So that happened...
Recently, I had cause to visit my local ER for reasons related to my alien symbiots, Parliament Not Funkadelic. Basically, the Parliament Not Funkadelic have gone feral and outgrown their space and are beating the crap out of my other organs. Which is why I appear to be about five or six months pregnant and none of my clothes fit at all.
I didn't go to the ER on my own, I was womanning through extraordinary lower abdominal pain from Sunday 20 June, til I got into the clinic 24 June. I was going into work, just tough it out, yo, and nearly crying with pain, but eking it out til my go home hour; I had shit that needed to get done and major deadlines to meet. But I was clearly trying to cope with pain and sleep-deprived enough that it was evident to everyone that I was Not Well At All.
When I took myself out of work early on the Thursday, the pain had progressed from being localized to my pelvic region to flaming hot swords up both sides of my torso. I could barely stand upright and was reduced to shuffling. When I took five minutes to shuffle to the toilet, I spent my time in there throwing up nothing and crying, and all y'all know how I feel about crying at work, I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. I'd been at work or in bed not sleeping since the Monday night, and still went in to work, because I would have about two to four hours of okayness after my morning shower 'til everything would go five alarm pain.
That Thursday, I was in so much pain, unlike any I have ever experienced before, that it took me over fifteen minutes to walk (well, "walking" is a generous term for how I navigated hunched over nearly double and stumbling) the two and a half blocks from the el station to my house. I had finally got an appointment at Chicago Women's Health Clinic first thing Friday morning thinking they'd examine me and say, "Oh dear, this is an infection, here are some antibiotics." But no, the excellent NP (who had originally diagnosed me with Parliament Not Funkadelic three years ago), upon viewing my distended abdomen and after gently, oh so very gently, trying to palpate it only to result in me whimpering and finally just flat out crying in pain said, "Oh, I need to get you to the ER like, right now. Which hospital is closest to your home?" "Swedish." "Okay, good, they're very good. Let's get you in a cab. I'm so sorry." Her wrinkled, monkey face crinkled up even more in sympathy as she and the care worker helped me sit upright and then, after several minutes of deep breathing, stand and button up my jeans and sort myself out.
I made a few calls out on the sidewalk waiting for the cab, Cyn left work to be my voice/brain/moral support ('cause gawd knows none of us are rational when mired in this situation--we can be our own worst advocates). We spent the ENTIRE day in the ER, poor Cyn was all by herself a lot of the time because I had to away to the ultrasound lab and then when I came back, I was zoned out, having hit my wall. I was over 24 hours from eating and much more than that in lack of sleep (I kept bursting in to tears just from exhaustion and pain), not to mention the extreme pain. Cyn had already called Kate and the two of them coordinated Sam's Managed Care.
After sitting in that ER room for HOURS, my ER Dr who first talked to me ("But WHY didn't you follow up and get more care after the diagnosis?!" "Uh, because mostly one can ignore fibroids and I didn't have insurance?") came in and said, "Okay, you're good to go home, right?" I, being a good little patient and on drugs, even though I couldn't actually stand up on my own from the gurney I was half-laying/sitting on said, "Yes, I'm totally fine, I'm good to go home." Despite the IV in my arm which they'd pumped full of toradol which had done NOTHING to cut my pain. I mean, I was still bent double with pain radiating throughout my lower abdomen and climbing up both sides of my torso, along with a sharp, burning pain at hip level on my right side (which my friend Dave internet/sports diagnosed as an oblique strain).
ER Dr left and Cyn said, "You are NOT okay to go home, you can't even walk. Now is NOT the time to be brave, Sam." And when my competent, adorable Nurse Charlie came back for check out, she sent him right back out of the room to get the ER doctor.
Cyn peppered the ER doctor with questions, which resulted in, "yes, we had a GYN look at her ultrasounds and yes, she says that these symbiots need to come out asap and she'd rather just remove the uterus entirely. Since she's not in immediate danger of exploding right in front of us, no, absolutely nothing is going to happen today or tomorrow, you need to call the GYN for an appointment. Your choices are: go home with drugs now or stay here for 36 hours racking up MORE $$ and not getting any rest on IV drugs in the hospital."
In hindsight, I should have probably gone for option number two.
I was sent home from the ER loaded up with dilaudid (and then had to field a call from work high as a freakin' kite; that was fun), because I told My Nurse Charlie that the toradol wasn't doing shit, and two scrips for painkillers (hydrocodone and naproxen) (which were supposed to last only ten days, but I've been cutting them in half), and a referral to the consulting private practice GYN.
The private practice GYN's scheduler has not only refused to allow me to talk to the doctor after I said I had no insurance and could we set up a payment plan, but casually referred me to the semi-free Erie clinic, saying, "Dr X is in private practice, how do you expect her to see you if you can't pay? You should go to Erie clinic across the street, they take care of you people." You. People.
