Catching the California Wave

Adventures in Oceanside, California

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I have moved to California after living in Arid Arizona my entire life. I am ready to find new adventures and to discover a new life. I will be chronicling this process.

  • Is Deliberate Confusion and Disinformation the New Tactic for Denying Health Insurance Claims?

    Is Deliberate Confusion and Disinformation the New Tactic for Denying Health Insurance Claims?

    By Jennifer Kady Stanton

    For Christmas Eve this year, I traveled to Arizona to spend time with my family. As I wrapped last-minute gifts as guests streamed inside, I found it increasingly difficult to breathe and began to have sporadic coughing. As I’ve had asthma attacks in the past, I decided to make a quick trip to Dignity Health, a freestanding emergency room in Chandler, Arizona.

    My care was fast and efficient. It appeared that I was the only one there, and I was in and out within an hour. Since I didn’t have my insurance card with me, I was advised that I needed to fill out a “48-hour” form to provide my insurance information. On Christmas, the next day, I filled out the form by hand, took a picture of it with my phone, converted it into a PDF, and then uploaded the PDF into an email that was provided to me. A few days later, I received confirmation that the form had been received.

    Unfortunately, I cannot say it was to my surprise, I received a bill via email, stating that I owed $1,058. It did appear that my insurance was charged, because on the itemized bill, it listed “Insurance Payments and Adjustments” that decreased my bill from $2,658 to my final charge of $1,058. I believe that many people would mistakenly assume that insurance had been charged, especially since I had received a confirmation of receipt from the “48-hour email” that provided my insurance information. This confusion could especially be true if someone had new insurance or was not intimately familiar with their insurance plan.

    However, although my plan was fairly new, I did remember that I had a $0 deductible. I called Anthem, my insurance carrier. Ms. M advised me that I would only owe the $50 ER co-pay, and the bill was incorrect. She also advised me that there had been no claim presented. She said that she would have a three-way call to Dignity Health to give them the insurance information.

    Ms. G answered the phone and graciously asked for my insurance information. Ms. M of Anthem provided her with my ID and group numbers. Ms. G of Dignity then asked for the claim billing address.

    It was then that all hell broke loose.

    Ms. M of Anthem advised her that there was no claim billing address because it was an HMO, not a PPO. Ms. G of Dignity advised that without a claim billing address, she could not process the claim, and I’d be responsible for the bill.

    The two reps continued to argue with each other. Ms. M of Anthem, insisting that there was no claim billing address, and Ms. G of Dignity Health, insisting that without the address, she could not process the claim, and I’d be responsible for the full bill. Ms. G also explained that the adjustment that I saw under “Insurance Billing and Adjustments” was merely an adjustment for cash-paying patients, not a partial insurance payment.

    I let them argue, not quite knowing who to believe. Ms. M of Anthem asked for a Dignity supervisor. Mr. L came onto the line and explained, as did Ms. G, that without a claim billing address, they could not process the claim. He also stated that this is standard protocol.

    Ms. M of Anthem then changed her position. She stated that there was, in fact, a claim billing address, but she could not provide it to him or to me. I stated again that there was no claim billing address on the back of my card, so I could not be of any help.

    Ms. M of Anthem repeatedly told me, “Don’t worry, you won’t owe this bill, and I’ll take care of it.” She stated that she had to call another department to “verify” the claim billing address, but that they were closed for the holiday on January 2nd. She told me that she’d verify the claim billing address next week, and “take care of it”. (At the end of the call, I attempted to call the Optum Group to verify that they were, indeed, closed on Friday, January 2nd, and got only a fast busy signal.)

    I’ve been down this road before and realized something was not right. Mr. L, the supervisor at Dignity, was also frustrated at this response and insisted he only needed the claim’s billing address to process the claim. Once he had this elusive information, we could all go on to celebrate our January 2nd holiday.

    I asked for Ms. M at Anthem for a supervisor, thinking that two supervisors on the line could crack the code of providing the claim billing address. After some argument, Ms. A, a supervisor at Athem, came on the line. I now had two supervisors from each company, and myself, on the line.

    Ms. A apologized and acknowledged that not only was there, in fact, a claim billing address, but a claim billing fax number and a claim billing email address. All were provided to Mr. L, the supervisor at Dignity Health. Mr. L assured me that he had everything that he needed to process the claim.

