Journal of a Living Lady #108

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

I have accumulated stacks of those “patient copy” sheets. The doctor’s receptionist handed me another one as I was about to leave the office. Usually I glance at the balance and then stick it in my purse. Eventually  I will get a genuine bill after the insurance company has determined how little they will pay. I used to gasp at balances in the thousands of dollars. Now I am so accustomed to seeing those big figures they seem ho-hum.

 “Can’t get blood out of a turnip,” my mama used to say. Buddy and I pay what we can. So far we have survived. We continue to have our house and some food in the refrigerator. The car is in the driveway and Charlie is still in college.

This time it wasn’t only the balance on the pink form that grabbed my attention. It was all the weird numbers listed under the diagnosis category. Why can’t a doctor just write in plain English what is wrong with a patient?   How do you interpret such secret codes as: 174.4, 198.5, 197.0, 284.8, and 518.83?

Curiosity got the best of me. I added up all the numbers and they came out to be a total of 1,373.53. A number that large must mean I am mighty sick, probably nigh unto death. I wasn’t too surprised since I have known for a while that I have terminal cancer. Even spent a few months in hospice, but decided I wasn’t ready to  check out on life in six months or less.

 After a little sleuthing on the Internet, I discovered that these numerical digits are called ICD-9 codes. They are cryptic short-hand numbers used for filing insurance claims. Those mystic diagnostic codes probably serve an even nobler secondary purpose: preventing coronaries on the spot.

It is with selfish interest that I reveal to you readers the official interpretation of my own ICD-9 codes. Surely you will want to bring the family food. At the very least, go ahead and decide on a floral arrangement for my imminent demise. Hint: I especially like yellow roses. Actually, I would prefer that you save your money to give to somebody else.

Now, for those of you who are dying to know, these are the numbers straight from the pink form I got last week. Warning: these descriptions are not for the weak-hearted. Pregnant women should toss this column now and go to the store for pickles or something

 

NANCY LEE WHITE KELLY:

174.4      Breast cancer; malignant neoplasm

198.5      Secondary bone cancer

197.0      Cancer metastasis to the lung

284.4      Aplastic anemia due to systemic disease

518.83  Chronic respiratory failure

 

I approve the use of diagnostic codes. No physician in their right mind would write all this out for a patient to read casually on the way to the car. If my Buddy were to ever read such a list about himself, I assure you he would promptly quit breathing. All the CPR skill in the medical world could not revive him..

No denial here. I accept the fact that I am seriously sick. However,  I still plan on living forever. So far so good.

 

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April 4, 2001