Maintenance Light

Maintenance Light

I was supposed to have my first appointment with the new rheumatologist tomorrow, but the maintenance light came on in the Corolla, and it needs to be taken in.

It’s one of those 100,000-mile deals where we knew the car was going to start needing money and attention, but we were hoping the Universe would give us a break for a few more months.

That’s not all that’s going on, either. Dan’s rheumatologist is leaving—he got the letter yesterday. I still need to sort out his insurance situation since Medicaid says we make too much money. (That’s laughably absurd.) 

And … wait that might be it?

It’s enough when you’ve got cancer, don’t get me wrong, but I am pretty sure yesterday I was feeling overwhelmed. And this morning it’s actually not that bad.

Catastrophizing is my go-to anxiety builder, and I’m proud for limiting myself to just a few hours of it—without even trying really. I think it helped that I actually slept a few hours last night.

I’ve also noticed that doing a ten-minute bird ID session with the Merlin app is basically a meditation that engrosses me in chirping birds, and I was able to do that again yesterday.

Anyway, I’m not thrilled about having to delay a doctors appointment that might get me some answers, but what’s another couple of weeks when I’ve gone this long?

The time will come and go whether I know what this *makes a circular gesture encompassing entire body* is or not.

OK. I’m off to determine whether a cat peed territorially inside the house or I’m having a migraine and my own maintenance light is on. Not sure which scenario would be more fun.

See you later, folks.

Fully Funded

Fully Funded

I woke up bright and early this morning and signed on to GoFundMe to share my Go Fund Me campaign link on my social media accounts. And the campaign progress bar was green. And under the bar it said: $1480 of $1480 raised. Fully funded.

No exaggeration, I rubbed my eyes and squinted and said, “what?” (In a good way, of course!)

Just like that a financial burden is lifted. My mind is clear so I can think about what Dan wants me to order for breakfast this morning and formulate a plan for our current Medicaid woes.

The final Go Fund Me contribution was a generous one from someone I don’t know, but the donor let me know who reshared the campaign, and that person was also someone I don’t know.

It’s so nice to know that random people out there care about other people. It’s too easy for my cynicism to take hold these days, and always nice to be reminded that people care—about complete strangers!

Anyway, I just want to say thanks to all those people I don’t know and the people I do know who shared my link to help get my campaign fully funded. Because sharing links to these things is helpful beyond words.

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Medicaid Cuts

Medicaid Cuts

I’m going to preface this post on Medicaid cuts by saying this: if you don’t get it, that’s not my problem. I don’t have the energy to help you understand why this matters on a larger, political scale. If you offer me worthless advice in the comments, I will reply with merciless snark.

Dan was kicked off Medicaid after 6 years, thanks to recent Medicaid cuts. His current health insurance ends at the end of the month. All because I make $200 more per month than is allowed under new rules. 

The rules don’t care that the annual price of one of his prescriptions is more than I make the whole year—far exceeding the “extra” $2,400 a year the metric says I make now. Or that the Patreon and YouTube income I report are not guaranteed. Or that I can’t afford my medical bills even with those supplemental sources. Or that Dan gets paid nothing to be my rock while he deals with his own chronic pain.

The rules do, however, mandate that we can’t save money for when something like this inevitably happens.

If my brain cancer, medical anxiety, disability, and mystery illness weren’t enough, now I get to worry AGAIN about the health care of my emotional support human. The man who literally keeps me fed and watered and scrapes me up off the floor when I fall out of bed.

So, yeah. I’m honking pissed again.

Making anyone deal with these things when there are other options is inhumane. Making the sick and disabled navigate this hellscape—repeatedly—is supervillain levels of evil. Even convicted sadistic fuckwads would think twice about doing this to other humans.

For me to get any kind of better or merely acclimate to symptoms of my relatively new and undiagnosed health problems, I require stability. 

This ain’t fucking it.

On Medicare and SSDI

On Medicare and SSDI

You might be on Medicare and SSDI if you’ve got a daily Rx filled at the local pharmacy but you can’t pick it up yet because you’re waiting on a deposit from SSDI.

But also the clock’s ticking before the pharmacy gives up on you and re-shelves the Rx and it’s a “controlled substance” so refills are generally a pain in the ass for an extra fuck you. I’m so tired of needing money and meds all the dang time.

Dan’s meds are fully covered by Medicaid, but they made him go a whole year without the medicine his doctor prescribed. It caused his psoriatic arthritis to progress while Molina essentially put him on a different drug he and his doctor knew wouldn’t work to “prove” it wouldn’t work. Because money I guess. And I’m in a cranky mood today. Medicaid’s not better, it’s just a different kind of hell.

And before anyone gets all “see the government shouldn’t be involved” on me, his Medicaid Rx coverage and my Medicare part D are managed by private insurance companies. The government just gives them the money I gave the government. Don’t pick a fight with me. Tyvm.

That’s all I got. Welcome to #Crankfest2022, brought to to you by being on Medicare and SSDI.

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