Coffee heat rising

Medigap Runaround, 2013

So I get a notice from Mutual of Omaha that they’re jacking up the premium for my Medicare supplement insurance (known as “Medigap” because it fills the considerable gaps in Medicare Parts A and B coverage) by $433.58, an amount that happens to be exactly $433.58 more than I can afford.

In the mind-numbingly complicated maze that is the private Medicare supplemental insurance landscape, I have Plan F, a mid-priced scheme that effectively covers everything that Parts A and B do not cover. The last time I talked with Mutual of Omaha, their CSR suggested I switch to Plan G, which covers everything except a $147.50 Part B deductible. Part G premiums are so much lower than Plan F’s now that even paying the deductible out of pocket you still come out ahead.

Ooohkayyyy….

Meanwhile, I’ve compiled a list of a dozen companies that do business in Arizona and are charging less than Mutual of Omaha for Plan F.

Monday, I begin the endless round of calling with Mutual of Omaha itself, trying to get underwritten for Part G.

I speak with one Ernest. He says Plan G will cost $116.28, well under what I’ve been paying for Plan F. I ask about the underwriting. He transfers me to another agent, one Nicole. She says she’s a licensed agent in Arizona. But she also won’t talk with me. She tells me to call an 800 number and utter these words: “I have a Plan F and want to change to Plan G, and I want underwriting.”

I dial the 800 number and, interestingly, reach another Nicole. I say, “I have a Plan F and want to change to Plan G, and I want underwriting.” She is confused. Do I want the Underwriting Department? I say I was told to call her number, and I start to complain about the runaround.

She transfers me to one Carol. I explain what I want. Carol is in life insurance. She transfers me — to a phone tree.

Eventually, I reach one Cheryl. She says you have to fill out a whole new application for a whole new policy. She says they’ll send it to me.

Now I call Universal Fidelity. Kayla answers and says she can give me a quote. She says their Plan F is $133.85 — about what I’m paying now — and Plan G is $112.99. She explains that you have to trigger the Medicare deductible before Plan G will cover anything. This implies that there could be circumstances that Plan G will not cover, since not all issues covered by Medicare A & B are doctors’ visits. She says an agent will call me — some guy from American Health Underwriters in Ft. Worth.

I call Everence, where I reach one Jason. He says Everence is a fraternal benefit organization for fundamentalist Christians. Episcopalians do not count as Christians in their book.

Next I call American Family (the ever-annoyingly advertised AFLAC). Here I get an incredible electronic runaround and finally give up without ever reaching a human.

Moving on, at United Healthcare I reach one Don, who tells me that their Plan F costs $180 a month and their plan G, $160. He tries to corral me into an AARP HMO. I tell him to get lost.

Now I dial Heartland, where a person named Tracy transfers me to a male person with a name pronounced “Teal.” He’s with Equitable Life. He says their Plan F costs $149 and Plan G costs $140. There’s a $20 application fee, he notes. He says he will send an application and gives me a direct phone number at which to reach him.

Next I call Forethought. It’s after hours now on the East Coast, and their offices are closed.

I wonder if Government Personnel Mutual will cover state employees or the children of Merchant Marine officers. In the course of searching for an answer to this question on their website, I’m shunted to a webpage of something called Medicare Marketplace. I dial the 866 number and reach one Larry Peters, who presents himself an insurance agent & broker in Omaha. He says that Government Personnel actually started out serving only federal employees and members of the military, but it now covers civilians, too. Its plan G is only $110.70; if I want a Plan F, the next-best deal he can get for me is with American Continental at $141.94.

However, he says, it’s late at his office and the computer system is about to shut down. Could we talk the following day? We exchange phone numbers and agree to try to get in touch about mid-morning Arizona time.

On Tuesday I leave the house at 6:30 for a hike up the mountain and get back around 8:30. An hour or so later, I call him back. He says the application fee is $25. I agree to this and say I’m interested in Plan G. He asks the  underwriting questions and says he will send the form.

In the meantime, I’ve done a little research.

By Tuesday morning, I know that Universal Fidelity got a negative rating from A.M. Best in 2011 and again in March of 2012. Heartland has racked up a grade of F (for “flunk”) from the Better Business Bureau as well as 8 complaints at Ripoff Report. A. M. Best downgraded it in 2009.

Central States, which I  have not yet tried to reach but whose rates look pretty high, has an A. M. Best rating of A+; Manhattan, with slightly higher rates, has a rating of B+ and a long-term rating of bbb-; A. M. Best considers it to be “stable.” Government Personnel Mutual is rated A- (also in the “excellent” range) with a long-term rating of a- and a “stable” outlook; the Texas Department of Insurance’s excellent website shows no complaints against it.

