Health insurance, aka Poop on you, Medica

It's official: I am too fat.

This is what Medica told me today, in a letter that I had to call them and demand they send via fax, since the lady on the phone seemed unsurprised that they hadn't notified me last time they declined me. When I never heard back from them in December, and my calls went unanswered, I assumed they'd lost my application. So I tried again.

Silly, silly me.

I've had health insurance before, with Aetna, and I was required to pay a monthly Fat Fee (my term) because I was considered "High Risk". Despite an immaculate health record full of nothing but ideal results in all pertinent tests, my fatness was a concern.

Medica has admirably taken it one step further, really twisting that knife. And really, it's made me wonder what their underwriters do there.

They clearly don't consult medical records.

They don't analyze history.

They don't speak to doctors.

They certainly don't read and consider additional information - you know, the sort of information I neatly arranged concerning my obesity "diagnosis" and my successful course of "treatment".

The only conclusion I can reach is that Medica's underwriters scan for two or three markers, of which fatness is one, then gleefully tear up the application and fire off (or, not) a grammatically-shoddy denial.

Case in point:

Unfortunately, we are unable to extend an offer of coverage your height/weight ratio exceeds the limitations established in the underwriting guidelines at Medica.

Perhaps their underwriters are also their proof-readers.

I spent today vacillating between self-pity, desperation, and outright indignation.

I'm still fat. I'll always be fat. I thought this as I ate two cookies with lunch.

I'll talk to my trainer. I'll put together my stats over the past three months. I'll prove to them that they should reconsider! They have to! I thought this as I drove to the gym.

You know what? Screw Medica! Screw Medica a million times! I am going to mail them an envelope full of poop! I thought this as I angrily pounded out a new personal best on the treadmill.

Medica will never have my business. More's the pity for them; I'm a chronically healthy woman. My ACL tear was unfortunate and unlucky, but in terms of sickness, I simply don't get sick. The last time an illness warranted a doctor visit was in 2009. Prior to that, I visited the doctor once every two years or so to get some antibiotics for strep throat.

So, screw Medica. This fatty fat person will find another company to give money to.