My health insurance story

In 2005, I graduated from college, got a job offer, and moved myself and my husband from rural North Carolina to northern Virginia. We started with a fairly large student loan on my part and a small amount of credit card debt from the move.

Although we had the option to add R. to the insurance at my new job, we couldn't really afford the pay reduction - we were just barely scraping by and weren't prepared for the massive increase in cost of living - and he'd always been extremely healthy, never gets sick.

Besides, neither of us had had health insurance for years while in college, so anything past the campus infirmary's capabilities would've been on us anyhow. (Preventative care? Totally out of the question. When you can barely afford to eat, you don't get checkups.)

That Christmas, while back in NC visiting family, R. drove us into the mountains to visit with an old college friend. We were playing cards when R. suddenly fell over into a seizure. Thank God it didn't happen while he'd been driving us up curving, dark mountain roads.

The small local hospital admitted him, couldn't really find anything wrong other than the aftereffects of the seizure, and sent him home. Total EMS and hospital bill: about $1,100.

Three weeks later, it happened again. This time he was admitted to our local big city hospital for two days. Diagnosis: a nonspecific seizure disorder. Total bill: around $14,000.

In one month, one previously perfectly healthy person developed a pre-existing, potentially life-threatening illness, and one young couple was saddled with crushing debt.

Shortly after, R. found a job with health insurance, which has paid for appointments, testing, and medications. If not, I wouldn't be writing this now. His $700-a-month medication would have long ago bankrupted us and we'd be homeless. Or, more likely, he'd have had to stop buying medication and live with the seizures. Or not.

This system does not work.

It doesn't have to be overt

I finally went and saw a doctor about my RSI. Diagnosis: carpal tunnel. I'm not sure I agree, but whatever, it gets me into treatment and that's the important bit.

For right now, the treatment is a special wrist brace to wear at night, plus physical therapy. Everyone at the doctor's office is really nice, so I chose to go to their in-house physical therapist.

On my first visit, every therapist in the room was young, thin, blond, white, and athletic. I know physical therapy attracts the sports medicine types, so no big surprise. (The patients, of course, were a mixed bag.) The hand specialist, J, tested my grip and pinch strength, deeply massaged the hand, put hot and cold pads on it (not at the same time), and gave me a bunch of stretches to do. While J was explaining the stretches, she asked:

J: What kind of exercise are you doing?
Me: Right now I'm concentrating on yoga for general stress relief and stretching.
J: Well, if you feel like turning over a new leaf, you should do some cardio.

At the time, I just agreed, but now it really bothers me. J just assumed that I don't do any cardio at all. That comment, combined with her general demeanor, made it clear that my computer-related injury and fat body equaled "fat and lazy" in her eyes. I think she'd have greatly preferred it if I'd been thin and in her care with a tennis injury.

J acted professionally and didn't let her fairly-well-veiled distaste affect her job, so I'm not finding another therapist just yet. It's fascinating, though, how many people jump to conclusions based on body shape, without knowing a person at all.

Hello - it's been a while

Due to some happenings in my personal life, I've been unable to dedicate as much time as I'd like to this blog. However, I do have a few things to say.

My father passed away last week from ALS - and I'd never before realized how much food people bring to the bereaved! I went home on Friday afternoon and spent the weekend - there was an incessant flow of people coming in with food; cakes; cookies; casseroles; risotto; vegetable platters; cheese and meat platters; fruit; buns; assorted desserts; salads ... the list goes on and on. Enough food to feed an army presented to a household that has only three permanent members. In my experience, grieving individuals often have little to no appetite, for very good reason. Instead, my stepmother is left with mountains of food, stuff that will likely not be eaten before it expires.

Food is a normalizer in this society, I think. Think of all the things we do while eating: get engaged; break up; fight; make up; make important business decisions; make someone feel better with food... I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I remember feeling upset as a child and my mother's response being to give me food, usually cookies or ice cream, because I know now she didn't know how else to react or help me.

Aside from that, my eating disorder is rearing it's head very noisily. My new psychiatrist prescribed meal replacement shakes because I've likely lost 15-20 lbs in the last few weeks to a month. There are other factors that are affecting my eating, but I don't much care to go into them here. Instead, I'm going to continue boggling at the amount of food given to bereaved families, when most grieving folks don't have an appetite.