Later on Tuesday, one Mike from Universal Fidelity calls. He says that company charges $129.85 for Plan F and $108  for Plan G. He’s a fast talker and he’s trying to maneuver me into committing to one or the other of these. In the course of conversation, he says the application fee is $45.

Since that’s clearly beyond the pale — the others are charging $20 to $25 for the privilege of asking humbly whether you may be allowed to purchase a policy to fill in the empty spaces around the capacious Medicare coverage — I ask him if that $45 is billed to me when he puts the application in the mail or only after I fill it in and submit it. He won’t give me a straight answer. I say, “You’re not answering my question. Am I billed $45 simply because you mail me a blank application, or am I billed $45 when you receive the completed application?” Disingenuously, he says I’m billed $45 when they send me a statement for the Part G coverage.

Annoyed, I say, “Look, you have competition. Why don’t you wait a couple of days before sending this application to me, until I can see what I can find out about Plan G from the several other companies that offer it in Arizona at affordable rates.” He flounders. I say, unequivocally, “Wait two days before you send this application. I will be in touch with you.”

This morning while I’m at a meeting, Mike calls back. He wants me to return his call. I’m involved with grading papers and writing a report about the meeting and so decide to delay that particular annoyance. While I’m still working, he calls again and leaves a message on my voicemail saying he had the prices for Arizona wrong, and that Plan F is actually $133.85 and Plan G, $112.79. They’ll divide the $45 application gouge between two months, making the first two months’ Plan G payments a bargain $135.29. Mighty white of ’em, eh?

Amazing picture, isn’t it? Over two days, I’ve called SIX insurance companies offering identical Medigap plans at six different rates and I’ve spoken to TWELVE different people and an impenetrable telephone tree. Of the twelve humans, nine could give me no information of any value, two tried to hustle me, and one may be hustling me but seems to represent a reasonably reputable company offering a plan at an almost affordable rate. Alleged plan G rates range from $112.99 to $160, for the same, identical, federally regulated coverage; “application fees” range from $20 to $45.

To start the underwriting process, I’ve had to give my Social Security number to a guy I met through an Internet page and who for all know could be Osama Bin Laden’s nephew, out to fund his organization’s enterprise with identity theft. And yes, I’ve asked around among friends and business acquaintances and been unable to find anyone living in Arizona who works as a broker for Medicare supplemental plans. The best I can say is that there is indeed a Larry Peters running an insurance agency in Omaha.

Ain’t private enterprise grand?

Why not  just have Medicare provide full coverage, instead of throwing elderly, frail, and often fuzzy-minded citizens into such a gawdawful briar patch?

What a flicking nightmare.

Apparently I’m going to have to go through this rat-race about once every year or two.

I did find an outfit that issues reports on Medicare Supplement and Part D (prescription drug) plans. The report on Part D will set you back $49. Their report on Medigap insurers is $99. So…that’s $150, just to try to get an allegedly unbiased comparison of these outfits.

Otherwise, there appears to be no help available to consumers for navigating this dangerous and expensive mess.

Whacked and Windblown

Not good for much today. Anxiety attack — I hate those — drove me to a well marinated dinner. Well. Two dilute bourbons and waters wouldn’t marinate most folks, but it seems to have a) stopped the fibrillateous heartbeat and b) stopped all attempts at working or thinking.

Young Dr. Kildare reminded me that he’d referred me to a cardiologist for the same neurotic symptoms four months ago. He underestimates the ability of old bats to blow off scary recommendations. Armed with a new phone number, I made an appointment for later this week. Possibly I will find a way to forget it between now and then?

Our first dust storm of the year blew in today. Naturally, on floor-vacuuming day. Every time we get one of these windstorms, the floors collect a gritty layer of dust, annoyingly palpable by the bare foot. Dutifully following the one (or two)-chore-a-day schedule, first crack out of the box this morning I ran the machine over 1860 square feet of tile floors. Decided to wait until tomorrow to dust-mop, by way of wasting less energy.

But more wind & dust are expected for the foreseeable future, so dust-mopping it up seems like an exercise in futility.

It’s spitting rain out there right now: just enough to add a skiff of mud to the piles of parched leaves and debris that have blown in to cover the yard I paid Gerardo $75 to clean up just a few days ago. And, picturesquely, to fill the pool that has been so pristine all winter.

What IS the point, anyway?

