For Sunday, April 27, 2008 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 837 words



Betting on uncertainty


My wife just took out a $100,000 life insurance policy on me. She did it against my better judgment. I don’t like insurance of any kind, though I’m insured to the eyeballs on property. I’m especially averse to life insurance because of the morbid nature of it. It’s a lose-lose proposition. If I outlive the policy, we lose money. If I die, I lose it all. She loses me. Only the creditors win. That’s the only joyful outcome. That whole line up gives me the puckers.

Why did she take out the policy? Of course, so she could pay off some bills if I go and prepare herself for a life of comfortable if sad solitude. But why now? Because I turned 54? That’s not a big, important number on the death charts. There is no spike in dying at age 54. Is it because she’s watched me eat poorly, gain weight, collect a string of health problems, and grow indifferent to my blood pressure, cholesterol, body mass index? If so, why didn’t she take out this policy when I was 30?

Personally, I think it’s because of something she read in the checkout line at Safeway or Raleys. She picked up a Ladies Home Journal or Money magazine that advised her to insure her spouse for her own well-being.

I think it’s because of something she heard on Oprah or in her monthly subscription to AARP magazine. Usually she leaves those out for me in our bathroom library rack, but lately a few recent installments have been missing.

I also think she is inspired by the hardships of those around her. She doesn’t mind that men my age are dropping like flies all around the planet Earth. However, if a friend’s husband goes to his dirt nap prematurely, she goes immediately on guard.

Whatever the inspiration, she became determined that I get myself insured against SHDS, Sudden Husband Death Syndrome, right away.

I remember when the traveling health inspector came to the house about a month ago. She advised me he was coming to take my fluids and measurements. She even forced a hearty oatmeal breakfast on me for one day out of 365 in the hopes of magically lowering my bad cholesterol by noon. She didn’t take into consideration the fine print that said I shouldn’t eat or drink for 12 hours before the test.

The man came while I was trimming my garden. I had just put an orange peel in my mouth to frighten my grandchild when he pulled up to the curb. I spit it out, and offered to take him into my living room, but he was happy to set up his blood tests on a cluttered workbench in my garage. We blew away the sawdust and I laid out a red rag from the bulk pack I had bought at Home Depot.

I confess, I did what I could to make myself appear a bad candidate. I told him I’d just finished a big bowl of oatmeal piled high in brown sugar, plus two coffees with cream. He didn’t seem to care. I told him of all the sick people in my family, mentally and physically, and all my aches and pains and irregularities. He didn’t seem to care. He took my blood and drove away.

This agency then began to send me letters for my signature so they could view my Kaiser records. I’d find them in the mail and secretly shred them. They’d send them again, and I’d shred them again. Finally, they sent them to my wife. She made me sign them and mail them back.

I passed their tests with flying colors and we got our first bill, which Susan paid with alacrity. The very thought of it almost brought on a coronary for me. Mailing money to some strange company to insure my life. Arg. I know that if I did keel over, they’d find some fine-print oversight in my application that would disqualify me.

The inspector asked me about my family’s health history. What do I know about them? My mother and two sisters don’t tell me their health problems and I don’t ask. I told the inspector my family is fine. After all, they are alive. If I keel, they’ll probably dig into my mother’s health records and find she has undisclosed high blood pressure, or my sister will have undisclosed kidney problems or something, and they will disqualify my insurance claim and my poor grieving wife will get nothing, and in the meantime they will get monthly checks from us.

I try and explain these concerns to my wife, but she just calls me paranoid, skeptical, cynical. I say, “Yes, that’s true. But those things won’t kill you. If anything, they’ll keep you alive longer.”

Still we pay for her peace of mind. Her peace of mind gives me peace of mind. Now I’m going to be calm and relaxed and screw it all up and live forever.