Category Archives: spoonies

Why the chronically ill in your life are currently terrified…

Did you know Trump nearly got rid of the Affordable Care Act during his first time in office? What stopped him? Congress.
Now, it’s looking like Congress will largely be on his side.

So the chances of the Affordable Care Act surviving the next four years is very small.

This is why this is terrifying to me, and all the other chronically ill cuties in your lives.

My monthly IVIG infusions cost about $12,000 each. I get two of them a month. My insurance company spends about $250,000.00 per year, just on my IVIG. There is zero chance I could afford those treatments on my own.
I’m also on 6 other medications to manage my symptoms. Without insurance they would cost me about $1300 per month on their own.

Understand, every single one of these treatments and medications are directly related to my two diagnosed conditions, which would be considered pre-existing conditions without the ACA in place.

Also understand that I haven’t even mentioned the visits to the specialists I work with (between $300 and $500 per visit without insurance), the medical testing they need to do ($1500.00 per test on average), hospital stays for when my body simple stops working as it should ($12,000 on average per night), and emergency visits for those unexpected medical doozys that are a part of a chronically ill person’s existence (Average $2,600).

If the ACA is destroyed I can’t survive in this country. I would cost me nearly $350,000.00 to treat my conditions, per year. Without these medications and treatments I will die.

I don’t mean in a slow and grinding way either, I will likely unalive myself. The amount of pain and discomfort I am in without these treatments is so immense I cannot hold out for long.

For example, the last time we stopped IVIG (as a test to see how well it was working) I experienced the sensation of bugs crawling all over my body – including on my eyeballs – 24/7 for days. I told my doctors it was the symptom that was going to kill me. I spent several days trying not to scratch my own eyes out while ants continuously crawled out of them.

I also have body and head pain that leaves me in bed, in the dark, with no sound on resting on ice packs for days at a time.

Without medication, that’s my life.

Without IVIG my disease gets worse faster, my nerve endings die more quickly, my pain increases, my weakness increases, and I lose even more of the limited abilities I do have remaining.

So this is why we are terrified. We all have a story like the one above. We all have endless treatments and medications, tests and doctors visits, hospital stays and expenses. We all have unlivable conditions without those treatments and medications. Even with them we have managed to carve the best life we can out of a prison of pain.

Trump wants to take away everything that keeps us safe. He wants to let insurance companies refuse to cover the medical conditions that plague our lives because their profit margin (already between 3.22% and 10%) is somehow more important than our lives.

Managing life my lily white ass…

It’s on my blog header, it’s in my whole cheerful outlook. Let’s manage life with this chronic illness!

Look at all my coping tools!

See my shiny things!

Well right now my illness is managing me.

And let’s face it, I’m in my mid-forties. My ass isn’t all that lily-white either. I mean, we’re in the middle of a no-end-in-sight pandemic and I haven’t been outside in a bikini since the idea of meaningful political discourse was an actual thing but my ass is more of a sickly ghostly pale, not a lily white. It’s not some semi-romanticized flowerly white, it’s a “DEAR GOD WOMAN GET SOME SUN ON THAT THING WON’T YOU!!” pale white you can see deep down veins through.

I’m sick.

Really, really sick.

I hurt everywhere, I can’t sleep. My once soft and comfortable ergonomic pillow has developed claws or teeth or maybe someone broke into my room and stuffed it with broken glass or something.

My whole fucking bed is made of discomfort. There isn’t a single comfortable position I can sit, lie, stand, or lean in. Every single miserable muscle and bone in my body hurts. I swear to the Goddess the bed is subtly shifting at night, moving me around every time I get the slightest bit comfortable.

The nerves in my hands and feet are tingly and itchy and on fire and somehow cold and stabby. Oh, and throbbing, and pulsing.

The Topomax isn’t killing my ability to think like it did before but I still have a really sore throat every day and that vaguely feverish feeling, like deep bone-aches and an overall sense of doom and gloom.

I’m miserable.

There’s no shiny sticker for me to put on it.

Right now there’s no managing it either.

There’s just getting through it and hoping it feels better, or at least different, tomorrow.

Stay safe loves.

Uncomfort-food…

I am a comfort food person. When I have the flu I want soup, when my heart is hurting I want rich, spicy, Indian food and when I have been struggling for a long time with pain or illness I want a treat. I have a strong relationship with food and feeling better.

Right now I am in a really big fight with food and I am finding myself uncomforted by its existence. Right now between the knotty intestines and the Topomax my usual treatment for not feeling well for a long period of time has turned into a looping internal monologue of disappointment and disillusionment.

“Man it’s been a long couple of weeks. I sure could use a scone and some tea to perk myself up.”
“Yep, except the scone would taste like shit and the tea would taste like shit and you’d just end up throwing them both up so why don’t you just skip the eating and drinking part and do something else?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”

It has sucked. I have had this looping conversation in my head dozens of times a day and the longer this goes on the more I have it!

Worse, one of the other coping mechanisms I have for feeling better is lighting incense or using a scent infuser but now everything smells awful so the only thing I can really do to bring myself a little peace is cleaning and while the end result is pleasant the task doesn’t really feel like pampering.

Maybe I need new books. Or a stasis device I can go into for the next 30 days.