doctor.jpgI had the misfortune of being diagnosed with thyroid cancer at the age of twenty-two. It was about 8 months after I finished college and I was first told to ‘have that looked at’ when I went to Planned Parenthood for an annual exam. I was in a couple month gap of not having insurance; I had graduated just long enough ago that I was no longer covered under my parents’ plan, and my own insurance at my new bookstore job hadn’t yet kicked in. I had gone to Planned Parenthood because they would charge me on a sliding scale for my visit, and at $6.50/ hour that was a blessing I couldn’t pass up.

However, ‘having it looked at’ would have to wait. I just couldn’t afford to go to a real doctor. I was twenty-two and despite a penchant for hypochondria, I thought it wasn’t very serious. But then a few weeks later when I looked in the mirror I could see something. I could visibly see something in my throat that wasn’t there before. I was scared. My insurance had just kicked in, so I made an appointment with my doctor. He took a blood sample and his plan was to get me to a surgeon right away for a biopsy. The surgeon did the biopsy and gave my mother and I the news and we were charged with making a decision quickly and for scheduling surgery in the next few days. It was serious and needed to come out.

Following surgery was six weeks without a thyroid or any medication to replace it followed by radioactive iodine scans. Then there was the adjustment of the medication, which was determined with blood test. There was the visit to the endocrinologist to figure out my hormone levels. And there were the bills. Having just gone off my parent’s insurance, I lacked experience in managing bills, especially ones of this magnitude and quantity. I didn’t even realize that statements from my insurance company were different than bills from the surgeon, the hospital, the anesthesiologist, the endocrinologist, the lab that processed my blood. I was overwhelmed and under-prepared. My mother helped me organize everything. She got me a folder and would sit down with me and sort out all the bills and statements. She would help me decide how to pay, and she paid some for me, too.

The problem was, the tests didn’t stop even years later. I needed to go back once a year and do another series. And even with insurance they were expensive. A bill would arrive in the mail and upon opening it I would start crying. I was jealous that my siblings owned cars and had started 401k plans, but that I paid that money down on hospital bills. I had no idea how I would ever surmount the massive pile of bills piling up or the knowledge that my credit was being threatened as they were turned over to collectors.. My mother kept telling me to write to the hospital to ask for a reduction, but I didn’t.

Then, a few months after I finished graduate school I decided it was worth trying. I had nothing to lose. I compiled my financial situation and made copies of my lease to prove what I paid in rent, my bills, my student loans, my tax forms. I also wrote a letter explaining my story, and explaining how frugal I was but that I still can’t seem to pay these bills. I made sure they knew I didn’t have cable TV or an i-pod or a car. I asked if they would reduce the amount I owed by any fraction.

About two months later, right before christmas I received a letter from Northwestern Memorial Hospital that said they had granted me a 100% discount on my outstanding bills. This was the last letter from a hospital that I cried upon opening. I was astounded. I was so thankful. It was worth asking. I lost nothing.