The Unmitigated Gall

Last Friday, as I was crawling into bed, I felt the stirrings of what I presumed would be another painful, but short-lived bout with my gallbladder. I think I reported here in May(ish?) when I had my first ER trip because of the dang thing.

Since then, I'd had an attack here and there - but not so many that it was impacting life overly and I learned what foods to avoid such that I was doing all right, by and large.

Of course, I had a pretty terrible attack whilst driving back from my weekend in South Carolina for a friend's daughter's wedding. Nothing quite more fun than having that occur while driving. And then, the following week another two, shorter, attacks.

But then Friday hit. And nothing worked. The meds that usually kept things at bay, did not. (Probably owing to the fact that I could keep zero things down. Within moments of anything hitting my stomach, the revolt began, and I was rushing for the nearest basin-shaped object to catch its volcanic expulsion.)

I white-knuckled it through the night, finally crawling back into bed around 5 a.m. Saturday exhausted enough to sleep despite the pain. And I tried to gut through the day when I awoke.

A three, I finally gave up and made the hubs take me to the ER.

Sweet, sweet pain relief.

And an ultrasound and some bloodwork and other tests and...oh hey, we're going to admit you for surgery tomorrow (Sunday.)

I'm sorry, what?

Yeah. Good stuff. 

At that point, I'd had enough pain meds that I seriously considered just heading home and calling it good. They did give that option, with the reminder that choosing it meant next time, I'd be starting over.

And there was no hesitation that there'd be a next time. In fact, they were reasonably confident "next time" would be on or before Thanksgiving.

So. I pondered. And they went to check on something. And it lasted long enough that the pain started to work its way back through the good drugs and I realized that the pain wasn't actually gone, it was just hidden. And I said, "Sign me up for gallbladder donation."

Hubby went home when I got to my room (shout out to the hospital for that not taking all night - honestly, I was very pleased with how fast things moved). They kept me happily drugged up and let me sleep (! I didn't know you were allowed to actually sleep more than two hours at a time in the hospital. I think they only woke me once?) And I dozed off and on most of Sunday as I waited for my sweet, sweet surgery.

And it pretty much says it all that the post-op pain is a laugh compared to the pain that sent me in in the first place.

Came home Monday mid-day. Friends showed up to take over Thanksgiving for us. So I have been parked on the couch watching everyone handle everything with aplomb and doing very little for myself. And really, I could get used to it. (No. No I could not. It's driving me mad. But I did NOT take it easy like I should have after my hysterectomy and I have learned my lesson.)

Fast-forwarding to today, I am feeling very well indeed. Down to Tylenol a couple times a day. Still resting quite a lot and listening to my body say when it's time (again, annoying, because the plan was to lay tile this weekend. But yeah, no.) And if I never have pain like the gallbladder attack again? It will be too soon.

The Insanity of Finding a Medical Provider

Whelp.

Today was our check in with the psych for both boys to see how their meds are working and what tweaks we might need, etc. Making some adjustments here and there, all good. But then, she trots out that she things both boys could benefit from OT.

Any manner of things for the younger. Executive Function coaching for the elder.

Y'all. I've done the OT dance so many times before when they were little. I just don't want to start it again. But okay, fine. I called a couple of places nearish (because of course the one the psych recommends is in freaking Arlington. Not surprising given that we drive to McLean to see her, but I am not driving to Arlington 2+ times a week from out here. I don't care if the OTs are gold plated.)

The last one though made me want to beat my head against the wall. The conversation went something like this:

Her: Good afternoon thank you for calling OT Land.

Me: Hi, I'm wondering you're accepting new patients for OT.

Her: That would depend on your insurance.

Me: We have HappyFun Insurance. It looked like you listed them on your website.

Her: Yes, we're in network with them.

Me: Great. So...<insert short explanation of what the boys need.>

Her: We can absolutely do that, but with OT we are looking at a 4 - 5 month wait list for an initial evaluation.

Me, to myself, in my head, at maximum volume -- do you think that might be why I asked about new patients before we started this dance?? Because you could have just said, "Yes, but we have a very long wait list" and I would have hung up.

