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Have you ever wanted to know what a 60-mile helicopter rescue costs? I know.

As I reminisce now about flying high over the North Cascade Mountains of Washington with the chopper blades whirling overhead, I'm reminded of the provocative quote from Helen Keller: "Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature. ... Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."

For two years, I've joined the self-anointed "Glacier Guys" on summer backpacking trips to the western mountains. On day two of this nine-day trek through the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the six of us were descending a steep talus field when I stepped awkwardly and my ankle snapped.

Searing pain permeated my body. I was helped to my feet by Clark and MikeM, but standing was excruciating.

Clark ferried my pack along with his own while I hobbled in misery another mile to our camp for the evening. MikeM, the doctor, got some snow and packed my ankle to retard the swelling. We couldn't tell whether it was broken or merely sprained, but I couldn't continue the hike.

I took serious painkillers overnight and slept fitfully. In the morning, leader Bob said, "We're going to hike out and get some help." MikeM and I hung around camp, expecting word of perhaps a horse-pack rescue team on its way.

Instead we got a helicopter. Actually, we got two.

The first helicopter brought a deputy from Chelan County. The second brought paramedics and a gurney, and I was instructed to board. One of the paramedics asked if I had good insurance.

"We'll see soon enough," I said prophetically.

Within an hour, I was in an emergency room in Central Washington Hospital in Wenatchee. X-rays showed a distal fracture of the left fibula. The rest of the story is inopportune and tiresome, but a week later I was home.

Then I got the invoice. Answer: $10,000.

Jane and I are fortunate enough to be gainfully employed, and we're insured by Anthem through Jane's job at Virginia Tech. Anthem wants to pay $4,000.

Not getting too technical here, because, frankly, I'm still mystified, but I'd been caught in the particular anguish termed "out of network."

It works like this. Insurance companies partner with providers (the network) and pay them a predetermined amount for various services. If you have treatment by a nonpartner, your insurance company will pay less, unless you have opted for a special "out of network" premium, which will pay an equal amount in case of emergency.

But here's the kicker: nonpartner providers can charge virtually anything they want, unburdened by predetermined fees. Because Anthem never partnered with my helicopter company, I got shafted.

My friend Denise, who has cancer and has been through the proverbial wringer, says, "Picture this situation that I've encountered myself. You are cleared for surgery and are now asleep under anesthesia. Your hospital, surgeon and anesthesiologist are all 'network providers.' So far, so good.

"Lo and behold, your surgeon sends your specimen out to a lab that is not a 'network provider' -- Bam! Gotcha!

"I guess the surgeon should have awoken you and had you check your insurance manual -- which you would have stashed handily under your hospital-issued gown -- as to what pathology labs are 'in network'.

The unfairness of this situation is clear and indicative of the mess we call today's American health insurance system. The overarching issue is whether we consider the miracle of modern medicine a birthright to all citizens or only those with the financial wherewithal to participate, which is fodder for another essay.

But when Jane and I have spent upward of $25,000 on premiums over the last decade to protect us during such emergencies and we're only reimbursed at 40 cents on the dollar, something is wrong.

Where is the political will to fix it?

It's six weeks past now, and my ankle is better. The soft cast is off, and I'm resuming light physical exercise, thanks for asking. But my wallet is still in rehab.

Michael Abraham lives in Blacksburg. He keeps doing the things his mother warned him against.