A Health-Care Plan for Twenty-Six-Year-Olds Being Kicked Off Their Parents’ Insurance

When Obamacare was enacted, in 2010, granting you coverage under your parents’ health-insurance plan until age twenty-six, you were a thirteen-year-old who was too focussed on figuring out what Lady Gaga meant by “disco stick” to pay attention to current events. Now that the fateful birthday has arrived, you need a health-care plan that can keep up. But not to worry—we’ve got benefits tailored to your unique twenty-six-year-old needs.

We provide out-of-network reimbursement for any telehealth therapy service that you hear advertised on a podcast. They never disclose that they don’t take insurance until you’re halfway through the sign-up process, at which point you’ve painstakingly listed your psychiatric history dating back to your goldfish’s death in the third grade. That’s messed up, and we feel bad for you, because affording mental-health care shouldn’t hinge upon using the code ADULTINGWITHALYSSA at checkout.

For those who are inexplicably experiencing “baby fever” despite having no actual desire to procreate, we offer full coverage of most low-maintenance houseplants, to placate that nagging maternal urge. See our Web site for a complete list of in-network nurseries in your Zip Code.

We charge a ten-per-cent co-pay on prescription-strength acne cream for the hormonal wrath of “second puberty,” which you just learned is a thing.

Our plan also covers routine cancer screenings to protect you from the chemicals you inhale in the crappy Craigslist apartment that you’re now renting to compensate for your high health-insurance premium. You can try asking your landlord to bring the building up to code, but, seeing as he’s a twenty-three-year-old currently residing in the Czech Republic whom you’ve only ever communicated with via WhatsApp, we think your best bet is preventative care.

Every doctor’s appointment at which you ask “Is this a wrinkle or am I just sleep-deprived?” is out of pocket.

We offer lower rates for subscribers who block all their exes (and those exes’ new partners) on social media. That includes Venmo. We know that you didn’t think we’d notice Venmo, but we did. Nice try.

Our plan also includes a forty-per-cent co-insurance on premium subscriptions for mindfulness and meditation apps. (You must show proof of consistent use beyond the first week to maintain coverage.)

Please note the following “self-care” expenses that we do not cover: any purchases related to “hot-girl summer” (music-festival tickets, hard seltzers, etc.); adoption fees for emotional-support animals other than dogs or cats; and Netflix subscriptions (at this point, seventy per cent of its catalogue is murder docs, and it’s concerning that watching them helps you “unwind”).

Additionally, we do not offer dental. Not because we think dental care is unimportant but because we know that you think dental care is unimportant, seeing as you haven’t had a cleaning since college.

For subscribers undergoing IUD insertion or removal, we cover maximum-strength doses of the sedative that prisons use before administering lethal injections.

Owing to increased restrictions on the sale of Schedule IV anxiety medications, we now exclusively contract with negligent psychiatrists who are trigger-happy with the prescription pad and know all the legal work-arounds. You’ve tried journaling and mantras and weighted blankets, but ultimately Xanax is the only effective weapon against your post-Roe, pre-apocalypse onset of existential despair.

If you want a weighted blanket, though, we’ll cover it. Maybe it’ll work on your pets, who have all developed secondhand anxiety.

The above benefits expire on your thirtieth birthday, and will be replaced by partial coverage of the following products and services: paleo-meal kits, non-IKEA furniture, prenatal care, postnatal care, post-postnatal care (twice-weekly babysitting), collagen cream, and therapy. That last one carries over—therapy is forever. ♦