My boyfriend and I are going through the same exact thing. But he will be dropped from his father's employer's plan because of his age. He has had multiple abdominal surgeries, a removed spleen, and a serious eye condition, which needs constant attention from an eye doctor. He could get COBRA, but there's no way his family can afford that. We have seriously considered getting married so I can put him on my plan, which happens to be pretty decent. If we had a public option, we wouldn't even have to worry about this. We wouldn't have to take that serious step to get married just because this county's health care system is broken. I don't understand how people can be against universal health care. What if my boyfriend was your son, your brother, your husband? How would you opponents feel then?
On Bended Knee, With a Very Low Copay
My boyfriend's proposal was more about my need for health care than our shared romance.
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Most of my girlfriends who have received a marriage proposal told me they had a sneaking suspicion it was coming. I, however, was completely blindsided when my boyfriend proposed marriage so that I could receive health care on his plan. I had never considered marrying someone for insurance. Love? Yes. Children? Sure. Health care? Not so much.
The proposal from Brian was all business. It went something like this: "We could sign a prenup, go down to City Hall and get a marriage certificate. It's just a piece of paper."
Talk about unromantic. I knew that people married for many reasons, but when did matrimony become a way to scheme our busted health-care system? I always imagined that marriage encompassed values like commitment, love, and companionship—not $30 copays and in-network doctors. I wasn't sure how serious Brian was, so I asked him to clarify his offer. "Is this something you'd seriously consider?" I asked.
I waited for the punch line or the "just kidding," but neither came.
"Why not? The system is broken," Brian said. "It's one way to get around it."
I knew part of the reason Brian made his offer. All of the news reports of layoffs and rising unemployment had left me worried about what would happen if I were next in line to lose my job, and with it, my health care. Like many of my friends, I had coasted by without insurance at times, but two years ago that option became impossible for me: I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The illness was unexpected, and a rude awakening to the exorbitant medical costs sick people can face.
It isn't cheap to suppress an overactive immune system; the injections I give myself every other day to slow down the progression of my illness can cost thousands of dollars a year, but the prices vary depending on one's insurance. I can't trade down or bargain-shop my way through the MRIs, steroids, doctor visits, and copays. And unless a brilliant scientist has an "aha moment" and comes up with a cure for MS, my life will be a series of costly treatments and doctor appointments
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