discovered that the therapist had scheduled weekly appointments for the next 26 weeks. How did they know we would be a good fit? Were they going to mention that they did this? And what if it wasn't a good fit? Could I be certain that I wouldn't be charged for any of those appointments that I wasn't attending?

I went online and cancelled every single appointment. When prompted for a reason by the website, I simply said "billing".

I let myself get angry about this for a minute. I vented to a friend via text and felt better after that. And later on, I was resigned to feel okay about the whole thing. Hey: at least I'll have $275 more than I would have had I followed through with this, right?

And that's just it with our health care system in America. You don't get better than an okay when you're dealing with it. The Byzantian architecture its built on isn't designed to be friendly. You're a bother to them. A thorn in their paw. If you somehow feel good after dealing with them, you'd better go by a lottery ticket afterwards.

We need something different in this country. We need single payer health care. We need to get rid of these poisonous HMOs, so we don't go broke if we break a leg or beat stage 3 cancer. We need to take GoFundMe out of our care plans.

m u s i c b r e a k

I don't remember when or where I first heard Ela Orleans. She's a Polish musician/DJ/audio-visual artist, who once described her works as "movies for ears". I just love that description.

Be well,

-AG