To round out the month, I figured I'd post another fun way in which having health care is nearly as bad for the pocketbook as not having it, with one specific example of how our personal medical costs have increased, almost certainly due to the greed of insurance company CEOs and their stockholders and the like. So. The Husband needs a special medication every month for his MS, one given as an infusion by IV. It takes about an hour for the nurse to administer the IV, and then, he has to wait under observation for another hour after it's finished, in case he has any nasty side effects. Fairly straightforward if somewhat lengthy process of medication administration. And two years ago, the treatment was fully covered by the insurance we get through The Husband's employer, Pacific Source. There wasn't even a "medicine co-pay" for the infusion, although we did ask why, as it seemed strange.

Last August, the insurance company unilaterally changed the designation of the treatment, calling it "Outpatient Surgery." They said we owed a $50 co-pay for each infusion, as our portion of the cost. Far higher any medicine co-pays, that charge hurt our budget badly. We called both the insurance company and the treatment facility to complain and to challenge the decision, but to no avail. With no other recourse, and with The Husband needing the medicine, we clenched our teeth and paid the fee. (As a side note, we were not informed of the change in designation until January, when we were sent a bill for all the co-pays for all the months since August at once. As per another post, we had to put the rather large bill on a credit card.)

This August, yet another change was in order. The insurance company raised their rates so high that The Husband's employer had to revise the contract with them. Fortunately, they did not need to lay anyone off, but at the expense of reducing health benefits for all employees. Thus, the contracted coverage for The Husband's medication was revised. Instead of a flat fee co-pay, we now have to pay a "co-insurance," a percentage of the treatment's full price.

The "co-insurance" for this medication each month? $362

Yeah, that's really not going to work so well.

We just finished remortgaging the house so we could live with the health related costs we already have every month, which are already in triple digits. We were going to be "in the black" for the first time since I got laid off. And now this, this unbelievable, boneheaded felgercarb . . . it's just not fair! I mean, I know life isn't fair, believe me I know, but this is not just about fairness, it's about scamming and jamming and criminal acts of greed.

Insurance companies have no one watchdogging them, to make sure they don't raise their rates beyond people's ability to pay, or to keep them from changing the designations of procedures whenever and however they want, to best preserve their bottom lines. What about my bottom line? What about my right to receive the health care I've paid premiums for, without these ridiculous co-pays and co-insurances, rolled up and stacked like so many profit-filled blintzes on the insurer's plate?

I know it's been bad for years, but when exactly did greed replace decency in America's health care market? When did the race for profits replace these companies' legal (never mind ethical and moral) obligations to those who have paid them for coverage?

It's not cool and not couth, and really, really just not fair.

A woman at work was whining (she's been going on about the same thing for an entire week, now, so I think it fully qualifies as whining at this point) about a cyst she has on her ovary and how much pain she's in, although the vicodin she was prescribed takes care of it very nicely, she says, albeit with a few side effects (like drowsiness.)

Does it make me a bad person that I just want to mock her with a few comments like:

"One cyst??? Have you heard of Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome?"

Or, "Vicodin? Bless your heart. I grew out of that ages ago . . ."

Or maybe, "Oooooh, a whole week of pain. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I could have just one week of pain."

I think it probably does. Probably means I'm cranky, too.

But I'd love to monopolize the conversation everyday during people's lunchtime and breaks and grumble about the pain I've been in for years now, and the umpteen drugs I take daily, which merely take the edge off, and the side effects that are often worse than the medications themselves, about the dozens of tests I've had -- from blood to ultrasound to MRIs -- and about the surgeries, TENs devices, braces, and wraps, the trips to neurologists, internists, allergists, physical therapists, sleep specialists, chiropractors and acupuncturists, the infusions and injections and cortisone shots in the spine . . . not to mention the thousands of dollars I've spent at this point on doctors, drugs and OTC remedies, to get nowhere, as far as I can tell.

But I think the folks at work would get annoyed after a bit.

Maybe I should just take some more drugs. . . .

I'm going in for surgery today. For (*ahem*) woman stuff. I was under the impression, until last Friday, that this was a 30-second procedure, but I apparently heard wrong or something. One of the procedures we (the obgyn and I) discussed was that out-patient, mini-procedure, but this other one (which I've been bumped up to since that first conversation) is going to take up to two hours, under anesthesia, with several more hours of recovery afterward, and the possibility of rather more than that if things "don't go well." Blech.

Wish me luck.


Update: The surgery went fine, and I'm home and doing well, except for some nausea and cramping, but that should go away over the next couple days.

Thanks to everyone for all the well wishes!

My various health issues have finally gone head to head with the day job, and, alas, the day job lost. I got . . . laid off, I guess is the nice term for it. I was informed that due to my attendance issues ("Oh, we understand that you have several medical conditions, but . . .") that I was being removed from the regular schedule. They would, however, consider having me in on an on-call basis.

Er, thanks.

But that ain't gonna pay the mortgage, guys.

The bestest part was showing up for work yesterday, at 0630 in the not-even-freaking-light-out-yet morning, with no idea that the Collective B**gholes had already decided this, and having them send me home.

"You couldn't have called?" I asked. Apparently not.

So . . . another job bites the dust.