    I was on the call for over an hour, not counting hold times, and not counting the first call that disconnected me when the prompt could not understand that I was asking for a representative. “REP-RE-SEN-TAT-TIVE”.

    Some may argue that this is an isolated event. Maybe the Anthem rep was new, or still recovering from an eggnog-induced hangover. Maybe she was celebrating the fictional January 2nd holiday. However, in my experience, it seems that the majority of the time that I have a claim, even something as simple as my yearly physical, it takes countless hours and calls to resolve.

    I did not have to work today, and was able to spend over an hour on the phone trying to resolve this mess. I have a fair amount of education and experience in billing, which worked in my favor.

    What if I hadn’t been? What if I had taken Ms. M’s statement that “She would take care of it next week,” or if I had mistakenly believed that the “Insurance Billing and Adjustments” deduction was my insurance payment, especially since Dignity Health had acknowledged receipt of my insurance form? Fortunately, this was not the case, and as it appears as of the date of this writing, I was able to resolve the situation with much effort and two supervisors.

    Not everyone is so lucky. Some may have to work long hours and may not have the time to make these long, frustrating calls. The elderly, disabled, or young patients who may not have experience dealing with these types of situations may assume that insurance has already paid, or may not have the capacity to deal with two feuding representatives.

    Since this is far from an isolated event, it has left me wondering if this is a new tactic to avoid paying an insurance claim.

    If I had not had the time or the capacity to handle the situation, and the bill had been left unpaid, it would have severely affected my credit, hampering my ability to rent an apartment, buy a car, or obtain other credit-based necessities. All of this is because Anthem would not provide a claim billing address without supervisor interaction, or at least provide it on the back of the card.

    I can’t help but believe that this is intentional. Mr. M of Anthem had stated that “it was against policy” to provide the claim billing address.

    Americans are facing rising healthcare premiums and deductibles, a loss of government subsidies to offset increasing expenses, and a lack of integrity and efficiency within the healthcare industry.

    I believe that not only was this intentional, but it could have easily been avoided. It appears to be the latest tactic to reduce the number of paid claims, even from those of us who are still lucky enough to have insurance at all.

    According to Elevated Health, Anthem Blue Cross and Blue Shield profited 1.2 billion in the first three quarters of 2025. After this experience, and many others like it, I can only imagine how much of this profit is a result of mismanaged claims and patients who are not able to navigate the ever-increasing maze of obstacles before them.

    Congress and the current administration appear to be impotent to resolve these complex issues. Promises of a plan “better than Obamacare” have been suggested for years, yet none have ever materialized.

    In the meantime, we are stuck on hold, both figuratively and literally, as we are left to navigate these created obstacles, on our lunch breaks and January 2nd holidays, hoping that we will hang up in frustration, or just simply go away.


    References

    Becker’s Payer Issues. (2025, October 21). Elevance Health Q3 income up more than 17%. https://www.beckerspayer.com/financial/elevance-q3-income-up-over-17/

  • Mama’s Visit

    Mama’s Visit is now available on Amazon 📚✨

    🌟 A Gentle Story About Love, Absence, and Understanding 🌟

    Mama’s Visit is a tender, reassuring children’s book designed to help families navigate the difficult emotions that arise when a scheduled parental visit does not happen.

    Through the eyes of Tommy, young readers are gently guided through feelings of disappointment, confusion, and hope, all within a safe, loving environment supported by grandparents, pets, and caring adults.

    ❤️ A compassionate story for children experiencing missed parental visits

    🎨 Warm illustrations that reflect children’s emotions

    📚 Designed to be read together

    🧒 Recommended for ages 4–8

    A meaningful tool for families navigating difficult moments with care and connection.

    👉 Available now on Amazon

    https://www.amazon.com/Mamas…/dp/B0GBY828K5/ref=sr_1_1…

  • Gold Coast Dreams

    Note: I wrote the lyrics, AI created the score and performed.

    https://www.musicful.ai/song/47322397774950406/

  • The Beginning

    Ever since I’ve been a kid, I’ve been a planner, which I mistakenly confused with preparation. I’ve kept journals, diaries, and notes, detailing my hour, day, week, month, and year. I also had intricate, long-term plans: where I’d live, fitness and financial goals, details and objectives, all intermingled among colorful charts, vision boards, and graphics. It was more than planning; it was sport. 