Yarg.

Anyway, I'll call around a little more, but I suspect that it's going to be the same everywhere we look. I might consider seeing if there's something to the south rather than the north because that would probably be less horrible of a drive. But also grrrr.

We had a BCBA we were working with at the tail end of last year for the youngest. She was amazing. But we were paying out of pocket and yeah, not made of money. I'm in hell with the insurance company trying to get it authorized (it would be funny if it wasn't so awful - one person says call this number, they say call this other number, who then refers back to the first number. No one wants you to actually get information. And that's all only after spending 30 minutes yelling OPERATOR into the phone to try to get past the ridiculous automated system.)

I've been contemplating a part-time job, honestly, just to cover the out of pocket costs so we could just go back to the BCBA, because she was fantastic. But I am not honestly sure I'd make enough to actually cover it. 

The executive functioning thing...if eldest would freaking listen to me and be willing to learn from me, we wouldn't need it. I 100% guarantee that they will give him the same tools I am trying to give him, but our "relationship" at this point means he'll take advice from literally anyone who is not me. (Case in point, the psych was going over some of the things I have been trying to work with him on. I'm sitting there biting my tongue because the urge to say SEE??? SEEEEEEE??????? was very strong. He's all, "Oh, interesting. What a good idea." I lament to hubby that he's going to be the kid who cuts all contact with us as soon as he doesn't need us for money. I'm not even kidding. But I guess it is what it is.)

Toothsome

I mentioned, I believe, that I had to have two gum grafts in the past nine or so months. I'd had some (I think in different places? But I really don't remember.) back in 2005. Even if it was a re-do, I'm okay with having to do it every twenty years give or take. (I mean, in an ideal world, I wouldn't have to. But looking at my dad's gums, I'm not feeling like I have the odds in my favor.)

Anyway. The second of the two was in March. It healed well enough, but I noticed I had a lot (more?) pain in the tooth/gum when I was finally cleared to chew on that side. And it was even more cold sensitive than it had been.

So, after putting it off for close to a month, I finally went back to the periodontist to see if I'd broken the graft or if they'd inadvertently done something. Perio said no, the graft looked great. Referred me to an endodontist. 

They took a look then froze the end of something with liquid nitrogen and started touching teeth. All was well til they got to the one in question when I about jumped off the chair in pain and it was a solid five minutes before the pain abated. That plus the x-ray meant root canal. I'd expected to schedule same, but he was like, "If you have time, I do."

And well, I was there. 

All things considered, it wasn't awful. Again, not signing up to have them for fun and profit, but still. 

Amusingly, I am realizing just how much compensating I must have been doing for that tooth, because I am still surprised when I take a drink of something cold and accidentally let it go in my whole mouth and it doesn't hurt. Woot. 

In other tooth news, youngest came to me with a molar yesterday. I really thought the Tooth Fairy was retired, but I guess we have a couple more yet to go.

Because Why Not?

So, round about the time my sister was finishing up her stay in the hospital and transitioning home, the magnesium supplement I've been taking for a while now reformulated.

I didn't think anything about it. People reformulate all the time and it's just kind of like, "Okay?" Mostly a justification to charge more, honestly.

Regardless, I dismissed it and continued to take said supplement.

A few days later, I developed a rash on my neck.

I thought shingles because stress and awfulness.

But people who've had shingles said I wasn't in enough pain for it to be shingles. And I won't diminish their experiences, but my little bout with chicken pox as a child was minor and unremarkable (I had six whole pox and they didn't really itch.) so maybe I just do shingles weird?

But said rash didn't clear up and didn't clear up and yesterday I finally had the chance to go to the urgent care.

And they believe firmly it's an allergy.

So I spent most of yesterday wracking my brain to figure out what might have changed. Last night, as I was getting ready to take my after dinner pills (because I'm old now and have pills for different times of day), I spied the magnesium bottle and thought, "Hm."

One quick google later and did you know you can be allergic to some of the different kinds of magnesium and it causes a rash?

