The $280,000 Question: Do I Change My Doctors or My Insurance?

Today, I opened my email to find a cheerful little note from my medical group—the same group I’ve trusted for about twenty years. You know, the one with all my doctors: my PCP, pulmonologist, neurologist, physiologist, endocrinologist, thoracic surgeon, and a few others whose specialties I can’t even remember anymore. I’ve basically collected them like trading cards at this point. Anyway, the message was simple: as of 2026, they’re dropping my insurance. Just like that. Twenty years together, and now they’re breaking up with me over email.

So here I am, staring at my screen, trying to figure out if I should dump my insurance and chase my doctors—or keep my beloved insurance and find a whole new cast of medical characters. It’s like a twisted dating show: “Who Wants to Be My Next Pulmonologist?”

And it’s not just any insurance. Mine has been amazing. Truly. They’ve covered just about everything without a fight. When I had my AICD replaced, that little hospital adventure came to a cool $280,000. My lung collapse? $47,000 for three nights. The pleurodesis? About $60,000 just for the stay, not even counting the surgery itself. And do you know what I paid? One hundred dollars. My deductible. That’s it. You see why I’m loyal.

Now, if I change insurance to keep my doctors, I risk losing that peace of mind. But if I stay with my insurance, I’ll lose the doctors who have literally kept me alive. These people know my lungs better than I do. They’ve seen the insides of them—literally. Starting over with strangers feels like walking into a kitchen mid-rush hour with no prep list and a blindfold.

And of course, this all comes during one of those delightful “government shutdowns” and policy tangles where nobody knows what’s happening with healthcare, subsidies, or coverage. ObamaCare—aka the New York State of Health plan I use—is caught in the same political crossfire as everything else. Every headline reads like a warning: “Stay tuned, your future may be canceled.”

I usually stay out of politics, but honestly—who has the time or energy to tiptoe around it when this mess is literally life or death? For those who voted for the people running this circus, I sincerely hope you’re enjoying the show. Meanwhile, the rest of us are sitting here wondering how to afford breathing.

Because, really—who has $280,000 sitting in a drawer for a defibrillator replacement? Or $47,000 for a lung collapse? I can barely justify $47 on takeout some days.

So, no—I’m not panicking. I’ve had worse news before. But I am concerned. Because life goes on, and so do medical bills. I just wish someone would tell me who’s supposed to pay for them this time.

Maybe I’ll flip a coin. Heads, I keep the insurance. Tails, I keep the doctors. And if the coin rolls under the couch, well—that’s probably the universe telling me to lie down and take a nap.

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What would you do? Have you ever had to choose between doctors and insurance? Drop a comment below or subscribe if you like following along as I stumble through the fine print of survival.