Health care
Yesterday at work we had a meeting to discuss changes to our healthcare coverage. One of the results of the layoffs that have been happening since the beginning of the year is that the company is no longer big enough to qualify for the same coverage plans we had before. There are three new options available, with an effective date of October 1. So I'm spending my holiday weekend carefully poring over the stacks of literature I brought home, hoping to be able to extract enough meaningful information to make the best choice.
Losing my health insurance, or no longer being able to afford it, has been one of my greatest fears since I found out I'm diabetic. I sat in the meeting for two hours, feeling like my solar plexus was on fire, wanting to scream or cry. The "plan representative" was chipper as hell, extolling the benefits of the HSA PPO option (the one I will probably end up choosing) over our current HMO, which we can choose to continue – at four times our current cost. She was grinning so hard it looked like her face must hurt. But she was pretty much the only one in the room with a smile on her face. Everyone else looked anxious, concerned, confused.
Well, such is life in a sinking ship. I'm a smart enough cookie and a pretty good swimmer, and am determined to stay on board as long as I can, for reasons that still seem like good ones, at least for now. As an example, in addition to the cost of looking for a new job and getting to and from it once I find it, there's also the daily exercise time I will have to come up with if I'm no longer able to use my bike-to-work time to keep my BG under control. Plus, I still like some of the work I'm doing, and I really like most of the people I'm working with. And of course there's also the access to healthcare – even if it's expensive, the coverage I'm able to buy through my work is still better than what I would be able to buy for myself, assuming I could even find a company that would take me at all. Legally, they don't have to. Even though right now, despite my "pre-existing condition," I'm still pretty healthy.
During the meeting I sat next to a friend from another department whose 24-year-old fiance has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. For the last year they've been desperately fighting to get him the treatment he needs. It's inconceivably expensive: he hasn't been able to work, sometimes he needs care at home, and just one of his bone marrow treatments costs upwards of $16,000 a month.
She feels like screaming and/or crying quite a lot, too, she told me. At least it appears he will be eligible to come onto our plan as a spouse, as long as there's no more than a 62-day gap in coverage after his COBRA benefits expire. That was a huge relief to everyone in the room except the plan representative, who was probably the only person there who didn't know the background to that particular question about pre-existing conditions.
All of my issues seem pretty workable when I think of what they're going through. So I've decided to try not to worry so much about it. Even if I someday do lose my coverage and lose control of my diabetes – which seems pretty unlikely, though anything's possible – what would that really mean? Maybe I'd go blind, or have to have my feet or legs amputated. Maybe my kidneys would fail. Eventually I would probably have a heart attack and die.
But I'm going to die someday anyway. This fact has been on my mind a lot lately, for some reason. Maybe it's the change in seasons; summer feels like it's winding down early this year. I've been working late on a deadline for several weeks, drinking way too much caffeine, and not sleeping well – and the other night I woke up around 4 a.m. and couldn't stop thinking that someday I will be dead. It seemed like a stupid thing to think about, but all the same I suddenly found myself crying tears of real self-pity. I kept picturing the face of my friend K. who died in her sleep a few weeks ago of heart trouble probably related to her own poorly-controlled diabetes. She was 72 and so funny and happy and creative and alive – with her big red laughing mouth and fabulous jewelry and her dashing new white-haired boyfriend – it's hard to imagine that she really won't be around anymore. And someday, I won't either.
Now that I think of it I guess it wasn't so strange that I should wake up crying. I've been working so much I still haven't really had time to just sit with the knowledge that K. is gone.
I know no good can come from dwelling on my own death, or worrying about anything that might happen to me between now and then, or afterwards, either, for that matter. Right now I do still have access to healthcare. So I'll just make the best decision I can, keep doing what I can to stay healthy, and focus on enjoying the life I have – instead of worrying about things that haven't even happened yet, and maybe never will.
When you're a chronic worrier like I am – though I'm feeling more justified recently in starting to think of myself as a recovering chronic worrier – sometimes it's good to remind yourself that worrying is always optional. Thoughts do have a way of coming to mind ... but I can choose not to entertain them when they do.
P.S. Here is a link to the article that inspired this long and tedious discourse, in case you're wondering how I get started on these things ....
P.S.S. Speaking of anxiety ... I just added up some of the figures from the plan summaries and it's looking like my out-of-pocket cost for even the cheapest option is almost twice what I'm paying now, and the coverage isn't as good. I think I'm going to go throw up now.
Losing my health insurance, or no longer being able to afford it, has been one of my greatest fears since I found out I'm diabetic. I sat in the meeting for two hours, feeling like my solar plexus was on fire, wanting to scream or cry. The "plan representative" was chipper as hell, extolling the benefits of the HSA PPO option (the one I will probably end up choosing) over our current HMO, which we can choose to continue – at four times our current cost. She was grinning so hard it looked like her face must hurt. But she was pretty much the only one in the room with a smile on her face. Everyone else looked anxious, concerned, confused.