    When I was 17, I moved to Tokyo for seven months as a foreign exchange student. Lost in class at my public high school, I would fill endless journals with hopeful plans for an equestrian career when I returned to the states. I spent countless hours thinking about what type of horse and tack I’d buy, where I’d ride, and care for my horse. Despite hundreds of hours of planning, few of those goals ever materialized. My adult life was micro-planned to an extreme, down to what I’d have for each meal, complete with calorie counts. 

    Then 2020 happened. 

    My year, as it was for many of us, began innocently enough. On spring break, 2020, I picked up my bubbly junior in high school to take her home for spring break. The pandemic was just starting to become a major concern, but we had no indication that it would hit so close to home. All the planning in the world never would have led me to understand that my daughter, after five dedicated years at her school, would never return again. We had planned out her senior year, how she’d finally get to wear the coveted black polo only worn by the seniors, homecoming, prom, senior pictures, and graduation. We had both planned and dreamed for that year. I imagined that I’d watch her walk across the stage and wondered if I’d be able to fight back an ugly cry. 

    Again, none of those plans ever materialized. Instead, senior pictures were with a borrowed cap and gown at a paid site normally reserved for weddings. She ultimately decided, due to multiple pandemic-related issues, to just finish her year online and to graduate early in December. There would be no prom, homecoming, walk across the graduation stage, or ugly cry.

    Still, like millions of others, we rolled with the punches, and went with the flow, to some extent. But still, I kept planning; it was my comfort in a time of tremendous change and of challenge. 

    The rent on our 2,400 square foot home, two-story home was likely going to be increased once our lease ended, it suddenly seemed like far too much house for a single person whose only child was off at college. Around this time, my almost 14 year-old dog developed cancer and had to be euthanized, only a few days before our move. 

    What is it that I wanted? The charts, vision boards, and intense planning continued. I bored countless friends with the microscopic planning. I thought I’d definitely move to California and live in this condo, on this street, by this beach. I planned activities, classes I’d teach, and wrote out a sample daily schedule. 

    So, now I find myself living in my parent’s empty home, sleeping on their lumpy bed, with all of my possessions in storage. I am in a vortex of uncertainty, as my daughter finishes her final days of online high school. 

    I do have some online classes that I am hoping I can continue to teach, even when I move. However, I have no full-time job, benefits, or certainty of classes from one semester to the next. As the dean of one of the universities where I teach told me, “I guess that’s the life of an adjunct.”  

    While I am excited about my potential move to California, anything is possible and it is all wildly uncertain. I am trying now, for the first time in my life, to throw my hands up in the air and to let the universe decide for me.  

    The circumstances seem pregnant with possibility. My daughter is applying for scholarships to help with college expenses. I’m writing more. I’m grown to be more dedicated to my health and fitness. I even jogged a bit this morning. Online courses, which is my preferred mode of teaching in the middle of this uncertainty, are more plentiful. I’ve even applied for some full-time, all-online teaching positions. 

    But for now, we wait in this moment of uncertainty and transition. 

    2020 has taught me to take a leap of faith; to understand that I don’t have the answers today, but they will most certainly unveil themselves with they are ready, when the time is right. 

    Instead of using my precious time planning, making vision charts, and detailed plans, I’m instead using that time to prepare, even though I am not certain what it is that I am preparing for.  

    I know that, when the time is right, opportunity will arrive, and when it does, I’ll be ready to greet it, whatever it may be. 

  • Don’t Erode the Voting Rights of American Women

    Published in New York Daily News

    October 2025

    We, the Daughters of the Suffragist Movement, write today in our opposition to the SAVE Act. Karen Benedict shares ancestry with Susan B. Anthony, and Jennifer Kady Stanton shares ancestry with Elizabeth Cady Stanton.  We are keenly aware of the history of the suffrage movement and the ongoing struggle for women’s voting rights.  Our current focus is on the “SAVE Act” (S. 128), which was passed by the House and is currently before the US Senate.