A Close Call in the Real Estate Department

My neighbor Sally, the one who lives directly across the alley behind me, has resurfaced. I thought she’d moved out, as she hasn’t been home at least a month. She put her house on the market — the “For Sale” sign has been up for two or three weeks.

But finally this weekend she reappeared. As develops, her 98-year-old mother died last week, after having fallen in the bathtub. The old gal didn’t break any bones, but apparently she hurt herself on the inside. After several weeks of suffering, she died in hospice. Sally has been at her side the entire time.

Sally had already decided to put her house on the market and move to a smaller place before this happened — her agent had listed the house literally hours before the event. But, she said, she’s now so exhausted she can’t face the upheaval of having to empty out a lifetime of possessions and move across the city.

So — hallelujah! — she’s taking the house off the market!

It’s much in my interest for Sally to stay put. She’s quiet —  no barking dogs, no screaming children, no loud rock or salsa music — and she keeps the place up pretty well. Plus she’s a pleasant enough neighbor to have around.

But: it was a very close call, indeed.

She told me that Mr. B*** — the guy who vandalized my pool by throwing about three gallons of used motor oil over the wall into the water — made a bid on the house.

Mr. B***, also known in these parts as The Perp and as The Romanian Landlord, made a business of turning our three-block by two-block neighborhood into his private rental empire. He bought the house next door to SDXB’s, when SDXB’s neighbor was scared off by the local burglars. Seemed like a nice enough fellow at the time.

But then he started buying houses from the elderly neighbors. This tract was built in the early 70s, and, because it’s a decent area (once a very nice area), many of the original owners still live here. And they’re getting on in years.

He would spot someone who looked like they were old enough to be tired of working on a place or whose spouse had recently died; then he would go to the door and offer to buy the house for a song, saying he would pay in cash. Many of these elderly people, especially women, had no idea how much their houses were really worth. They would jump at his offer, apparently without even bothering to consult a real estate agent. And so, in at least a couple of cases we know of, he was practically stealing houses, picking them up for tens of thousands under market value.

He would finance them by telling mortgage companies that he was going to move into them or put relatives in them — this, it develops, appeared in the public records, easily available online.

Then he would promptly turn them into rentals. From there they would devolve into wrecks.

Apparently he was getting advice and possibly financial backing from someone knowledgeable about real estate and the rental business, because he personally is not a very sophisticated soul. Hard-working, yes — but wise in the ways of the world, not so much. At one point he had his clutches on a half-dozen houses here, all of which he was allowing to go to pot and all of which were, of course, driving down property values as compared to adjacent tracts that had few or no rentals.

At the very peak of the real estate bubble, Mr. B*** abruptly sold all but one of these rental houses. So, no doubt thanks to whoever was advising him, he maximized his profit in a big way.

He then bought a house on a huge lot in the pricier neighborhood just to the south of us — where values are higher because there are no rentals wearing out the properties. The house isn’t much, but it’s a prime piece of real estate; the land itself is worth more than the structures. He kept the house next door to SDXB’s former dwelling and turned it into a rental. (After the pool fiasco and resulting court appearances, SDXB fled to Sun City, selling his house to Manny, who bought it with money the city gave him when it condemned his neighborhood to build an airport runway and who has let it run down).

In the wake of the real estate collapse, it looked like B*** was going to stay out of the rental business, or maybe that he just had enough sense to stop soiling his own nest and pissing off the neighbors — maybe he’d go trash someone else’s neighborhood. However…

As soon as he saw the For Sale sign in Sally’s front yard, he called the realtor, who’s one of Sally’s cousins. She wanted $225,000. He offered $180,000.

When Sally heard that that B*** had made a bid on the house, she told her cousin that she wouldn’t sell to him. The cousin informed her that she could not refuse to sell the house to a legitimate bidder.

He told her she needed to make a counteroffer. So she said, “OK, tell him my counteroffer is $224,999.”

As far as we know, that’s the end of it. But I think legally the only way we can be sure of that is for the house to go off the market right now and that sign to come down. She said she’d told her cousin that she’s decided not to move, under the circumstances.

At two and a quarter, the house is offered at or slightly below market, and prices are appreciating fast here. In our zip code, home prices rose 20% in 2012, and they’re expected to go up about 10 percent this year. So, if as I suspect, Mr. B*** wants to get Sally’s house just to spite me — and to put the worst sh!theads he can find in there — he’s entirely capable of coming back with a full-price offer.

If that happens before the house is officially withdrawn from sale, or if she dies (she’s 78) and he gets his hands on the place, I will be out of here in an instant.