Now, keep in mind that I am one of those people who fell between the cracks of the ACA... no wait, fell into a chasm. Even after having at least five health care navigators assist me through all of the open enrollments, and accurately reporting my meagre freelance income, I made too much money for Medicaid expansion, BUT, don't make enough money to even be able to afford the lowest level/highest premium bronze plan and still pay my rent and buy food.
Then I got this contract job, which yay great, except for contract is just barely a step up from "temp." Their healthcare plan was "we will help you enroll in the lowest level bronze plan, IF you hit 40 per week every week" and no, I don't hit 40 hours per week every week right now (work has been spotty the last couple of weeks, so even making rent for August is questionable at the moment), and that bronze plan again, would cut my pay like, in HALF. And even if I did have insurance, I'd lose my job because yoinking out fibroids entails oh, about six weeks of bed rest even with the least invasive procedure (remember, I've been to this rodeo before), no-go into office, and as a contract/temp employee I have no sick or short term disability leave.
So, I've been in limbo, or rather going commando, on health insurance since the beginning of the year.
Anyway, on 24 June, I had the great honor to hang out in the ER (A&E for my friends across the pond) for an ENTIRE day, thus missing yet another day of pay (no sick time leave). And I just got a series of bills. The first was for Dr ER, who wants me to pay him $602 for the pleasure of his terrible bedside manner and the two painkiller scrips.
And I was like, "okay, wow, that ER bill was so much less than I'd anticipated!' UNTIL, Swedish sent me THEIR bill for $3,520.17 and Radiology (my internal/external ultrasounds) sent me a bill for $388.
For a grand total of $4,510.17, which I cannot even imagine how to begin paying. And my health issue still isn't resolved aside from "GIANT FIBROIDS GONE FERAL."
Wow.
Since the consulting GYN refuses to see or speak to me, I actually can't go to Erie as a referral and would have to go through the whole internal/external ultrasound nonsense, and pay for it, all over again.
I've been keeping this quiet because, well, all anyone can say or do, is, "I'm so sorry you're in extraordinary pain." "I'm sorry this is happening to you." I'm okay for right now, aside from the constant exhaustion and embarrassing hard to dress around pregnancy belly. But who knows when/if this'll flare up and inflict maximum pain again whilst I'm in this state of limbo. I am coping, I am okay. I am doing the best I can right now.
But to get all political on your asses. If you're thinking of abstaining from voting because you just can't fucking hold your nose and vote for Hills, then fuck you. At the very least, she's not going to allow ACA to be repealed and might actually expand it even more, and then those of us who are wallowing here at the bottom of the chasm might actually have a chance to take care of our teeth, eyes, and overall bodily health without going into bankruptcy.
Oh great, after writing this, another bill came in. This time the labs on all the bodily fluids they siphoned from me. Add another $121 to the tab, bartender!
I didn't go to the ER on my own, I was womanning through extraordinary lower abdominal pain from Sunday 20 June, til I got into the clinic 24 June. I was going into work, just tough it out, yo, and nearly crying with pain, but eking it out til my go home hour; I had shit that needed to get done and major deadlines to meet. But I was clearly trying to cope with pain and sleep-deprived enough that it was evident to everyone that I was Not Well At All.
When I took myself out of work early on the Thursday, the pain had progressed from being localized to my pelvic region to flaming hot swords up both sides of my torso. I could barely stand upright and was reduced to shuffling. When I took five minutes to shuffle to the toilet, I spent my time in there throwing up nothing and crying, and all y'all know how I feel about crying at work, I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. I'd been at work or in bed not sleeping since the Monday night, and still went in to work, because I would have about two to four hours of okayness after my morning shower 'til everything would go five alarm pain.
That Thursday, I was in so much pain, unlike any I have ever experienced before, that it took me over fifteen minutes to walk (well, "walking" is a generous term for how I navigated hunched over nearly double and stumbling) the two and a half blocks from the el station to my house. I had finally got an appointment at Chicago Women's Health Clinic first thing Friday morning thinking they'd examine me and say, "Oh dear, this is an infection, here are some antibiotics." But no, the excellent NP (who had originally diagnosed me with Parliament Not Funkadelic three years ago), upon viewing my distended abdomen and after gently, oh so very gently, trying to palpate it only to result in me whimpering and finally just flat out crying in pain said, "Oh, I need to get you to the ER like, right now. Which hospital is closest to your home?" "Swedish." "Okay, good, they're very good. Let's get you in a cab. I'm so sorry." Her wrinkled, monkey face crinkled up even more in sympathy as she and the care worker helped me sit upright and then, after several minutes of deep breathing, stand and button up my jeans and sort myself out.
I made a few calls out on the sidewalk waiting for the cab, Cyn left work to be my voice/brain/moral support ('cause gawd knows none of us are rational when mired in this situation--we can be our own worst advocates). We spent the ENTIRE day in the ER, poor Cyn was all by herself a lot of the time because I had to away to the ultrasound lab and then when I came back, I was zoned out, having hit my wall. I was over 24 hours from eating and much more than that in lack of sleep (I kept bursting in to tears just from exhaustion and pain), not to mention the extreme pain. Cyn had already called Kate and the two of them coordinated Sam's Managed Care.
