Random thoughts on a snowy Friday

Yesterday, I had my physical, which is required for our adoption application. I was told when I made the appointment that it wouldn’t be covered under my insurance.

“Why not?” I asked. “Isn’t this considered an office visit?” I had never been to this particular doctor before; in general, I only go if it’s necessary, like when we’re adopting a child, so it’s not like I run to the hospital every two weeks when something seems amiss.

“It’s considered an administrative physical.” I was told. “Things like adoption physicals, Boy Scout physicals, sports physicals, those are not usually covered.”

During our previous adoption, when I was with another insurance provider, everything was covered; all I had to shell out were copays. I guess I didn’t understand what difference it made what the physical was for. There are a few basic things they look at, a form is filled out and that’s it. Pretty standard. My wife, who is on the same plan, has her exam covered. Our daughter, who needs her own exam, doesn’t even have a copay. Well child visits for kids under twelve are gratis. So I think my insurance company is going to hear from me. I may need a new primary care physician. Trouble is, once this process is over, I may not go back for a few years and I’ll forget all about it.

My doctor has a picture of Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth in his exam room. They’re sitting together on a bench and The Babe is talking to Lou, probably telling him what a killer hangover he has.

“Don’t you think it’s ironic that Lou Gehrig died of Lou Gehrig’s disease?” I asked. I don’t think he thought that was funny.

I had to pee in a cup and have blood drawn, too. That was covered under the exam fee I paid. There was some question about my drug screen panel, which I guess is an indication of what exactly they’re testing for. The nurse had to call the doctor to find out.

“I’ll take the deluxe package.” I said. I was feeling cocky. I don’t think she thought that was funny. I really should stick to my day job.

The TB test I still need will be an extra forty bucks. Forty bucks to have them stick me with a needle and tell me two days later I don’t have TB.

When I got home, I suggested we sit for our Christmas card picture. By “sitting”, I mean I set up the digital camera on a tripod, aim it in the general direction of my wife and daughter, set the timer and run to where they’re standing, paste a dopey smile on my face and wait for the picture to be taken. About thirty tries later, we finally got a good one. After Photoshopping out the red eye, I decided to try and order picture cards on line. Target has a deal where you can upload your photo to Yahoo, pick a card design you want, see how it looks with your picture and add a few words of your own. Adding your names is a good idea, in case people forget who you are. Then, when you’re satisfied with the finished product, you can place an order and pick up your cards and envelopes at the store in an hour.

What a great time to be alive, huh?

I’ve started reading The Lost Daughters of China by Karin Evans. I’m only sixty pages into it; so far she has been describing her and her husband’s trip to China and the flurry of activity that takes place in the preceding weeks. It’s very reminiscent of our own trip almost two years ago. It’s her first book and I’m impressed at her level of detail as well as her transparency in going through the process of adoption. One sad note is that her father died only days before she left. She named her daughter after him, which I thought was a nice gesture. Anyway, Evans is a good writer and I wish I were as in touch with my feelings as she is.

I think I’ve put off reading this book because I don’t want to be reminded that the vast majority of children in Chinese orphanages will never be adopted. Nor do I want to be reminded that for every child left abandoned in a market, at a police station or at the doorstep of a social welfare institute, there is a mother and a father who had to make an agonizing decision. It’s incomprehensible to us living in the U.S. that people in other countries are driven to such extreme measures.

I’m ashamed to admit I don’t often think about Ally’s birth parents. I wish I could tell them that she is beautiful, that she is intelligent and that she has brought us more joy than we’ve ever imagined. I like to think they already know that.