Apparently this time, the reformulation was actually a change.

So yeah. I won't be taking that anymore. And I'm going to go magnesium free for a month or so just to give my body time to recuperate before I poke around for another supplement. And even then, I'm going to make sure it's as close to the original I'd taken for years with no issues before diving in.

Insert Maniacal Laughter Here

This is going to be scattered and ridiculous. Much like my brain these days. You've been warned.

Well, sometime over last weekend, sister took a rather dramatic dip and now spends the bulk of her time sleeping. In all, this is good, but I do wish Jesus would hurry up and take her home. Now more than ever. She is clearly uncomfortable, even in sleep, and Dad and I are both not sure what to do about that. When she's conscious, we encourage more pain meds, but what do you do when she's asleep? 

Beyond that, I got a random wild hair the other day (and it had been coming and going for a while, but I guess my impulse control is shot to heck right now) to buy organic, stone ground wheat from a small farm. So none of the bad fertilizers and such and back to good grain and yadda yadda. And so last week - week before? I have no concept of time - I gave sourdough a whirl with the new flour and hahahahaha. I did not read up on just how different this acts.

So today, we finally made it through all of the very, very dense first effort and I am trying again - now with much more hydration! - and we'll see what we see.

I might have over hydrated it now? I don't know.

A friend said, "Why not just use a tiny bit of the organic and mix with your regular bread flour" and like...that defeats the whole point? The brain goal for down the road is to buy wheat berries and grind them at home as needed. But yeah, I'm glad right now that I went this intermediate route first because I'm not sure I have it in me to keep going. Healthier is good, but not when it means life is miserable trying to make it work.

Youngest is loving my preoccupation and general inability to do anything because it means his school has been slapdash at best lately. We spent a whole day last week building lego. And I can make a case for motor skills and engineering and so forth if I cared to. The reality is, he's not going to fall behind. It's going to be fine. But yeah, I feel the mom guilt.

Eldest is trucking along with his, which is good. And I am even managing to stay on top of making sure he's doing well (vs phoning it in). So gold star?

Last week, rather than being in Hawaii (which was originally scheduled before everything with my sister went sideways), hubby was home at his boss's insistence. I appreciated that. But he was still in the office every day for 14 hour days. And really at the end of it all, I have realized I am incredibly spoiled and like having him at home. I don't know how we could go back to a full time in the office job at this point. Thankfully it doesn't seem like that's anywhere on the horizon, but yeah. It'd suck.

There was more to say when I started this but it's gone now. So probably super interesting. Or not.

Most likely not.

It just never gets better

We're now in the throes of dealing with Hospice and getting things set up to bring sister home to Dad's for as long as she has left. No one will say how long that is - and really it's hard to tell. Could be days. Could be months.

Her kidneys and liver are all failing - but how rapidly will that go? Jury's out.

And of course she's herself, and unhappy with any of our proposed suggestions for where to put the hospital bed and set her up. I want to say when you're the one dying, you get to choose, but at the same time, it has to work and still allow life to carry on.

Which is why she's not coming to my house. I feel guilt about it, but I can't make the boys be as quiet as she'd need, nor can I promise that I'd have the kind of time to help her as I know she wants. We're working out nursing care, but it's not the same as a family member. I know this. And yet.

So really, it seems like a family member dying can't take place without some kind of guilt. I know I did everything there was to do for Mom - but it wasn't as much as she wanted - and so there's guilt. And so it'll be the same for sister.

Whee.

This is not me trying to make her dying about me, btw, because it isn't. It's just that this is all hard. Everything is hard. And there are no perfect answers.

Insert Pithy Title Here

Sister remains in the hospital. Very little has changed as I think I remember mentioning that her liver is tanking now too? (I am too lazy to go look, but I at least thought about saying same. If that counts at all.) There's a liver stone. They were unable to get through her stomach to remove it previously. And the attempt kicked off the bleeding again (from where? no one knows.)

Tomorrow, they're going to go in and try to force the stomach-to-intestine opening wider so their equipment can get through. The day after, if that works, they'll go after the liver stone as it's not resolving on its own. If they can get it taken care of, then she can come home and go on hospice.