After sitting in that ER room for HOURS, my ER Dr who first talked to me ("But WHY didn't you follow up and get more care after the diagnosis?!" "Uh, because mostly one can ignore fibroids and I didn't have insurance?") came in and said, "Okay, you're good to go home, right?" I, being a good little patient and on drugs, even though I couldn't actually stand up on my own from the gurney I was half-laying/sitting on said, "Yes, I'm totally fine, I'm good to go home." Despite the IV in my arm which they'd pumped full of toradol which had done NOTHING to cut my pain. I mean, I was still bent double with pain radiating throughout my lower abdomen and climbing up both sides of my torso, along with a sharp, burning pain at hip level on my right side (which my friend Dave internet/sports diagnosed as an oblique strain).
ER Dr left and Cyn said, "You are NOT okay to go home, you can't even walk. Now is NOT the time to be brave, Sam." And when my competent, adorable Nurse Charlie came back for check out, she sent him right back out of the room to get the ER doctor.
Cyn peppered the ER doctor with questions, which resulted in, "yes, we had a GYN look at her ultrasounds and yes, she says that these symbiots need to come out asap and she'd rather just remove the uterus entirely. Since she's not in immediate danger of exploding right in front of us, no, absolutely nothing is going to happen today or tomorrow, you need to call the GYN for an appointment. Your choices are: go home with drugs now or stay here for 36 hours racking up MORE $$ and not getting any rest on IV drugs in the hospital."
In hindsight, I should have probably gone for option number two.
I was sent home from the ER loaded up with dilaudid (and then had to field a call from work high as a freakin' kite; that was fun), because I told My Nurse Charlie that the toradol wasn't doing shit, and two scrips for painkillers (hydrocodone and naproxen) (which were supposed to last only ten days, but I've been cutting them in half), and a referral to the consulting private practice GYN.
The private practice GYN's scheduler has not only refused to allow me to talk to the doctor after I said I had no insurance and could we set up a payment plan, but casually referred me to the semi-free Erie clinic, saying, "Dr X is in private practice, how do you expect her to see you if you can't pay? You should go to Erie clinic across the street, they take care of you people." You. People.
Now, keep in mind that I am one of those people who fell between the cracks of the ACA... no wait, fell into a chasm. Even after having at least five health care navigators assist me through all of the open enrollments, and accurately reporting my meagre freelance income, I made too much money for Medicaid expansion, BUT, don't make enough money to even be able to afford the lowest level/highest premium bronze plan and still pay my rent and buy food.
Then I got this contract job, which yay great, except for contract is just barely a step up from "temp." Their healthcare plan was "we will help you enroll in the lowest level bronze plan, IF you hit 40 per week every week" and no, I don't hit 40 hours per week every week right now (work has been spotty the last couple of weeks, so even making rent for August is questionable at the moment), and that bronze plan again, would cut my pay like, in HALF. And even if I did have insurance, I'd lose my job because yoinking out fibroids entails oh, about six weeks of bed rest even with the least invasive procedure (remember, I've been to this rodeo before), no-go into office, and as a contract/temp employee I have no sick or short term disability leave.
So, I've been in limbo, or rather going commando, on health insurance since the beginning of the year.
Anyway, on 24 June, I had the great honor to hang out in the ER (A&E for my friends across the pond) for an ENTIRE day, thus missing yet another day of pay (no sick time leave). And I just got a series of bills. The first was for Dr ER, who wants me to pay him $602 for the pleasure of his terrible bedside manner and the two painkiller scrips.
And I was like, "okay, wow, that ER bill was so much less than I'd anticipated!' UNTIL, Swedish sent me THEIR bill for $3,520.17 and Radiology (my internal/external ultrasounds) sent me a bill for $388.
For a grand total of $4,510.17, which I cannot even imagine how to begin paying. And my health issue still isn't resolved aside from "GIANT FIBROIDS GONE FERAL."
Wow.
Since the consulting GYN refuses to see or speak to me, I actually can't go to Erie as a referral and would have to go through the whole internal/external ultrasound nonsense, and pay for it, all over again.
I've been keeping this quiet because, well, all anyone can say or do, is, "I'm so sorry you're in extraordinary pain." "I'm sorry this is happening to you." I'm okay for right now, aside from the constant exhaustion and embarrassing hard to dress around pregnancy belly. But who knows when/if this'll flare up and inflict maximum pain again whilst I'm in this state of limbo. I am coping, I am okay. I am doing the best I can right now.
But to get all political on your asses. If you're thinking of abstaining from voting because you just can't fucking hold your nose and vote for Hills, then fuck you. At the very least, she's not going to allow ACA to be repealed and might actually expand it even more, and then those of us who are wallowing here at the bottom of the chasm might actually have a chance to take care of our teeth, eyes, and overall bodily health without going into bankruptcy.
Oh great, after writing this, another bill came in. This time the labs on all the bodily fluids they siphoned from me. Add another $121 to the tab, bartender!