    The SAVE Act purports to keep illegal immigrants from voting and amends the National Voter Registration Act of 1993. The SAVE Act would require proof of citizenship, in the form of a birth certificate or a U.S. passport, when one moves, changes party affiliation, undergoes a name change, or registers to vote for the first time.  This Act would require these documents to be presented in person to the appropriate election official by the registration deadline. 

    We have severe objections to the SAVE Act and believe that it will disproportionately affect the voting rights of women. As currently written, the SAVE Act unduly affects women by requiring them to provide proof of citizenship in person when registering for the first time or updating their registration.  Adding to these obstacles, if a woman’s name differs from what is on these original documents, she would be required to provide in-person documentation, such as a divorce decree, a marriage or name change court order. The loss of original documents and the difficulty in obtaining duplicate paperwork through the court system create unfair disadvantages for women, in addition to the financial hurdles they present. Women who live in rural communities, the elderly, disabled, or those who have limited resources would be disproportionately affected, creating obstacles to voting that do not currently exist.

    This is not only damaging to the voting rights of women, but it is unnecessary legislation. According to the Brennan Center for Justice, only 30 cases of suspected voting by noncitizens were discovered among the 23.5 million votes cast in the 2016 election. This translates to only 0.0001% among a voting jurisdiction with a high immigrant population (Keith & Perez, 2017). This bill is not only unnecessary to address such a small number of illegal votes, but it will, in essence, prevent countless legitimate votes for many women.  


    Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth recently reposted and praised a video from a pastor who does not believe that women should be allowed to vote. (Simon, 2025)  The SAVE Act takes steps towards this ideology by limiting voting access to women and by creating needless barriers. If enacted, these measures would return women to a time when their rights are restricted and their voices silenced. 

    Our ancestors fought tirelessly for decades for the rights of women so that they would have the ability to own land, divorce abusive spouses, to obtain custody of their children, among other rights that were not previously granted to them. As the ability to vote is the gateway to other rights, silencing even some of our voices through unnecessary barriers is one of the first steps towards returning us to this dark era. Most women today can only remember a time when we had the right to have our own credit cards, own land, have custody of our children, and to vote. We must not take these rights for granted, as they are slowly eroded under the guise of preventing illegal votes, a problem which is far less common than portrayed, and could be addressed through other measures that do not prevent some women from exercising their constitutional rights. We must not return to this dark era.

    It is imperative that Democratic, Republican, and Independent women stand against the SAVE Act in order to preserve our hard-won rights that took almost 72 years to obtain. We must not lose these cherished rights through gradualistic measures, which slowly erode our ability to have our voices heard. When fewer women are able to vote, other issues that predominantly affect women will also be impacted. The ripple effects of this bill will extend to other legislation as our voices become silenced and our voting numbers diminish. It is essential that we remember our heritage of strong, hard-working women who refused to let their voices be muted, and as a result, shaped our modern world. We must not step back into a time when these rights were not available to all women, regardless of their background or social status.

    The SAVE Act has already passed the House and is now before the Senate. Reach out to your senators, telling them that the voices of all women will not be silenced, and to vote down this damaging legislation. 

    Karen Benedict

    Jennifer Kady Stanton

    JenniferKadyStanton@gmail.com

    References

    Keith, D., & Perez, M. (2017, 05 05). Noncitizen Voting: The Missing Millions. Brennan Center for Justice. Retrieved 09 28, 2025, from https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/research-reports/noncitizen-voting-missing-millions

    Simon, J. (2025, August 9). Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth reposts video of pastors saying women shouldn’t vote. NPR. Retrieved September 28, 2025, from https://www.npr.org/2025/08/09/nx-s1-5497226/women-pastor-pete-hegseth-vote

  • Imperfect Tribute

    This is not a perfect tribute, but you were not a perfect father.

    I hope you found peace in death that seemed to slip over your clenched fists in life. In your absence, you missed Christmases, birthdays, graduations, and the birth of your grandchildren. In your absence, we found peace from the pain you indiscriminately poured over those who tried to love you.

    I wish our lives had been different. I wish you had found a way to escape the cycle of abuse that viciously ensnared you as a child, passing it down to the next generation, like others pass down a favorite t-shirt or a coin collection.