Because that's where we are.

At this point, we're just praying for it the end to be quick and as painless as possible.

How to Speed Up a Hospital

In our continuing saga...

Last night, sister called, very grumpy, because they hadn't done the endoscopy yesterday and they weren't sure if they could get to it today and she's feeling very defeated (but why? /s) and said, "I just want to go home and accept that I throw everything up. I'll figure out how to get nutrition in small doses somehow."

And then she told the nurse to let the doc know that she wanted to be discharged.

Miraculously, they were able to do her endoscopy this morning. And will do a few more GI tests today.

And like I realize that they're busy and she's not actively dying anymore, so could be in the back of the line, but also she's been in the hospital basically since the 14th and really, who wouldn't want to go home.

For now, the first endoscopy showed no obstructions, but they did suction off 2L of liquid that was just hanging out in her stomach. (This is abnormal, in case you didn't know.) So yay that something was amiss? But there were no magical answers forthcoming.

Bleh.

But Wait! There's More!

When we last met, the medical drama with my sister was planned surgery for stents on Friday. A simple procedure.

Routine, even.

In normal cases (i.e. not the first time for a person), it's basically outpatient. Fifteen, twenty minutes to slip in the stents, then once you're awake, home you go.

But we don't do things the normal way here in Sleepy-land.

Around 3:30, I get a call from the hospital number. I think to myself, well good, they're finished and calling to let me know.

But hahahahaaa no. The urologist on the other end says things are not going well and I'll excuse her as these aren't the types of calls she usually makes and it would probably be good if me and Dad came up there.

Turns out, they got the left stent in, everything was looking well placed and she was getting ready to remove the insertion apparatus to prep for the right side when my sister started gushing blood.

Like two transfusions amounts.

I drop everything, hop in the car, and zip down to grab Dad and head to the hospital. We check in in the waiting area.

Over the next four hours, they call us four times with updates along the lines of:

They've rushed her off to an emergency angiogram to try and find the site of bleeding and stop it in some way and...they can't find anything?

But it's still gushing, although maybe slightly less?

Seems to be slowing, but not stopping. So they're going to put her in ICU and monitor. Well no, not ICU, intermediate care as the bleeding has slowed enough that they think they can manage it just by putting in more than is coming out.

We finally get to see her in a room around 9. Pale doesn't begin to describe (duh) but she's alive and sort of kicking?

I take Dad home, then go back so I can spend the night there with her.

If you've ever wondered about sleeping in a hospital, the short answer is you just don't. But I did manage to doze a little.

Saturday, all the doctors come and go with various updates. The bleeding seems to be enough of a slowing trickle that maybe whatever it was that was gushing has healed itself. Of course, she's still vomiting everything she ingests. Literally can't keep down clear liquids. All meds have to be IV etc.

So they've called in GI and maybe there's gastroparesis in play as well? When she's more stable, let's do some tests for that.

Long story short (too late!), she's still there, but now moved to a "regular" room. The plan is an endoscopy today. Maybe tomorrow, depending on schedule. Which means nothing by mouth until it's over, but hey, it's not like she can keep anything down anyway. We'll worry about malnutrition later, I guess.

And there's the issue of still needing the stent in her right kidney because, of course, they're still swollen and backflowing and just generally failing.

The thing of it is, people keep asking me how I am. And I understand the intent, but honestly? I don't know. I don't know how I am. I'm putting one foot in front of the other and trying to handle whatever ball is tossed my way at the time, hoping I catch the fragile ones and drop the rubber ones. There's a tiny part of my brain devoted to hysterical, unhinged laughing because it just can't cope. But so far, at least, that's all on the inside, and I can reassure my kids that their aunt is fine. I can support my Dad who is cracking in ways he didn't even when we lost Mom. And I'm grateful for a hubby who is content to have me just lean on him and not talk.

Because, all evidence to the contrary, deep down I have no words.

The Revolving Door

So yeah. 

