I will be leading two natural pain relief programs in July, at the Berkeley-Richmond JCC — open to the public: (more…)

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Ever since I was a young child, I have foiled the plans of predators. In elementary school, I chased after the bullies, yanked out of their hands the toys they took away from various children, and threw myself between them and their intended victims of violence.

In middle school, I threatened the boys who sexually harassed the girls, promising that if they ever even thought about laying a finger on me, I would pummel the crap out of them. I went through three years without one incident.

In high school, a bully at my summer program came after me. In an intuitive Aikido-type move, I flipped him over when he lunged at me — leaving him sprawled on the concrete, swearing. In college, another bully at another summer program (a former military man at that) wouldn’t stop “play hitting” me, so I forcefully slammed him against a wall. He never bothered me again.

Throughout my 20s, I intervened in countless violent situations — a man holding a woman at knife point on a subway platform, a woman violently threatening her child in hospital lobby, a man hitting his son on a tourist promenade.

That decade, I studied and taught full-contact self-defense. I biked in the hills at midnight and wandered the streets at 3:00 a.m. I pushed the envelope of response to street harassment — hitting two soldiers ogling my breasts, a security guard “hey-baby”ing me non-stop, and a subway passenger who felt up my ass.

I seized life. I took risks. I was independent, powerful, defiant, free.

And then I was in pain. And then I had limited mobility. And then I stopped taking physical risks, because I could never be sure if my body would come through for me. And then I stopped taking on predators, because I could never be sure if I’d take them down.

Two weeks ago, I was walking up the street towards my house, when I heard violent yelling. As I neared the source of the clamor, I saw that a man was circling two women, who were yelling at him to get away. Instinctively, my body geared up to run over and stop him. And then I remembered.

So I kept walking, as I called 911 on my cell phone. And waited on hold for three full minutes. And felt sad about the part of me that I’d lost to pain.

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I need help thinking about which health insurance plan I should get.

Given that I have literally been blacklisted from physical therapy; that doctors have mostly proven themselves to be incompetent and useless; and that I have been physically injured and emotionally traumatized by the Medical Deities (MDs), I wonder if I should switch my coverage to what’s known as “catastrophic health insurance” ($85/month), which will take care of emergency room visits ($100 co-pay) and hospital visits ($1000 deductible, $3500 maximum out-of-pocket), but will not cover me for any outpatient services.

The thing is, once I downgrade to this plan, there’s no going back. With a pre-existing condition, I will never again have access to general care health insurance. And yet, I rarely go to the doctor anymore. All of my healthcare is out-of-pocket, for private physical therapy, acupressure therapy, nutritional supplements, and so on — the things that actually help.

But what about if I need blood tests or prescription meds? Will it be more cost effective to have those covered or to save $5,000/year on premiums? Or what about if, G-d forbid, I end up with some kind of condition that requires medical intervention outside of hospital care? Would I ever even turn to outpatient medical care, given the energy healing direction and focus of my life?

It gives me the heebie-jeebies to have to think like this. The health insurance representative actually asked, “What if you get cancer and need chemotherapy?” I hate this plan-for-disaster orientation (and I hate the suggestion coming from a stranger). I hate the fact that in order to protect myself for the the future, my ability to pay for true health care (complementary medicine) in the present is potentially compromised.

What I’ve done for now is downgrade from a $750/month HMO to a $499/month HMO — the least expensive plan I can get without downgrading to hospital care only. I need help thinking about whether I should stay on this plan or go to the catastrophic health insurance plan instead. I’d love to hear your thoughts and the reason behind them.

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Health insurance representatives are the foot soldiers of health insurance company CEOs, whose million-dollar mansions were built on the calcified, degenerated discs of your going-out-all-the-time back. While the phone reps may sound like friendly, caring agents looking out for your health, they are in fact bored losers who haven’t been laid in like a million years and therefore will do their best to screw you. So stand up to your health insurance company by taking the following steps:

1. Have a pen and paper handy whenever you talk to an agent on the phone.

Before you start the conversation, ask for the agent’s first and last name. If the individual will not give you a last name, make note that she refused to do so, and ask if she is willing to give a last initial. Then ask for the agent’s department name, customer ID #, and phone extension. Again, if that person is unwilling to give you any information, make note of that refusal. Also make note of the start time of the conversation and write down anything important that comes up during the call.

2. Make a point of filing this information away after every call.

If you’re anything like me, putting things in their proper places is a Herculean task. I have learned the hard way, however, that I must must must file this kind of information immediately — in a clearly-marked folder, in an organized file drawer — or I will inadvertently be complying with screwing my own damn self (sans rabbit vibrator). If you do not feel up to making a phone call in an organized fashion, postpone the phone call.

3. Digitally record your conversations.

On multiple occasions, despite all of my pristine notes filed away in a wondrously organized fashion, I have still been screwed by a health insurance representative. I have been told that there was no record of a call, that someone had called me but never been called back, that a representative could not be found in the employee directory, and that a plan I was told I’d be switched to did not actually exist. I also have been held responsible for the consequences, on my dime and my time.

No more! I am now recording each and every single fucking phone conversation I have with a health insurance company representative. Just an hour ago, I had my first such call. I informed the representative at the outset that I was recording the conversation. He told me that if I was going to record the call, he could not continue the conversation. I recorded that too.

I also thought it was telling: What are they afraid of — that we will catch them at their game? At any rate, it could not have been coincidence that this conversation was the most respectful and productive that I have ever, in my entire life, had with a health insurance agent. I think the very fact that the man knew I was “on it” enough to even think about recording the conversation put him on his toes. And if it turns out he misled me, well, the proof is in the playback button.

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Most books about chronic pain are so dull and annoying that they leave me with a throbbing headache on top of all my other symptoms. A handful of books, however, stand out from the crowd. Here is my opinion on the top 3 books for people living with chronic pain (in no particular order):

1. All in My Head by Paula Kamen

This book is a must-read not only for people who suffer from chronic pain, but for all of our friends, family, and foes. Paula Kamen, who suffers from Chronic Daily Headache, brilliantly captures the minute details of how chronic pain impacts our physical well-being, emotional health, social interactions, economic survival, and every other dimension of our lives.

While reading the book, you will feel as if Paula has followed you around with a video camera for years, documenting the essence of your life. The book is incredibly validating. In addition, because the history and politics of the medical system are well-researched and -documented, All in My Head is also highly informative about why things are so screwed up in our health care system today.

2. The Chronic Pain Solution by James Dillard, M.D., D.C., C.Ac.

James Dillard shows so much compassion, empathy, and understanding, you’ll be surprised he’s a doctor! He truly speaks like one of us. What’s more, the guy is hilarious — pointing out the absurdities of chronic pain “care” in a way that will cause you to madly bob your head up and down in agreement, while laughing with tears of recognition.

One of the most powerful things about this book is that James lays out a comprehensive map of our health care options: You will get a detailed description of numerous conventional and complementary treatments out there for chronic pain — replete with an outline of the hows & whys, pros & cons, and success rates.

3. Life Disrupted by Laurie Edwards

I’m only at the beginning of this book, but I’m in love with it already. And I’m not alone: The Boston Globe has given this book a rave review. Laurie Edwards speaks with a smart, sassy, and humorous tone that makes this book an easy read. From the experience of one who’s been-there, done-that, Laurie talks about how to be an empowered young woman living with chronic pain. I plan on writing a full review as soon as I’m finished.

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