Tomorrow would have been my second to last infusion. I had a celebration of epic proportions planned for the 26th. My final one. It’s all for not. Not happening tomorrow. Therefore, not happening on the 26th.
Due to the incompetence of the health care industry to get their shit aligned, I’ll have to postpone my life-saving-treatment while they can figure out how to file paperwork.
The system is so inefficient it’s terrifying.
I will go to my grave saying Obamacare saved my life this last year. The hospital guided me as to what to choose, and how it would work. I picked the only insurance plan they’d accept. My treatment, from an insurance perspective, was flawless. Then, as 2017 approached, the bottom dropped out and I’m back to square one. My insurance carrier dropped my hospital and all of my options. I do, fortunately, once again, have insurance that Rush accepts, but the new, monster, insurance company can’t keep up with demand and I’ll have to wait to get mytreatment.
I won’t die from not having the infusion tomorrow. But I will miss my sweet celebration of completion. I guess there will just be more opportunities to celebrate.
I realize the system is flawed. But it saved my life. I didn’t bankrupt my family. It allowed me to choose the doctors I wanted for my disease. For my treatment. Who saved my life. It worked really well, for me. What’s going to happen now that this fuck nut is in charge of my health? I no longer have ovaries or breasts. In his book I’m probably not female, anymore.