Oh, and I finished my second round of iron infusions last Friday, and this morning I had the blood test to see if these eight did any more good than the last eight. It would be hard not to, since the first round did diddly-squat. But I've been (unpleasantly) surprised before.

Well, except this one: I'm a terrible procrastinator. Well, no, all right, I'm a great procrastinator. I can procrastinate with the best of them. I can procrastinate till the cows come home. I can procrastinate here and there, in a box, with a fox, on a train, in a plane, and even with green eggs and ham.

So, every time I thought about posting, I had an equally strong thought of, "Tomorrow; I'll do it tomorrow."

Guess which one won.

But anyway, 'cause I know everyone's wondering things like, Hey, how's your iron count? Did the infusions do any good? Are you feeling way better now?, I figured I'd give y'all an update.

No, the iron infusions did not work. I had one a week for eight weeks, and blood tests, before, during and after. My iron count, after spiking briefly to one third of normal (instead of 1/20th) during the first round of putting Ferratin directly into my veins, dropped back down again by 50% as of two months later. So I'm still wicked tired. And cranky. And I started a new round of infusions this week. My Vitamin B12 and Vitamin D levels seem to be about normal, so I only have to take shots three times a week, but the pain in my back and shoulders has worsened, and I'm having more migraines and hot flashes.

Blech.

Is it too late to ask for plastic parts instead of this damned flesh option? It breaks down too easily, and is very high maintenance.

So, I had my first IV infusion of iron today. Let me just say this: if a nurse admits to you within minutes of bringing you into the room in which you'll be getting an IV drip that she is "new here," don't, repeat don't let her touch you with a needle. Especially if she spends almost ten minutes searching your arms for a viable vein, ignoring your helpful pointers to the one that "always works" and then pokes around in the other arm long enough and haphazzardly enough that your fingers (yes, the ones several inches away from the needle) begin to burn. A lot. To the point where you're jerking your hand away from the incompetent fool you were fool enough to entrust with your care.

Just don't.

Ask for someone who's had a bit of phlebotomist training, or better yet, someone who isn't new, and who won't make you pass out by stabbing your nerves with sharp pieces of metal.

Other than that? 'Twas swell.

The results are in, and apparently the nice Internist is amazed I'm walking around and can hold actual conversations with people, despite my severe iron, B12 and vitamin D deficiencies--each of them scoring at about 1/10 of normal. My body just isn't absorbing any of these on its own, so I'm to take daily injections of B12 for the next month, at least, plus giant doses of vitamin D, as well as weekly IV infusions of iron, which I'll likely need the rest of my life.

But I should feel much, much better in the next two months, with the elimination of most of my current swath of symptoms, such as fatigue, muscle aches and soreness, sleep difficulties, fatigue, migraines, tinnitus, light sensitivity, fatigue, weakness in extremities, gastric reflux, low body temperature, frequent fevers, and fatigue.

The Doc said it could go one of three ways. In one, I love him forever and sing his praises to the heavens because all (or at least many) of my symptoms have disappeared, or have been sent to the point of negligibility, once the iron and vitamin levels are in normal range. Two, some of the symptoms are much better, but others only marginally so, and we have to look for other problems, but at least I'm feeling better. Three, nothing really gets better, despite getting the vitamin and iron counts up there, and we have to do bunches more tests to figure out what's wrong.

He wants the love.

I want to give it to him.

Wish us luck.

I have another appointment with the nice Internist on Tuesday. During our first meeting, he said words I have wanted to hear for a long time: "You're a mess. (Those aren't the words.) And I can help you." (That's them!)

He ran a bunch of tests for fairly easily fixable things that might be the cause of the list of symptoms I've been carrying around with me for the last 5 - 10 years, to see if I have a vitamin deficiency, or if I'm allergic to gluten or have poor liver function. If none of those tests come back with results we can work with, he'll do a bunch more on Tuesday, for things like Lupus or Lyme disease and weird endocriney stuff. He says we should be able to make me feel "much, much better, inside of six months."

I almost cried.

At the very least, he promised to help me better manage my pain, and I wanted to make him my new bestest friend. At least in the medical community.

Yesterday I got stuck with pins in the neck and back for the third time. Should be the charm, right?

Not so much.

The effect of the acupuncture didn't last more than an hour or two before the pain returned . . . just like every other damned thing I've tried. PT, Chiropraction, stretching exercises, the works. The only thing that seems to take the edge off for at least several hours is nice big ol' drugs. Of course, vicodin makes me all kinds of tired, and cranky. But what's a little bitchiness, eh? When the alternative is immobilization due to pain?

I hate my body.

No offense to any vodoun practitioners out there, but whenever I think of acupuncture, I think of little dolls with pins in 'em, and thanks to Scooby Doo, I always associate that with voodoo. And now, I've been pinned, and not in that geeky 50s high school way with scuffing of shoes and blushes, but with actual, you know, pins.

It doesn't hurt, but for a tiny second. And, unless you keep trying to peer at the pins in your forehead by wriggling your eyebrows, it doesn't make you bleed much either.

I even let them put pins in my feet. I know! But, at this point, I'd decapitate a chicken for pain relief. (or maybe defenestrate a chicken, 'cuz it'd be funnier.)