If I die:
He gets left with a zillion dollars in medical school debt, loses our house, and lives the rest of his life alone with our son on a ramen diet. He does, however, inherit a large collection of chichi gourmet cookbooks and a large itunes collection that will probably be useless to him. He will sell these for more guns.
If he dies:
I don't have enough money to continue financing medical school, lose our house, and live the rest of my life alone with my son on a ramen diet. I do, however, inherit a huge collection of shotguns and rifles. I live off the land and we eat squirrel and rabbit stew for dinner when we run out of ramen.
So, we've decided to buy us some life insurance. This makes me feel comparatively old and boring.
Yesterday, they sent out a lady to "evaluate" us. I don't know that it was really much of an evaluation. I think it was more like a screening visit. I peed in a cup. She took my blood pressure. She asked me my weight, height, any medications. And then, she proceeded to get ready to do a blood draw.
I never mind lending my arm to someone. I am well known for letting people practice blood draws/IVs and glucometer sticks on me. I love donating blood (it's a place to snooze AND get free raisins).
I told her I was an easy stick.
This is how I jinxed myself.
She inserts the needle into my median cubital vein. It looked like she hit it dead on. She pushes the vacutainer into the holder. Nothing happens.
She shifts the needle a little bit. Nothing happens.
She proceeds to dig around with the needle for what seems like a prolonged period of time. A small amount of blood trickles into the tube.
"How about we do another stick," I say.
"Oh, don't worry, I'll get it." She continues to jab the needle around.
She eventually decides to try another tube. She turns around, holds a shaky hand to my arm and goes through her bag.
"I can hold the needle for you until you find another tube."
"I'm used to doing this with one hand," she confidently replies as the needle torques in my arm.
She finally finds another tube and my blood sprays into it. I feel vaguely queasy. I sense the beginning of a relatively impressive bruise. I now completely understand why some patients get so freaked out about needle sticks. Good grief.