Sunday evening, sister called from her friend's house about 45 minutes south of here to let me know she was back from their "vacation" to the beach, she hadn't been able to keep anything down since Tuesday and her car had a flat tire that wouldn't reinflate and also there was apparently no spare.

So I went down to fetch her and take her straight to the ER that's about an hour north of where we live.

It's a good thing I like to drive.

I don't like driving as much when the person in the passenger seat is vomiting. Especially as I'm a sympathetic vomiter. So picture, if you will, zooming up 95, windows down to air out the smell, heater on full blast to try and keep everyone from freezing as it was somewhere around 20 degrees outside, trying not to hurl because of the noises and smells from beside you.

Good times. Good times.

Five hours in the ER later, she was admitted and I headed home.

Monday, they decide she needs stents in her kidneys as this all appears to be related to kidney damage/blockage (possibly from her radiation treatment, but who really knows) and it's backing up and filling her stomach with bile. Que the vomit.

They also decide that if they can stabilize her and get her to a point where she can eat, they can send her home and do the surgery next week. So that's the plan.

Tuesday, I head up to grab her and take her home around 3. (After the snow and ice and all that joy - but the main roads were basically fine and our littler roads weren't terrible.) Which hospitals being hospitals, actually meant I got home around 9pm.

Yesterday? Yesterday I was taking her back to the ER at noon. Because while she'd managed 24 hours of no vomit and keeping food down there, she made it almost to midnight before it started again when she was home.

So now they've decided the stents actually are an emergency, so they'll squeeze her into today's surgical schedule. Which means, if all goes well, I should be toting her home again tomorrow evening.

Of course stents being what they are, she'll have to lather/rinse/repeat the surgery every 3-4 months from now until eternity (which given the cancer, is at least not all that far off. Hush. The dark humor helps me cope.) She's not excited about it. She didn't want to do the stents, honestly, but I convinced her that dying b/c of kidney failure in this particular method wasn't going to be a painless and easy way to go.

Not that cancer is a lot better, but at least with that there's hospice and good drugs so you can sleep til you die.

Or so runs the theory. 

(And maybe they'd do that with the kidney failure route too, but honestly? Why risk it with what is essentially an easy "surgery" that doesn't have any incisions involved?)

So yeah. How's your week been?

Dental Woes

Yesterday was a day of medical appointments for me. Well, two. But they still basically took all day, what with the driving hither, thither, and yon.

I started the morning off with my semi-annual trip to the dentist. On the positive side, no cavities. Yay. I think I've had one of those in my lifetime. Possibly two, as I can't recall completely. Point being, strong teeth for the win.

I got those from my mom.

On the flip side, I have inherited my father's terrible gums.

I floss. I rinse. I brush -- not too hard! 

In fact, the dentist always compliments my oral health. 

Even still, I ended up needing gum grafts in 2005. (I have to thank ye olde blog here for helping me see that it was June of '05 when I was recovering from same.)

And now I have a referral to go get evaluated for them again.

Le sigh.

I guess it's nice that they lasted nearly twenty years? (Desperately looking for the bright side here.) 

The post from the initial surgery suggested that it wasn't an awful procedure, which falls in line with my general recollection as well (other than getting insanely sick on the way there because of the Celebrex they wanted me to take pre-op to help with inflammation.) And still, I am, not surprisingly, excited about the prospect of having to do it again. And if we're looking at 20 years for the duration, maybe even one more time in my life?

Bleh.

You'll understand when I say I'm not in a hurry to reach out and schedule that consultation.

The other visit was an annual skin check (yay for being fair skinned and predisposed to skin cancer?) - no spots of worry, so that at least was good.

Bleh

I have a cold.

Or allergies.

Or maybe that new whatever it is that's going to bring DOOOOOMMMMM to us all.

Probably not that last one though.

Regardless, I don't like it. Not one little bit. 

If I was Queen for a Day

Everyone knows that the healthcare system in the US has issues. I'll be the first to agree with that. I am not, however, on the side of "Let's just put Uncle Sam in charge of it all!" We did military medicine the first four years of our marriage and honestly, anyone who wants socialized medicine should have to do that for a couple of years (particularly years wherein they aren't super healthy) just to see how awful it is. We were basically healthy and it was still a PITA.

