I walked into my father’s study room today, looking for a stamp to send off some mail. I didn’t find one. Instead, I found a bill. A bill addressed to me, that my father had intercepted. What caught my attention on this bill was the big red title ‘Ambulance fee’ on the top of the letter. This fee is from about a month ago when a couple of friends called an ambulance on me after they found out about my OD.
I was shocked when I saw how much the bill actually was. The paramedics came to my house and talked to me for about 5 minutes. Just for that, it was $738 AUD. Not sure how much that is in your currency? Fine. Let me convert it for you. That’s $680 USD. Or £445 if you live in the UK. In short, a LOT of money.
During the first few days after the ambulance came, I was worried about the fees that it would bring. I then thought, or rather hoped, that because I wasn’t transferred anywhere, I wouldn’t get charged. How wrong I was.
If you have private health insurance, coverage can be provided for ambulance services. Problem is that we don’t have private health insurance and Medicare does not cover the costs of ambulance services.
My father had written on this bill, ‘Paid 2/5/2010.’ It seems that my parents had paid it off, without saying anything about it to me, or even letting me know that this bill had arrived. At the same time I’m attending my GP appointments and paying for it myself, without my parents knowing. Funny how we never speak about it, never confront eachother about it, we all just skirt around the issue, without acknowleging it exists.
When I first saw the bill of $738 for the ambulace my thoughts immediately turned to self harm and wanting to hurt myself, which ironically is what led to the ambulance being called in the first place. I just feel terribly, terribly guilty. I am such a burden on my parents and I’m sure that they must be thinking the same thing. They’d be better off if I simply did not exist. Then they wouldn’t be having to spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on the slight possiblility that I might get better. My father has already complained in the past about the money spent on my therapy. I had eleven sessions last year at a cost of $50 per hour session. $550 spent altogether last year. That’s less than what was spent on an ambulance that was here for about five minutes. And this is just the beginning of it. I haven’t even had my first appointment with the psychiatrist yet, that’ll be another $120. Gone. And if I get referred into a psychologist for therapy again, that’ll be even more money that gets spent.
I’m sorry I’m such a useless failure and burden of a child. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.