    You wrapped your life in a coat of deception and cruelty, smothering the golden nugget of warmth still deep inside you.

    I hope you found kindness and softness in a world that must have felt like you were not the universe’s chosen child. I hope that the lessons from this life were not lost on you. I hope that somehow, in whatever afterlife is offered to us, and when the pain of this world has faded away, you can take off your coat of pain and allow the beauty within you to bloom. I know it’s still there, even now.

    This is not a perfect tribute, but you were not a perfect father.

    We sheathed our swords for the final time when the chain of our pain was broken, but the love that remained remained.

    Rest in Peace, Jerry.

  • At Least Once

    At least once in our lives, we must challenge tired beliefs about ourselves and test our constraints.

    At least once in our lives, we must quit our jobs with no notice.

    At least once in our life, we should get unapologetically drunk on a Monday afternoon.

    At least once in our lives, we must wear clothing inappropriate for our age and size and not feel a shred of guilt for eating the entire pizza or pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

    At least once in our lives, we must have a one-night stand while on an exotic beach vacation.

    At least once in our lives, we must fall head over heels in love, say all the wrong things, and still have no regrets.

    At least once in our lives, we must sell all our possessions and live a life of simplicity, knowing what it’s like not to live constrained by bills, full-time jobs, and crippling obligations.

    At least once in our lives, we must tell someone: a boss, a lover, or even an establishment, to go fuck itself for the sake of our own sanity and integrity.

    At least once in our lives, we must know how to walk out of a toxic job or relationship without warning, with spectacular drama.

    At least once in our lives, we need to love ourselves more than we have ever loved anyone else on this earth. 

    At least once in our lives, we must awaken the inner dragon that sleeps inside us all. 

  • Sunday Night’s Dream

    Sunday Night’s Dream

    “Venti Iced Double Espresso Vanilla Latte,” my strained voice cracks into a faceless menu.

    No time to slice vegetables or to cook stew tonight, so it will be drive-through. 

    “Yes, I would like fries with that and a Whopper. With a Diet Coke.”

    I should make dinner for the kids, but I’m so tired.

    “Make that two kid’s meals with milk” 

    At least I got the milk.

    There is a mortgage to pay.

    The 529 to fund.

    Groceries to buy.

    The money I should put into my IRA, but still haven’t found the minutes or the pennies. 

    I will someday, I promise. 

    I’ll work until I die, anyway.

    Next year’s vacation, so I don’t go crazy.

    School lunches for the kids.

    Lunch at the office for me.

    Gas for the car.

    Treats for the dog.

    “Yes, I do want that super-sized,” I answer back.

    I want to go home and watch cable.

    On my financed couch.

    After driving home in an SUV that is far too expensive, uses too much gas, and needs a new front tire.

    “There is nothing on.”

    I surf Facebook. 

    Wow, she is looking great. I wonder if she used a filter? 

    I want to go on vacation, too, maybe next year.

    Maybe I’ll get a salad for dinner tomorrow at the drive-through.

    With fries and a Diet Coke.

    Bing, my phone.

    Lunch on Saturday? And a Pedi?

    Sure, we do deserve it, don’t we? 

    We are exhausted, and we work too hard.

    There really is never enough time, so sure, let’s get together.

    Over coffee, over lunch, getting pedis. 

    How is it Sunday night already?

    Yes, I will take fries with that. 

    I forgot to order the milk.

    I go to bed, a super-sized jar of Tums at my bedside.

    Did I shut the garage door, put enough money in the account to cover the cable bill, give the dog her joint supplements, and schedule the dentist? 

    I think my tooth is cracked. 

    When I open my eyes, I am standing in the center of an overgrown, lazy garden.

    Ripe tomatoes hang heavily from vines, intermingled with wildflowers, grass, and a few weeds.

    I picked faded red tomatoes under an afternoon sun.

    They were imperfect tomatoes with tiny bites and scratches but could be eaten like juicy apples with a dash of salt.

    The garden had a faded white wooden fence; the paint was peeling and chipped.

    Two old chairs sat on the sagging porch of the old wooden home tucked into a cul-de-sac of a forgotten neighborhood, where kids rode bikes and chased each other fearlessly into the street.

    A large jar of tea sat in the sun, waiting to be poured into Mason jars, served over ice and sliced lemons from the tree in the backyard.

