Monday, September 11, 1989 / University Daily Kansan
Opinion
THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Student health insurance causes financial headaches
When Joseph, a Lawrence graduate student, sought medical treatment outside Watkins Memorial Health Center, she thought the health insurance plan she bought via the University would cost far more of the cost than it had.
She is now nearly $1,700 in debt and has no idea how the bills will get paid.
She said she goes to her mailbox every day and wonders what surprises she'll find next.
Joseph trusted that the University was comfortable offering the Equitable Life Assurance Society of the United States student health insurance plan to its students. But it seems they weren't.
Ray Walters, associate director of Watkins, said the Equitable plan's policies had been unclear and vague.
She bought the plan via the University for $41 a month. The plan she chose was supposed to be the higher coverage offered through the University.
Joseph was never told about any discrepancies in the plan when she signed on the dotted line.
James Muir, graduate representative of the student health insurance commission, said the commission had been caught in a "Catch 22" situation and had known the 1988-89 plan wasn't what it really wanted.
But Muir said the University was forced into a "take it or leave it situation" when Colonial Penn, the University's previous insurance carrier, canceled its coverage.
Because the Board of Regents requires the University to offer student health insurance, it had to find a replacement. So the University went ahead and offered the Equitable plan knowing that it was not quite what it wanted.
Joseph said she questioned the Regents policy.
Should the University offer poor insurance to students so that it complies with the Regents rule?
Or should it plan ahead and have an alternative insurance plan in mind when things aren't running quite right?
Barbara Joseph is not in a "take it or leave it" situation. She has to pay her bills. While the University's problems are nearly over, hers are just starting.
Deb Gruver for the editorial board
Reforming East Germany
The government of East Germany has discovered that history repeats itself.
In August 1961, a wall was built separating the sector of Berlin occupied by the Soviet Union from the sectors held by the Allies.
The government of East Germany claimed that the wall was erected to stop the influence of bourgeois capitalism. The wall, in reality, was built to stop the mass exodus of East Germany's brightest young people to the West.
Now, more than 28 years later, the East German government is facing a similar problem.
A stagnating economy and lack of reforms have driven many Germans to flee to the West. Until recently, they were forced to try dangerous missions across fortified borders.
But Hungary gave many oppressed Germans hope in May when it tore down much of its border fortifications with Austria.
In July, East Germans, seeking political asylum, began to crowd the West German embassy in Budapest. There are an estimated 7,000 Germans in camps awaiting the permission of Hungary to cross the border. It is also estimated that 200,000 Germans are currently in Hungary, and it is not known how many will return to their homes.
The problem now is that the Hungarian government is delaying its approval for the mass migration to the West. Hungary is put in the awkward position of aiding refugees from a fellow Warsaw Pact country to flee communism. Given the sensitivity of the issue, delays are understandable as long as the deed is done.
East Germany should realize that this time its problem will not be solved as easily as it was in the '60s. Restricting the travel rights of its citizens or even fortifying its borders with Hungary will do little to solve the problem. It would, in effect, imprison a country already in shackles.
Brett Brenner for the editorial board
The hardline Stalinist ship can no longer stay afloat, the passengers are leaving, and if drastic measures are not taken, the captain will soon go down with the ship.
News staff
David Stewart...Editor
Ric Brack...Managing editor
Daniel Niemi...News editor
Candice Nieman..Planning editor
Stan Delt...Editorial editor
Jennifer Corser...Campus editor
Elaine Sung...Sports editor
Laure Huser...Reco editor
Christina Wimmer...Arat/Features editor
Tom Eblen...General manager, news advisor
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Tamil Rank...Production manager
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Terence Twainsend...Co-op manager
Eric Hughes...Creative director
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Painfully unpleasant Watkins visit
Silent doctor lacks bedside manner, especially when treating spider bite
I used to think I was a strong person — until Friday when I left Watkins Health Center a sobbing, hysterical wreck.
A truy began as a normal day, except I had on my inner left thigh a swollen spider bite that had broken open and was bleeding profusely. I recalled my doctor's advice to come in if that happened, and he would take a culture to find out what type of infection it was.
With nary a care, I made my way to Watkins expecting my doctor to take a sample, clean the wound and send me on my way.
This was not to be.
After viewing the infected area, he decided to have another doctor look at it, which would make the third doctor that week who had viewed my affection. This would not have been so bad except for the bite's intimate location.
A sheet hapazhared draped around one bare leg,
a little to retain my modesty. Definitely not my
finger.
The second doctor (whom I will refer to as the silent doctor because he never spoke more than two sentences to me) came in, examined the bite and declared to the nurse that the sore must be drained.
Thus began a dialogue between the silent doctor and the nurse, from which my sharp ears picked up the vibrations.
My stomach tightened. This sounded painful.
'IW! WILU hurt! IW! Lumped.'
"The shot will sting a little bit, but you really won't feel the rest," the nurse assured me.
The silent doctor returned and began another disturbing dialogue with the nurse.
"How big is this needle?" he asked, holding up the savoir.
The words "big enough" formed in the back of my throat, but I couldn't manage to choke them.
