I peed into a urine jar yesterday and submitted myself to various bodily assessments to prove to a medical representative of our bank that I am of sound health to be eligible for an application for a life insurance policy.
The nurse was quick, bored. He did these as routine. He also saw through what I thought were my quite cunning and subtle questions.
“We do this for everybody,” he emphasised. “And you’re lucky you didn’t have to have a blood test.”
Keira watched with her usual curiosity, wanting to be a part of everything. She even followed me to the toilet when I was handed the plastic tub with the yellow lid.
“Keira you don’t need to watch this part!”
The nurse assured Keira that I was quite well, that although this seemed strange, “Your mother is in tremendous health.”
This policy – and our wondering whether to begin it or not – has become a bit of a downer, frankly, as I suppose anything which seriously considers (at the least monetarily!) the prospect of if (or not) you’re going to put a price on your life and if you think anything bad will happen to you, short-term or long-term. Despite dad’s death last year, I still want to believe that I could live till I’m 168 years old, thanks. Surely by then a less morbid – maybe even upbeat! – alternative will be standard? That’s not too much to ask, is it?
[It probably is.]
Perhaps I’m lucky to have made it this far. On the day of our initial meeting with the bank, the assessor took a look at Adam at me, then his watch, and was probably sure he’d be done by lunchtime. However as we sat down and did the forms, it was apparent it wasn’t going to be like that.
“It says here I need to fill in a separate form if I’ve needed treatment in the past few years for existing medical conditions,” I said.
“I’ll have to go upstairs to get that,” the assessor replied, moving for the door.
{Five minutes later}
“It says here I need to fill in a separate form if I’ve had specialist treatment for any mental health issues,” I said, coming to the next page of the original application.
The assessor’s shoulders stooped. “I’ll have to go back upstairs to go get that form, too.” And he trudged off again.
Meanwhile Adam had long since finished his forms and was watching this piece of theatre with amusement.
I left that meeting with a form thicker than Adam’s, but with a thinner temper. In my mind, I felt that my past health issues – none of which were my fault – would work against me and I would be stamped with a big red DENIED stamp. But as yesterday’s pee cup proves, that hasn’t happened. The cynic in me thinks that the bank wouldn’t turn down our money, regardless. It is a bank, after all.
So I have a 104/75 blood pressure. I weigh 55kgs. But what I remember most is my daughter’s face. I wondered if she was realising how much rests on one’s good health, as a child and as an adult, and not to take it for granted. Ever.