So.

Today's "Queen for the Day" solutions are medical in nature. And I probably couldn't fix it all in one day, although my overall plan is simple: Hospitals and Doctors can charge 20% over cost (or thereabout). Hourly pay for a doctor can't exceed $200 and needs to be commensurate with experience and training. Insurance companies pay what they're charged (since charges are now realistic) which means that sans insurance, self-pay if necessary isn't hideous. And you can't sue a hospital or doctor for "pain and suffering." Malpractice needs to be clearly proven and frivolous lawsuits result in huge fines for those bringing them. The only time there is a payout for malpractice is if willful bad treatment is proven. Accidents and unfortunate circumstances are not open to litigation. You went into care with the assumption of risk and best effort. They provided it under these circumstances. Medicine isn't a promise and sometimes life sucks.

BUT, more specifically today, my QFTD dictate is that therapy is covered as preventative care under insurance. All kinds (physical, occupational, mental) and thus is subject to a copay. Period. No caveats. If a doctor says "You need x kind of therapy." then you are entitled to receive said therapy regardless of presence or absence of whatever diagnosis may or not be "typical" for said therapy.

Yes, super specific. Because youngest has had two psychiatrists recommend ABA. But insurance says, "Oh hey, cool. We cover that, but only with an Autism diagnosis." Well, we don't have one of those. And the psychs say, "We could always do another evaluation and see if it gets diagnosed now." And the insurance company says, "Cool, cool. Just remember we don't cover evaluations either. So that six grand is on you." 

And I'm like, "So...can I self-pay the ABA? Because 6K for something that may not give us the diagnosis we "need" for the therapy seems dumb."

And they're like, "Yeah, of course. It's $250/hour per therapist and there's usually two. Plus we recommend two hours a week."

And insurance is like, "But it'd be a $40 copay if we covered it. Which we do. But just not for you."

And I'm like...FML.

Getting your kid the help they need should be based on my kids need help, they can give it to him, let's coordinate. It should NOT be based on, "Do I get my kid help or afford groceries?"

Itchy & Scratchy

One of the things I resolved to do something about (again. I admit it. Because it seems like it's an eternal battle.) this year is my weight. I do 40 minutes on the elliptical 4-5 days a week. I do pilates at least 2 days a week. I eat relatively healthily and yet, le pounds just won't budge.

The only thing that has ever budged said pounds is ridiculously strict keto and...I just can't. It's not sustainable long-term (and stopping only maintains for a month or two before the pounds come back with friends). And these days, meat is so stinking expensive that even if I thought I could mentally gird myself to do it? I don't think we could afford it.

So. I joined Found.

It's an online medical weightloss thingy wherein they also prescribe medication that has been known to help curb appetite and cravings. All good things, right?

First one we tried did nothing. 

No worries, says they, let's switch to this other. It's usually well tolerated.

So we switch. It's a ramp up (they all are.) First week is fine. No side effects. Lost 2 pounds. I'm thinking woohoo! 

Second week, we start the next step up in the dose. First three days are great. Day four I wake up COVERED in hives.

Big. Red. Itchy. Swollen. Hives.

Yay me.

So I discontinue the med and I wait to more days hoping that the reaction will calm. But no. Oh no. I can't do anything the easy way. 

Finally, I go to the urgent care and now have oral and topical steroids to deal with. Wheeee.

On the positive side, day three of my six of steroids, all my joints and muscles have stopped hurting and my lungs don't feel tight. (I hadn't actually realized that was happening and related to the medication response until it went away. I just knew I didn't feel right.) The hives are slooooowly starting to break up and fade. But I grow weary of looking like a burn victim where the hives grew from small splotches to large, connected ones.

Anyway, good times. I can now add sulfa medication to my allergies (along with cillins) which might just mean I can't take medicine. So hopefully I can stay healthy for the rest of my days.

