Put a quarter in my ass, because I just played myself
The Wire is trying to kill me. In the illustrious tradition of shows I watch on DVD at raybear's recommendation, The Wire has me hooked and engaging in unhealthy behavior. My roommate Ficus and his dog Ollie are in on it with me. Tonight I was supposed to read a huge stack of resumes for a position we're hiring for at work, but did I do that? No, I watched The Wire with Ficus. Now I have to do it before I go to sleep. So stupid.
This most recent Wire incident brings to a close my Days of Virtuousness, which began on Saturday with a trip to the farmer's market, continued with me making my own meals all weekend, and really reached its peak yesterday, when I ran across the Golden Gate Bridge and back. And when I say "ran," I mean "ran for 3 minutes and then walked for 3 minutes." But I did do that the whole way.
Today also counts as virtuous because I went to the doctor. Which, really, shouldn't count for much, but I will take what I can get. I didn't really need to see the neurologist today, but July 9 was the appointment date that was available when I called with a quasi-emergency on or about March 25, so I decided to go anyway. You know, what the hell.
My neurologist said that he believes that insurance companies are deliberately delaying the approval process for Avonex and Rebif, the two drugs that people like me really need to take one or the other of. My insurance denied coverage for Avonex, saying I needed to try Rebif first. The back and forth with them, with my doctor's office, and with the drug companies on this issue has taken over three months to get through.
My neurologist also said, "I want you to use every professional skill that you have, and I know that you have them, in making your insurance company give you what you need. You need to call them and say, 'you are costing me neurological function right now.'"
Fortunately, there is no need - as I was leaving the hospital, I got the call from the delivery pharmacy telling me that my shit (Rebif, in the end) will be delivered to my work on Thursday, for $50 a month instead of the over $500/month I was initially quoted. Apparently I qualify for an assistance program from the drug company, at least for the next nine months, after which they will look at my income and decide again. If it sounds weird that the drug company would essentially give me a $450/month discount, consider that they are still extracting something like $1100/month from my bitchy, recalcitrant insurance company. Probably less, because it is likely that my insurance company has some deal where they don't pay market, but the co-pay I was quoted allegedly equals 30% of the drug's cost.
So, I'm not declaring victory yet, since the drugs are not sitting in the office fridge yet, but I am feeling as though victory is imminent. It has been so fucking long that I am not even the least bit freaked out about the whole self-injections every other day thing, or the side effects thing. I basically ran out of fear because it took SO LONG. I guess that's one way to do it.
This most recent Wire incident brings to a close my Days of Virtuousness, which began on Saturday with a trip to the farmer's market, continued with me making my own meals all weekend, and really reached its peak yesterday, when I ran across the Golden Gate Bridge and back. And when I say "ran," I mean "ran for 3 minutes and then walked for 3 minutes." But I did do that the whole way.
Today also counts as virtuous because I went to the doctor. Which, really, shouldn't count for much, but I will take what I can get. I didn't really need to see the neurologist today, but July 9 was the appointment date that was available when I called with a quasi-emergency on or about March 25, so I decided to go anyway. You know, what the hell.
My neurologist said that he believes that insurance companies are deliberately delaying the approval process for Avonex and Rebif, the two drugs that people like me really need to take one or the other of. My insurance denied coverage for Avonex, saying I needed to try Rebif first. The back and forth with them, with my doctor's office, and with the drug companies on this issue has taken over three months to get through.
My neurologist also said, "I want you to use every professional skill that you have, and I know that you have them, in making your insurance company give you what you need. You need to call them and say, 'you are costing me neurological function right now.'"
Fortunately, there is no need - as I was leaving the hospital, I got the call from the delivery pharmacy telling me that my shit (Rebif, in the end) will be delivered to my work on Thursday, for $50 a month instead of the over $500/month I was initially quoted. Apparently I qualify for an assistance program from the drug company, at least for the next nine months, after which they will look at my income and decide again. If it sounds weird that the drug company would essentially give me a $450/month discount, consider that they are still extracting something like $1100/month from my bitchy, recalcitrant insurance company. Probably less, because it is likely that my insurance company has some deal where they don't pay market, but the co-pay I was quoted allegedly equals 30% of the drug's cost.
So, I'm not declaring victory yet, since the drugs are not sitting in the office fridge yet, but I am feeling as though victory is imminent. It has been so fucking long that I am not even the least bit freaked out about the whole self-injections every other day thing, or the side effects thing. I basically ran out of fear because it took SO LONG. I guess that's one way to do it.