Yesterday I woke and instantly called my pharmacy. I didn’t have enough tablets to take my morning dose of anti-seizure medicine. The end of the bottle had come a lot faster on six tablets a day than it had on four tablets a day, and therfore had caught me off guard. Luckily the pharmacist agreed to fill it fast so I raced out the door to pick it up.
When I got there he told me the insurance wouldn’t cover the refill for another two weeks.
What? Why not? This medication, the generic version, is THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS A BOTTLE. The insurance had damn well better cover it. I can’t afford to pay for it and the bottle is printed all over with statements proclaiming how dangerous it is to suddenly stop taking this shit. What on earth does the insurance company think is going to happen if they randomly stop paying for refills?
Then the kind pharmacist asked me why I was out of the most recent refill already. I explained to him that I am still in the ramp up cycle to my final dose, and am therefore taking six 25 mg tablets a day. So 70 of those tablets don’t really last that long. He asked how many I needed before I jumped to the next dose level. I did the math and told him, 18.
He got on the phone, and got it paid for.
I got home and took my pills, but not without a healthy dose of depression.
My lovely epilepsy pamphlet, websites, and friend have all warned me that my future will be filled with battles with insurance companies over coverage for routine things for my healthcare.
My life was so beautifully uncomplicated before all this.