In November, I had the distinct pleasure of staggering into the emergency room, half-blind from the worst pain I had ever experienced. The doctor took one look at me and knew what was wrong: a dental abscess. She examined me to make sure, but I didn’t need any tests or surgery. I walked out an hour later with a prescription for antibiotics, another for painkillers, and the phone number of a dentist’s office. My face was swollen and scary for another day or so, but all in all the ordeal ended quickly and happily.

And relatively cheaply, as it turns out. For my hour in the hospital, and my ten minutes spent with a doctor, I was charged a measly little $664, presumably because I hadn’t asked for any luxuries like tests or medicine. I didn’t learn that until January; apparently, the hospital likes to wait a couple months before sending the bill.

Nevertheless, the relatively small price tag made me happy. I’d dealt with this hospital once before, with a much more substantial sum of money involved, and although everything got taken care of, that resolution only came after six months of paperwork, phone calls, and general bullshit to which all uninsured people are subjected. This time, it would be easy. I could pay $664.

I just couldn’t pay it right that second. So I called the hospital and set up a payment plan: $55.33 a month for 12 months, with no interest if I paid on time. They were extremely gracious about it. I put my feet up and awaited my first bill.

Two days later, I got an angry call from a collection agency. I explained that I had just set up a payment plan, and they decided to give me the benefit of the doubt, but threatened to call back if it didn’t show up in their records. They didn’t call back.

And my first bill didn’t come. I made sure to check the mail several times a day, but no bill. Perhaps the billing cycle started later than I thought it did? Perhaps it was one of those ridiculous “no payments for three months” situations, because they went to some seminar that told them treating health care like a used car made patients happy? After the second month without a bill arriving, I decided to call them. They scolded me — quite angrily — for calling the wrong number, and directed me to the billing department. The billing department wouldn’t let me do anything without entering my 13-digit account number, which could be found on my bill. I did not have a bill. The automated answering service was not interested.

Last week, I finally received my first bill — for the first three months of payments. I also received a call from my bank, telling me there was some kind of problem with the magnetic strip on my card, so they’d be sending me a new one which I would have to call and activate, and could I please try to avoid using either card until that happened? Fine. I’d pay the bill after I got the new card.

This morning, I got a very stern call from a collection agency. I owed them the full balance of $664. “This seems sudden,” I said, “considering I just got the bill last week.” I was informed that, no, I had owed them money since November. I extracted myself from the situation as delicately as possible (which is to say, not delicately at all), and called the hospital again, this time armed with my 13-digit account number.

The hospital was just as friendly as the collection agency. I was once again scolded, this time for an even more outrageous crime: I had failed to take my original balance, divide it by 12, and send a check for the resulting amount to the hospital despite having never actually received a bill. I was not simply expected to pay my bills, but to write them and send them to myself as well. They assured me they had sent the first two bills, and if I didn’t get them, that wasn’t anyone’s fault — technically true, but dickish.

Frankly, I’m not sure they did send them. In my life, I have seen a lot of bills with several months’ worth of charges on them, and none of them have looked like this. Nothing was itemized. There was no menacingly bolded PAST DUE BALANCE printed above my total balance. There was a single, tidy charge for $165.99 — three months’ payments, conveniently added together — listed by itself.

Luckily, a solution presented itself: I put the whole goddamn $664 balance on my credit card, and will make monthly payments there instead. I could have done that in the first place, but it seemed like a fucking terrible idea at the time, what with the interest, and the threat of insurmountable debt, and the generally evil practices of banks. But now that I’ve seen how the hospital does business, an unethical interest rate seems a small price to pay in exchange for a bill that arrives every month, an operator that is happy to take my call and my money, and the knowledge that my billing cycle lasts a whole month, just like clockwork, and that collection agents won’t threaten me until I’ve done something to deserve it.

Thank you, hospital. You taught me to trust the banks again.