Dear Blue Cross Blue Shield of Tennessee,

This letter is to inform you that I find it appalling that your company refuses to cover hypnotism as a form of psychological therapy. It has come to my attention that this treatment is a very necessary and useful technique for mental patients such as myself. Allow me to explain.

I have a condition called spheksophobia, or fear of wasps. OK, I mean Fear of Wasps. Well, maybe it’s FEAR OF WASPS. Let’s be honest, it’s really more like,

FEAR OF WASPS.

Recently I visited a licensed provider of psychoanalysis—a doctor who is listed in the handy dandy Directory of Providers that you sent upon my enrollment in your Point of Service health insurance plan. I told the doctor The Story (see below), and she recommended that I undergo hypnotherapy to cure myself of this condition. I inquired as to whether or not this would be covered by my insurance plan. The doctor suggested that I call the number on the back of my insurance card. So I called. Serena, at BCBS in Knoxville then informed me (after stifling a giggle) that hypnosis was not covered under my plan, but electric shock treatments were.

I find it inexcusable that an outdated practice such as EST is covered by a prestigious company such as BCBS. Not only is hypnosis less invasive, but also it is an up-and-coming practice in the world of psychotherapy. Not to mention the fact that it involves a lot less equipment. Truth be told, the overhead on hypnotizing someone is zero, as long as you have one of those watches that dangles from a chain.

Serena then proceeded to ask me what in the world I needed hypnosis for, which is really none of her business, but I told her The Story anyway (see below).

The Story

You know those cup holders that are right next to the handles on most baby strollers? Well, they are the perfect size for cans of Budweiser or Foaming Wasp and Hornet Spray. I take a can of each with me on my outings with my prize baby, who people think is a girl on account of his long eyelashes, but really he is a boy with a penis and everything, just like his dad. In fact, right after he was born, the first thing his dad said was, “OMG, his balls are as big as mine!” They were swollen due to the pressure of being expelled through the birth canal. Even when I dress him in blue outfits covered in tractors, people still think he is a girl. Let’s call this baby The Goose, just for the sake of The Story.

One day I took The Goose outside for his usual late-afternoon stroll, and discovered that the stroller was not in its customary place. Rather, it was in the trunk of the car. So I set the baby down about 10 feet from the parked car in order to retrieve the perambulator and stock it with diapers and wasp spray.

I purposely set him AWAY from the car because of its proclivity for attracting wasps. I had extracted the stroller and was in the process of putting the diapers in the underneath storage bin when the pest came torpedoing out of the sky in a desperate attempt to commune with our license plate. Ever the prepared and dutiful mother that I am, I immediately popped the top off of my Foaming Wasp and Hornet Spray can and began to douse the beast in extermination foam. But even though I had just returned from a trip to my parents’ house in Mississippi, where I practiced shooting a 22-gauge rifle at coke cans (with much precision and grace, I might add), my aim with the spray can was less than accurate.

The brute then came flying at me wildly, stinger erect, and attempted to assault me, as all wasps in my vicinity will eventually do. At this point I was just a tad unnerved and continued to spray the foam into the air frantically, forgetting that there was a Babbling Baby Boy at my feet.

Does The Story really need to go on? The child looked like he had been at a slumber party where they spray those cans of foamy string at each other. And just before he started to lick it off of his fat little hands, I scooped him up and ran screaming into the house like a mad woman, muttering about how unfit and insane and spheksophobic I was and damn that heathen wasp for causing me to nearly poison my own child. The Goose was deposited into the kitchen sink and saturated in cold water and Baby Magic soap while he screamed (presumably it was curses at the stork who deposited him with a crazy).

So that’s why I think I have spheksophobia. And that’s why I need hypnotherapy, which you recklessly do not cover, causing child endangerment.

Sincerely,

Kimberly Becker

p.s. After I told my husband about this incident, he responded, “Kim, you know that they won’t bother you if you’ll just calmly ignore them.” Does he know the definition of phobia? IRRATIONAL TERROR. So I ate him, and thus he won’t be needing health coverage anymore. It gave me a stomach ache, and now I’m seeing a gastroenterologist who wants to run some tests. Will that be covered?

p.p.s. If you CC this to my mother-in-law I will personally murdelate Serena and file a libel suit against your company. Yes, that’s a threat. Remember, I ate my husband so you better take me seriously.