Rest in peace, Dad.

Gorgeous

I walked into the bathroom yesterday to wash my hands, glanced in the mirror, and thought "holy crap, I'm gorgeous."

The feeling only lasted for a moment, but it did happen. And it's true, even if I don't feel that way today.

conversations with family

At a cookout, talking with one of my husband's (male) relatives, legs and ankles covered in mosquito bites from a night camping near a canal at Virginia Beach (don't ask).

Relative: What, are you diabetic?
Me: Um, no.
Relative: [Something about people with diabetes attracting mosquitos]
Me: I don't have blood sugar issues, just blood pressure.
Relative: You need to take some of that weight off.
Me: If I have blood pressure issues, it's from stress, thanks.

At breakfast with my own family, surrounded by delicious homemade biscuits and ham and muffins. Mother and sister have just finished conversation about how various relatives have lost [X] pounds and look great.

Sister: I shouldn't have eaten any of those muffins anyhow. I'm supposed to be on a diet.
Mom: Me too, I've got to drop some of this weight again.
Sister: Tell me about it!
Me: I'm officially fat and happy. As long as I'm healthy I don't care if I'm fat!

Also had a conversation with my mom about how I've never actually had an accurate blood pressure measurement taken, since no one ever uses the correct cuff. It was harder than I expected to essentially say "hey, I know you thought I had this health issue, and thought it was related to my weight, but actually it's probably more related to stress and I may not even have the issue in the first place."

Sometime I should write about having a relative who really is a weight loss success story.

Cause and effect

The arch of my foot hurts. It hurts because I went to Hillwood Estate on a photography trip last weekend (it was gorgeous), and went grocery shopping tonight, both in shoes without adequate arch support. My foot hurts, and arch pain is an issue for most of my family members, both skinny and fat.

My foot does not hurt because I am fat. It does not hurt because of all the death fat pressing down on it. It does not hurt because I am lazy. My feet are not at fault. I am not at fault. My fat is not at fault.

I speak about medical and health issues a lot here. Part of it is that since seriously starting to accept and love my body, I've realized that I deserve to be able to take care of it. My body, in its current state, deserves medical care. Not because it's stunningly healthy and will stay young and fit forever, or because I've somehow earned it, but because all bodies deserve medical care. No matter what.

Like most writers, I write what I know. Blogs like Shapely Prose do a fantastic job of covering current events and opinion pieces. I may get back to that eventually as well, but right now I can only speak about my own experiences.

Invisible injuries (mostly OT)

In 1998, I was a freshman in college and the excited recipient of an old desktop PC. The dorm room at my tiny mountain college had no desks, only a countertop along one side of the room for studying. The monitor took up the entire depth of the counter and there was no room for a chair, so I ended up sitting on my bed with the keyboard in my lap and the mouse on the bed by my side.

Ten years of computer geekdom combined with bad posture, cheap keyboards and mice, and every risk factor in the book (Type A personality, prone to stress) mean that I quite predictably have a repetitive strain injury, or RSI.

I'm following the treatment outlined in this book, which is made of win, but RSI can't be treated by drugs or surgery. I have to relearn how to use my entire upper body, including how to type, so I can use the computer in a way that doesn't hurt.

Since I still technically can type, it's hard to explain to my employer that I need accommodations. Since I still technically can carry groceries into the house, I feel like a lazy fattie for letting the husband do it so I can avoid the pain that comes with it. I could have heaved bags of mulch into a cart and then into my car the other day at Lowe's, but it wasn't worth the pain. I found myself explaining briefly to the workers there who did the lifting so they wouldn't think I was a lazy fattie. I can't even imagine what it must be like to live with a true invisible disability.

It's really important right now for me to just stay off the computer as much as possible. Telling a geek to stay off the computer is like telling a fattie to stop eating baby doughnuts, so it isn't working too well, but I'm trying, hence the lack of posts lately.

I need to find a local RSI specialist and/or massage therapist with RSI training, but I'm worried; I've never had a massage, and I'm afraid of getting someone who'll freak out at teh fats. How silly is that? And yet the pervasive nature of fat hate means it's a factor even in a condition totally unrelated to fat.

(Note: Any comments shaming me for being afraid to visit a doctor/therapist will be deleted.)