I heard about you years before I realized how important you might be to me someday, but it's only been in the last few years that I've fantasized about getting to know you better. I read the things that were written about you and imagined how my life would be different, more carefree, with you in it. If it had been left up to me, we'd have met sooner, but the people we've elected to make all the rules decided I wasn't mature enough to know you before now.
Nights when I lay sleepless, my body aching, I thought about you. When there was such a burning inside me that I found it difficult to breathe, I knew you'd be able to help me extinguish the fire. My mind was troubled sometimes, trying to distinguish between needs and wants, trying to determine which needs could wait and which demanded immediate satisfaction. With you, I knew, the choices wouldn't be so difficult. The mountains wouldn't seem so high.
But the time wasn't right. No matter how grown up I imagined myself to be, the law said I was too young for you. Well, now everything has changed.
I'm 65 now, Medicare, and I'm coming after you.
When my body aches and even the least expensive pharmacy charges $120 for Celebrex, I will lean against you and let you share my burden. When acid reflux threatens to burn a hole in my esophagus, you'll be there to ease me through the pain of paying for Nexium or Prilosec. From now on, when I think I need to go to the doctor, I won't be as hesitant. I won't be afraid of starting something I can't afford to finish.
I don't expect you to solve all my problems, Medicare; I know enough about you to know you don't work miracles. That's okay. I just need you to have my back, to offer a little reassurance now and then.
I'm excited about having you in my life. Please don't let me down.