Merceda Ares
Staff columnist
His thoughts were not the same, however, and he took a bigger needle from the nurse.
The sight of the sharp, metal needle did little to alleviate my growing fears, and I began to doubt that this would be a small, painless procedure. I use right
I was right.
The pain of the needle going into my infectee spider bite still lingers in memory. I quit trying to be brave and gave into the perverted pleasure of bowling in pain.
The silent doctor, however, remained calm and silent throughout this ordeal. The nurse did her best to calm me, but the torrent of tears already had been unleashed.
Finally the shot was over, and the doctor made an incision in the sore to drain it. At least this is painless, I thought.
The silent doctor made up for the lack of pain with his graphic description of what the liquid ozing out of the sore looked like and even compared it to a few unsavory items. These were the most words I'd heard him utter since he stepped into the office.
But I didn't have time to contemplate this because a new source of pain had begun — the packing of the gauze.
It felt as if there were a hundred bees inside the bite trying to sting their way out. My howling began again in increased volume, and just as I was prayed to give, the doctor finished.
I lay shaking, queasy and feeling as if my body had been violated. As I tried to regain my
composure and wipe the tears from my glasses, a nurse came in, dressed the bite and sent me out into the world.
Shaking, disoriented and still sobbing, I made my way into the lobby only to face a new dilemma — how to get home. I had ridden the bus there, but I was out of waiting for the bus was less than appealing.
Did I dare go back to the emergency room? That seemed like going back into enemy camp after having been liberated. My violent shaking and increased nausea, however, would not go away.
I went back in, and they laid me on a table and gave me some medication to calm my nerves. The doctor said I was emotional.
I became even more emotional when I heard the voice of the silent doctor in the room. Had he come back to repack my sore or perhaps show it to some other doctor? But he was only packing some other person's boll. There must have been a special on packing that day.
Finally, they were able to contact one of my friends to pick me up.
An hour and a cigarette later, I felt much calmer and even a little silly for being so dramatic.
Now the infection is healed, and I know it is due to the medical expertise of the silent doctor. But his lack of compassion and bedside manner has made some of my innocence toward visiting the doctor.
Just the other day, when I was getting a routine checkup. I shoved a nurse's hand down as she brought a foreign object up to my mouth. I was no longer the complacent, trusting girl. I knew their instruments of torture.
"What is that?" I demanded.
> Mercedes Area is a Russell senior majoring in journalism and English.
Wishful solution for skateboarders
Life is too short and death is too long to let the skateboarders of the world ruin it for you.
That's the caption of a full-color poster that I want to tack up all over campus. The photograph would be of a skateboarder sprawled face down on the concrete in a lifeless ball of bandannas, hair and flesh. His tattered fluorescent orange and green skateboard would be crushed near his feet.
There are only a few unique things I live for in this life but to see a skateboarder bite the big wall
It's a violent thought but one that at least gives me hope that there's justice in the world. Don't get me wrong. I don't hate every skateboarder — just those who look like they have survived a nuclear blast.
Imagine sitting on Wescoe Beach as the skateboarders screech by you in a fit of rage. In their world, everything is a steel or concrete ramp. Their eyes only register what a skateboard can travel up or down. Since you are a human being, the skateboard doesn't acknowledge you because his skateboard wheels would stop rolling near your elbow; so you're a blank spot in his life.
He roils down the stairs, his long arm wrapped around a wall. The crowd begins cheering for the big wall. The crowd begins cheering for the
Joel
Zeff
Staff columnist
wall. "Way to go wall . . ."
The rest of the skateboarder's pack begin to try to beat the wall. Each one falls as the wall swallows them and spits their lifeless bodies in a corner.
At least I can dream.
In least, the wall will ever will eat the evil skateboarders of the world. The University of Kansas administration and police do little to nothing to rid the campus of these people.
It's time to stop the skateboarders. That's why I have developed the Official Skateboarders and Cockroach Pest Control. It's guaranteed to work in 30 days or your money back.
It's so simple even a freshman can use it.
1. Yell, "Iron Maiden band members are eating hot dogs and spitting at people downtown." Substitute any band you think the skateboarder will
leave to go see spit but this still might not work because most skateboarders can't speak English. 2. Pray for snow.
3. Throw food items at them. If they come after you, lie down behind a bush in a fetal position and act like giant animals are attacking you. It worked for Jim Bakker.
4. Sing Barry Manilow songs as loud as possible. Because they listen to so much heavy metal and punk music, their ears will begin to bleed when they hear the truly great works of Barry Manilow.
5. Find a priest and exercise the little buggers.
6. Begin dressing like them and bring your own skateboard to Wescow Beach. The place will get too crowded, and they will leave.
7. Find their parents, slap them in the head and make them take their children away
These are only seven simple ideas that might rid the world of skateboarders. Use them as many times as you want.
I'm going back to the dream about them hitting the wall at 40 mph.
> ▷ Joel Zeff is a Kansas City, Mo., senior majoring in journalism.
CAMP UHNEELY
BY SCOTT PATTY
V