Well, such is life in a sinking ship. I'm a smart enough cookie and a pretty good swimmer, and am determined to stay on board as long as I can, for reasons that still seem like good ones, at least for now. As an example, in addition to the cost of looking for a new job and getting to and from it once I find it, there's also the daily exercise time I will have to come up with if I'm no longer able to use my bike-to-work time to keep my BG under control. Plus, I still like some of the work I'm doing, and I really like most of the people I'm working with. And of course there's also the access to healthcare – even if it's expensive, the coverage I'm able to buy through my work is still better than what I would be able to buy for myself, assuming I could even find a company that would take me at all. Legally, they don't have to. Even though right now, despite my "pre-existing condition," I'm still pretty healthy.
During the meeting I sat next to a friend from another department whose 24-year-old fiance has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. For the last year they've been desperately fighting to get him the treatment he needs. It's inconceivably expensive: he hasn't been able to work, sometimes he needs care at home, and just one of his bone marrow treatments costs upwards of $16,000 a month.
She feels like screaming and/or crying quite a lot, too, she told me. At least it appears he will be eligible to come onto our plan as a spouse, as long as there's no more than a 62-day gap in coverage after his COBRA benefits expire. That was a huge relief to everyone in the room except the plan representative, who was probably the only person there who didn't know the background to that particular question about pre-existing conditions.
All of my issues seem pretty workable when I think of what they're going through. So I've decided to try not to worry so much about it. Even if I someday do lose my coverage and lose control of my diabetes – which seems pretty unlikely, though anything's possible – what would that really mean? Maybe I'd go blind, or have to have my feet or legs amputated. Maybe my kidneys would fail. Eventually I would probably have a heart attack and die.
But I'm going to die someday anyway. This fact has been on my mind a lot lately, for some reason. Maybe it's the change in seasons; summer feels like it's winding down early this year. I've been working late on a deadline for several weeks, drinking way too much caffeine, and not sleeping well – and the other night I woke up around 4 a.m. and couldn't stop thinking that someday I will be dead. It seemed like a stupid thing to think about, but all the same I suddenly found myself crying tears of real self-pity. I kept picturing the face of my friend K. who died in her sleep a few weeks ago of heart trouble probably related to her own poorly-controlled diabetes. She was 72 and so funny and happy and creative and alive – with her big red laughing mouth and fabulous jewelry and her dashing new white-haired boyfriend – it's hard to imagine that she really won't be around anymore. And someday, I won't either.
Now that I think of it I guess it wasn't so strange that I should wake up crying. I've been working so much I still haven't really had time to just sit with the knowledge that K. is gone.
I know no good can come from dwelling on my own death, or worrying about anything that might happen to me between now and then, or afterwards, either, for that matter. Right now I do still have access to healthcare. So I'll just make the best decision I can, keep doing what I can to stay healthy, and focus on enjoying the life I have – instead of worrying about things that haven't even happened yet, and maybe never will.
When you're a chronic worrier like I am – though I'm feeling more justified recently in starting to think of myself as a recovering chronic worrier – sometimes it's good to remind yourself that worrying is always optional. Thoughts do have a way of coming to mind ... but I can choose not to entertain them when they do.
P.S. Here is a link to the article that inspired this long and tedious discourse, in case you're wondering how I get started on these things ....
P.S.S. Speaking of anxiety ... I just added up some of the figures from the plan summaries and it's looking like my out-of-pocket cost for even the cheapest option is almost twice what I'm paying now, and the coverage isn't as good. I think I'm going to go throw up now.
Labels: diabetes, healthcare, work
3 Comments:
So sorry about your friend K.
Really, the only thing I can say about the health care situation in the United States is this: It's totally FUCKED UP! (Did you see "Sicko"?)
I, too, wake up at 4:00 in the morning thinking about shit like this and how very easily all our savings could be wiped out in no time at all by an illness. And we both do have health insurance, but I've heard way too many stories about how insurance companies weasel out of covering things that I have no faith at all that when we need it the insurance will come through for for us.
I really hope that the next administration will do something about the health care crisis--that story about the 24-year-old is just heart-rending.
Ditto about the next administration. Which is why we all have to do what we can to get Obama in office. he seems committed to some kind of national health care plan and we all need to make sure the right politicians get voted in to hold him to it. I'm just going to be positive that he will win. I can't believe Americans have been flailing along this way like FOREVER. It is SICK!!! (so to speak)
p.s. yes, we will all be dead someday, but i'm counting on some kind of cool afterlife. you can't be 100 percent sure one does not exist. too many people i know have had weird paranormal experiences to keep me hopeful....
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