I’ve always considered Medicare something that I would need much later in life. Medicare has always been for old people. Grandma talked about it. After she was gone, eventually my parents talked about it–which Supplement or Advantage Plan to buy, whether Medicare would cover certain medications or procedures, or even if Medicare would still be around when they needed it. It was something nebulous. Far off. Future. Way in the future.

Guess what? I caught up to it. Or it caught up to me. As of January 1, I became a Medicare customer, client, recipient. I reached that lucky milestone where every American must sign on the dotted line, literally or virtually, like it or not, unless they want to pay a stiff penalty.

How is it, you ask? What is it like? Well, to tell the truth, I don’t feel any different. (Tell that to my lower back, right knee, and hands. They argue with me daily. My mother-in-law calls it a visit from Arthur Itis.)

I’ve only used my Medicare card once so far, for medicine, and it only cost me $2.00 with my new drug plan, which, in addition to my Medicare premium (over $500 per three months), only costs 50 cents a month for Tier One drugs. Which I’m told, are the more common less expensive ones. What a bargain, huh?

I guess so, but no matter. I’m now part of the Medicare population, the senior community, the aging baby boomers (love that phrase), the retirees, grandmas, etc. Born in the USA, raised in the 60s and 70s, I remember the days before computers, microwave ovens, cell phones, and child car seats. I’m glad, though, because it means God has blessed me with a long life. Just hope He sees fit to make it a little longer.

Hubby Jimmy and me in 1979 when Medicare was the farthest thing from our minds. (Happy Valentine’s Day. I miss you so.)

What about you? Are you there yet?

XOXO