“So, I assume you had a large hospital bill, too?”
“Énorme,” Jeanne said. “Huge.”
“Were you sued as well?”
“Oh, yeah! Yes, I was sued.”
“A local hospital?” Brian asked.
“Yes again. MMH Inwood.”
“Did you not have insurance?” Brian asked.
“We had insurance, but it was a short-term policy and ultimately worthless,” Jeanne said. “They didn’t pay anything.”
“Could it have been Peerless Health Insurance, by any chance?”
“How did you guess?” she said, eyebrows raised.
“Merely by your saying they didn’t pay anything,” he said with a scoff. “We had the same insurance, and they haven’t paid a dime. I’ve learned it’s their modus operandi, thanks to their CEO, Heather Williams.”
“I’ve heard of her,” Jeanne said. “She’s popular with Wall Street.”
“What excuse did Peerless give for not paying any of your bill, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“They claimed my husband’s heart attack was due to a preexisting condition,” Jeanne began. “Somehow they found out he had gone to a doctor several years ago with chest pain. Even though the doctor at the time found nothing except mildly elevated cholesterol and blood pressure, the insurance company claimed his heart attack was due to a preexisting condition. Unfortunately, it held up in court. We were duped. We didn’t know that short-term health insurance could do such a thing.”
“That is criminal. I mean, almost everything can to some extent be considered a preexisting condition.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “It is criminal.”
“Did your husband at least do okay medically?”
“I wish,” Jeanne said. “He died after multiple procedures, waiting for a heart transplant. It didn’t happen. With lousy health insurance, which wasn’t going to cover anything, and without adequate personal resources for the half-million-dollar procedure, the hospital dragged its feet. It became clear to us that the chances of him getting a heart were not good. He lived for a while with what’s called a ventricular assist device, but it wasn’t much of a life.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Brian said, feeling self-conscious he’d asked. And then he surprised himself by saying with a catch in his voice: “I can certainly sympathize. I lost my wife, too, just yesterday.”
“Oh, no!” Jeanne exclaimed. “What happened?”
“It was a viral disease called eastern equine encephalitis, or EEE for short, that she got from a mosquito. I think she’d been bitten while we were having a beach barbecue a few weeks ago.”
“Good lord! So tragic. I’ve never heard of EEE.”
“I hadn’t, either,” Brian said. “But it’s a developing problem that I’m afraid we are all going to hear more and more about. The Asian tiger mosquitoes that carry it have spread all the way up to Canada from the tropics.”
“Between that and coronavirus, it seems that viral diseases are becoming an existential threat. And you say your wife died just yesterday?”
He nodded.
“You poor man. How can you be out and about? I couldn’t even leave home for weeks after my husband died.”
Brian took several deep breaths, started to speak, and then had to pause again. Finally, he managed: “I’m still in the denial and anger stage, I suppose. But I had to get out, especially with MMH Inwood suing me and threatening my house. That’s why I’m here to see Megan Doyle and a lawyer upstairs, hoping they can help.”
“I assume you mean Patrick McCarthy. Wow! You are on a similar trajectory as I. If it is any consolation, I can at least assure you that they work well together.”
“That’s good to hear. Thank you.”
“This kind of situation would never happen in France,” she said. “It’s enough to make me think seriously of moving back even though there is a lot to love about this country.” Then, wrinkling her forehead, she added: “You said you have a daughter. How is she taking this tragedy?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. She’s always been a mommy’s girl. She’s had a lot of trouble since my wife was hospitalized two weeks ago. Telling her yesterday that her mother died was possibly the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life.”
“It’s an awful experience for a child to lose a parent, particularly a mother, no offense to you as a father.”
“No offense taken. I get it.”
“Your biggest challenge will be to convince her you will be there for her, that she is safe. Fear of abandonment will be her biggest concern, which you’ll need to address head-on.”
“It sounds to me like you know more about this kind of situation than I. Have you had some professional mental health training? Or are you a parent yourself?”
“No, I’m not a parent,” Jeanne said. “But I did study psychology at Fordham University, where I met my husband, probably similar to the way your mother met your father. I also took a master’s degree in school psychology and was an elementary school psychologist for a few years. While in that position, I had to deal with several students who had lost parents.”
“Well, that explains it,” Brian said, impressed by her experience.
“You’ll have to be prepared for a potentially wide range of symptoms on your daughter’s behalf,” she explained. “She could get psychosomatic symptoms, like gastrointestinal complaints. In the mental arena, she could exhibit practically no change to outright regression.”
“What do you mean by ‘regression’?”
“Reverting to an earlier age. For instance, she could stop talking, forget her potty training, or demand a bottle and refuse to eat solid food. There’s no way to predict. You’ll have to be prepared for whatever comes.”
At that moment the door to the inner office opened, and a white-haired man appeared on crutches. He was immediately followed by a woman Brian assumed was Megan Doyle. Despite the mask covering half her face, she looked younger than he expected, quite a bit younger than Patrick McCarthy, more like a college-aged woman than a professional with graduate training. She was dressed in a blue blazer over blue jeans with a white, open-necked blouse. Her medium-length light brown hair was a forest of curls. But what he liked immediately was that she projected a sense of assurance and almost cheerleader exuberance as she greeted the two older clients who were waiting by the windows, saying she’d be with them shortly.
After handing off some papers to the receptionist and taking the clipboard that contained the form Brian had filled out, she also greeted Jeanne before calling out his name and waving for him to follow her back into her office.
“Good luck,” Jeanne said as Brian got to his feet.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to need it.”
Chapter 19
September 1
Like Megan’s outer office, the inner one was a polar opposite of Patrick McCarthy’s shabby domain. It was hardly posh, but the furniture was relatively new, indeterminately modern, and constructed of a blond wood with a Scandinavian simplicity. Besides the obligatory desk and chairs, there was a good-sized bookcase that Brian could see was nearly filled with myriad hospital billing manuals and coding texts, underlining his ignorance of the entire field, one he never even knew existed.
“Please,” Megan said, pointing to one of the chairs that was a bit more than six feet away from her desk. She sat behind her desk and quickly scanned the form that Brian had filled out.
“Okay,” she began cheerfully. “This preliminary meeting won’t take but a few minutes, and it is mainly to get you to sign a patient advocacy authorization form, so we can get the ball rolling to get a complete copy of your hospital bill. It will also give us an opportunity to talk about my fees. I see you are being sued by MMH Inwood for nearly one hundred and ninety thousand dollars.”