Enough

Enough

When I was rolling around “enough” in my mind, the word association thing happened. And I remembered that Jennifer Lopez movie of the same title that my ex-husband didn’t like much. It made him visibly nervous.

Y’all. I’m a pacifist. It’s not funny that violence made “Rodney” uneasy. It’s funny he thought me capable of it. It’s sad he thought I thought he deserved it.

Full disclosure, I did once tell him while he was cheating that I wanted to push him down the stairs. But that threat was more real in his mind than mine. And when I realized he was clearly taking it all more seriously than intended, it seemed like a good time for me to choose my words more carefully.

Anyway, what I’m really here to say is that yesterday I looked at the screenshot of my hospital receipt several times, and I realized almost immediately that having enough money to pay medical bills is more than a relief; it’s empowering.

Part of my struggle with brain cancer isn’t the cancer at all. It’s this bullshit insurance system we have in the States. There’s a part of a person that absorbs the natural consequence of for-profit healthcare: people who don’t have enough money feel unworthy.

Forget fighting insurance companies for a minute. We fight ourselves because of the messages we internalize from BlueCross and Aetna and Humana.

What do you mean some of us can’t have life-affirming treatment because it doesn’t make some rich person richer? Sure, we can formally appeal the premise, but we have to do so inadequately treated. 

Man, that is so fucked up. 

Like J Lo, I think I’ve had enough. So as an act of resistance, I hope you have enough of whatever it is you need.

Downs and Ups

Downs and Ups

Down

While checking in to my hometown clinic for standard chemotherapy blood work last Monday (with my month-old Illinois Blue Cross Blue Shield ACA marketplace insurance), I learned that medical services at Carle are not covered by my plan.

That includes visiting my primary care physician—whom I really need to fill in on my progress—and getting the physical and occupational therapy my oncologist prescribed.

My Washington University/Barnes-Jewish Hospital doctors (in freaking Missouri!) are on the plan, and that’s not insignificant—but what the hell? How does that make any sense?

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On Saturday, I received this little letter in the mail notifying me that the government agrees that I am, in fact, disabled and qualify for disability benefits. This is a relief, because unlike the LTD benefits I wrote about earlier, I can get SSDI for longer than 12 months.

Down

The official-ness of being on SSDI makes me a little sad too, though. I don’t imagine I really have to explain why.

Unfortunately, disability benefits don’t even come close to covering living expenses for the two of us, let alone make it possible to pay off mounting medical bills. (I was billed more than $14,000 for my ER visits on June 7 and 8. I can’t even.)

But whatever. Blood and turnips, bitches.

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However, now that I’m officially qualified for SSDI, it might be easier to find additional financial assistance on the hospital bills. I’ll start making those phone calls as soon as I’ve got the spoons.

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