Betting Against Myself

Last week I did a majorly adult thing: I bought life insurance. Boy is that a process.

Life Insurance

I have not been asked so many questions about my health in a long time. And the questions they asked weren’t only about me, but about my parents as well. For me, they not only wanted to know diagnoses from a lifetime, but basically all treatments in the last five years. Trying to remember all of that was not easy since I switched insurance in there.

I tried going backwards. Okay, so my sprained wrist, getting taken off caffeine, fatigue. Thank goodness the latter is specifically written up in my medical record as “non-anemic iron deficiency.” That saved me a lot of premium money. Oh, and I almost forgot the booger cam.

The worksheet they sent in advance of my phone interview had a section about activities. Writing novels and making cheese definitely wouldn’t disqualify me, and I was looking forward to sharing that information, but alas, that question was never asked.

So I got my life insurance. I’m ignoring the fact that I am now betting I will die in the next 20 years, while the insurance company puts the odds that I will still be alive. I’m not-so-secretly hoping that they are right!

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