    I had a basket from my garden filled with peppers, tomatoes, and a head of lettuce.

    I’ll make a salad tonight. 

    I use the potatoes I picked yesterday for some stew. 

    While it simmers on the stove, I read the mystery novel from the library.

    The sun will wake me up before a friend comes over for coffee. 

    I grind it myself with beans I bought from the Farmer’s Market while my wash dries on the line in the sun.

    I walk to the library, where I work 20 hours a week, just enough for the rent on the old house and seeds for the garden.

    I open the screen door and let the fresh air inside. 

    Soon, the moon will be out, and the air will chill, so I’ll light a fire. 

    While the kids are at school, I cut carrots and peppers from the garden.

    After dinner, we will walk on an overgrown trail and eat strawberries and cream for dessert.

    We will crawl into creaking beds with faded quilts and listen to a lonely owl outside our windows. 

    I awake in my Posturepedic on a Monday morning. 

    Just enough time for a Venti Iced Double Espresso Vanilla Latte and to drive the kids to school.

    Meeting at 8.

    Practice at 5.

    Dinner?

    Yes, I would like fires and better make it super-size.

    With a Diet Coke.

    And some milk. 

  • One of a Million

    One of a Million

    “You know I love you,” he said, hand poised in mid-air.

    “I love lots of people,” he added, a smug smile pulling at the edge of his thin lips. 

    “We are friends, and I love you.”

    He loved me like a beige shirt.

    He loved me as if there were 15 others in his closet, just waiting to be chosen for the day.

    He loved me like an egg white omelet, a Monday morning, a hazy day.

    I pulled his shirt over my head, tucking the brown seams into my jeans before casting out into the grey morning. 

    I loved myself like a Tuesday afternoon, a turkey sandwich on store-bought bread, black work pants, a re-run on a weeknight.

    I blended into the crowd on the subway to work, my shirt melting into a million neutral hues.

    “Take a number,” the deli clerk called to the nameless crowd.

    “456,” and a sandwich wrapped in brown paper was pushed to me across the chipped deli counter.

    I smoothed pale lipstick over my tired lips and pressed them into a dim smile before finding my station inside a sea of cubicles.

    336 unread e-mails to answer, three video conferences this afternoon, and $2,496, the amount of my paycheck earned in two weeks’ time. 

    “I love lots of people,” he said, looking through me. 

    I followed the crowd home on an empty, nameless evening.

    I painted the cream-colored walls myself and searched for a week for matching caramel throws, all of which, paired with the neutral carpeting the realtor insisted would increase the resell value.

    “I love lots of people,” he said, hand poised in midair.

    I collapsed into my down-stuffed, hand-sewn sandstone sectional,  my beige shirt blending in inoffensively as I disappeared into the sea of self-designed mediocrity. 

  • Someday Someone

    “Someday, when the time’s right, you’ll meet someone nice,” she said to me in placating tones, stroking my wild and tangled hair.

    “You are so nice; you just haven’t met the right person,” she cooed, her wedding ring snagging its strands.

    My heartbeat skipped, the bitter taste of bile in my throat.

    “Yeah, maybe,” I apologized, “but I really don’t want to date right now.”

    “Oh, of course you do! Everyone needs somebody!” 

    A wail got caught in my throat, the words frozen on my lips.

    I looked at my shoes. 

    I need to find my voice, I wanted to scream. 

    I need to stand up against those who measure a woman by the size of her thighs or the number of candles on her cake.

    I need to learn that a text is not a declaration of love. 

    I need to learn that a life overflowing with friends, family, purposeful work, and leisure is a work of art.  

    I need to realize that I do not need to justify my actions or beliefs.

    I need to stop chasing and let good fortune fall effortlessly into my full and gracious lap.

    I need to expect more of men. 

    I need to expect more of myself. 

    I need to find deep reservoirs of happiness to temper the winds of dis-ease.

    I need to learn the art of conversation, shared over cups of frothy lattes or chilled flutes of sparkling wine.

    I need to honor myself as a goddess and comb the snarls from my hair. 

    I lifted my gaze and looked into her cold, shining eyes.

    “I guess you are right. Maybe someday someone special will come along.”