Start the Presses:

Depending on the route, I pass up to three hospitals on my way home from work. Not bad for a commute that clocks in just short of seven miles. Passing by those august steel and glass buildings used to make me feel safe. Now, it just makes me sad.

Just about everyone I know has had an issue of some kind of another with health care. The mother of a friend of mine got hit with a six-figure bill for end-of-life care of her husband — and they were insured. My own stepmother died in a San Diego hospital bed following supposedly uncomplicated neck surgery. A friend who works as a waitress at a four-star restaurant has to spend five hours at County whenever she gets the flu.

I felt pretty lucky. None of this had touched me directly, the faceless bureaucrats of HMO policy had remained faceless, and “denial of coverage” was a phrase only heard by someone else.

About six months ago, my wife and I showed up to the Kaiser Permanente campus in Hollywood for a fertility appointment. I was nervous. A month prior, we had decided against getting a dog “since it was too much work.” Our two cats — who require little more than being watered and fed — would have been overjoyed. That assumes, of course, they would have been awake to hear the news. But the timing was right, and we were ready.

If you’ve ever been to the Hollywood Kaiser, you may have an inkling of how I felt. The campus takes up several city blocks. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of patients being seen and treated by an army of medical professionals. The place has that institutional smell of disinfectant. The fluorescent lights make you look ill, even if you’re just there for a checkup.

Our appointment, the initial one, was actually termed a “pre-consultation.” I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I can tell you what happened. We were put into a room with a randomly selected second couple to watch a required video, one that would explain the mystery of infertility.

It was laughable. Gauging from the AquaNet-heavy hair, the pantsuits and sweater-vests, the video was old. Old old. It featured various women and men of various ages and races asking dumb questions: “Am I not eating the right foods?” “Why aren’t I pregnant?” I felt stuck in the world’s most boring United Colors of Benetton commercial.