Dear parents-of-college-students: before you decline your kid’s college health insurance plan because you have “good insurance”, please check to make sure that “good” will be good enough.
Recently, a patient came to see me with a history of recurrent ovarian cysts. She presented her story like it was old news, since this has been happening to her since she was 14 – or in other words, since well before she left the comfort of her parents’ home for the big wide world of college.
Her issue is that three or four times a year, she experiences what she describes as several weeks of progressively intense unilateral lower abdominal pain, culminating in severe pain (which she assumes is from a cyst rupturing) that eventually resolves on its own, with the help of lots of pain meds and missed class.
Generally speaking, she manages things on her own, but yesterday, the pain was worse than usual. Her prescription NSAID wasn’t cutting it. She’d missed a midterm. I had a few questions: who does she normally see for this? When was the last time she’d had a pelvic ultrasound or any other imaging? Was there a plan to change her birth control pill, which she was ostensibly taking to keep things like this from happening? Was it time to dig a little deeper, to see if maybe something else was going on?
Well. It turns out that she hasn’t seen a health care provider (besides our college clinic) in years. Why? Because she grew up in New York. Her parents continue to live, and work, in New York. Their insurance allows her to be seen by providers in New York, and to have labs, and imaging, and procedures, and pretty much anything medically-related she might ever need, in New York. I’m sure it’s very “good” insurance – in New York.
If she actually lived in New York, well, that would be just fine, wouldn’t it?
BUT SHE DOESN’T.
I know, I know. Parents have a hard time thinking of their grown-up kids as no longer living with them. Sure, they’re away at school, but that’s just temporary. Their permanent address is still here with us, at home, right?
Hold up. If your college kid wants to keep listing your house as their permanent address while they’re bouncing around between dorms, sublets, and friends’ couches, living the typically transient life of an undergrad, that’s all well and good (after all, those parking tickets have to be sent somewhere).
But they need to have medical coverage in the place where their physical body actually spends the most time. If you live in California, but your daughter goes to school in Arizona, the place she needs coverage is Arizona.
You might be thinking something like this:
“I’m not worried. We just schedule her routine care while she’s home on break.”
Great, but what if she needs care that’s non-routine? What if something happens in the middle of the semester that might not meet criteria for being rushed to the ER, but really warrants being evaluated by a gastroenterologist, or a cardiologist, or whatever-ologist this week or the next, rather than months from now when she happens to have a few days off from school?
And what about that time – that not-too-distant time – when she stops coming home every summer or spring break? When she gets an internship, or a part-time job, or decides to take classes over the summer? How do you expect her to be able to get even routine, preventative health care if her insurance doesn’t allow her to have Pap tests performed in the state where she lives 95% of the time?
“Well, our insurance is pretty good. I’m sure she’ll be covered.”
Really? You might be surprised. One way that insurance companies trim costs is to limit where you can access care, so even if you’ve been pleased as punch with your plan’s low co-pays, and local provider network, and coverage for fun stuff like acupuncture, you can’t assume it covers anything beyond emergency care once you – or your dependents – leave the state.
Back to my patient from New York. Our options were limited to this: ER or no ER, since emergency care is all that her plan covers here in the state of Not-New-York. Beyond bringing her to an ER, my hands were tied – I couldn’t run labs; I couldn’t order an ultrasound.
Even though she was in pain, she didn’t want to miss yet another midterm. So against medical advice, she refused to allow us to transport her to the ER down the road, and instead returned to her dorm room, clutching her lower right side, with strict instructions to call the campus police to bring her to the hospital if things got worse overnight.
Had I been these parents, had this been my daughter, I would NOT be okay with this state of affairs. I would insist that we find a plan somewhere, somehow, that allows my daughter to access medical care where she actually lives. And I would insist a whole lot harder if she had a chronic or recurrent medical condition.
If, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find a plan for our entire family with decent in-state and out-of-state coverage, I’d look really, really closely at the plan offered by my daughter’s college before checking the little “waive school insurance” box hidden somewhere within all that orientation paperwork.
So. My humble request to the college parents of America is this: if you’re planning on waiving out of the health plan they’re offering through your kid’s school, please, please, PLEASE read the fine print, or pick up the phone and sit through the terrible hold music until you get a human being to talk to, and find out whether your plan covers medical care – specialists, labs, imaging, etc. – in the state your child is about to move to.
Those insurance premiums aren’t cheap. So make sure they’ll pay for the care your family actually needs.