The Found Dr. says, "When your reaction is gone, get in touch and we'll talk about what to try next."

I have some trepidation.

Back on the Wagon

Moving over the summer upset my elliptical routine quite a bit. Even once we were settled, it was a struggle to get myself down to the thing and get back on the horse, so to speak. And, since it wasn't really doing anything (that I could tell at least) for my health and weight, it was easy enough to let it slide.

Except lately, I've realized that even if it doesn't budge the scale (because why would it be that easy?), I definitely feel better mentally when I'm in the habit. So...I'm working to get back on the wagon.

It's been rocky. But this week has been good. So I'll take the win.

What I really need to do is get the eldest boy to do some basic yoga with me. He's had to record some stretching videos for his PE class (online PE is a thing. It's kind of hilarious. And yet I would totally have preferred it to changing in a locker room with the unwashed masses when I was in high school.) and the boy can't touch his toes.

To be fair, neither can his dad.

I guess I should make them all do yoga. Flexibility isn't a bad thing, no matter how old you are.

Now if I could just motivate myself to get back on the "writing every day" wagon, I'd be all set.

I guess I'll just take it one habit at a time.

Eye See You

This summer, in the midst of all the moving madness, we had our annual eye exams. I've already detailed my failed experiment with progressives that were the result of that. But I also left with a referral to see a retina specialist because they'd found a nevus on one of my eyes (the right one, if you're curious) that should be looked at.

"It's probably fine." Said the eye doctor. "But you ought to have them look just to be sure."

And since I had way more things to worry about at the time, that referral got moved and shuffled around and on the to-do list and then off it until Monday.

Monday, I called thinking I could get in sometime in January. And they said, "Are you available Wednesday?"

Eh, sure. Why not?

So this morning, I headed over.

Of course, I first parked, took the stairs up and wandered in a circle in the wrong stinking building. So my lovely ten minutes early cushion went to pot.

But when I got to the correct building and office, I was still on time. And as I'd done my paperwork ahead of time, all was well.

They checked my corrected vision. (Still good.) Numbed and dilated my eyes. (Never fun.) And then had two different machines take pictures of my eyes.

Honestly, I think it's kind of cool to see the outcomes.

All in all, I'm happy to report that a) there's no indication of any sort of glaucoma risk at this point (Dad has glaucoma and my pressures never register the right way, always trending a little on the high side of normal, so everyone is always concerned.) and b) while yes there IS a nevus (basically a mole on your retina) it looks very benign, has none of the traits that suggest it might end up cancerous in the future, and she'll have me back in six months out of an abundance of caution, but she said not to spend any time thinking about it unless I started seeing flashes or developing blocked vision when I looked in certain ways or had floaters.

So yay. And hey, now it's done, so I can quit ignoring it.

It's been six hours and my pupils are still not back to normal, but at least it doesn't hurt to see anymore.

A Three Hour Tour

In actuality, three weeks, but you can't sing that as easily.

So, youngest has ADHD. Reasonably severe. Medication helps. Ish. But it's still a process to find the right med and the right dose, and we've been on the merry go round for a while. Things are going reasonably well, but the doctor recently agreed (thank goodness) that we need to bump his dose a bit.

Que what should be a simple process of she calls the pharmacy, they fill the meds, we pick them up and give them our copay.

HAHAHAHAHAAAaaaaaa.....

Ahem.

See, the med she wants him on is one that our insurance feels is the same as a different one (narrator: it isn't) so she had to fight them to be able to use it in the first place, because we have already tried the one they think is the same and it didn't do what we needed it to do.

So okay, fine, they finally approved it. Yay.

Except, it appears they approved that specific dose.

So she's had to restart the prior auth process to get this new dose approved. Which she did. And the pharmacy texted that it wasn't covered. And I called her and she said she'd done her part. And so I called the insurance and they said she hadn't and that the pharmacy had to initiate it. So I called them and they said...

Yeah. Big game of "not it."

FOR. THREE. WEEKS.

And of course the story changed as we went along.

Well this week, the story was that the insurance only approved a particular MANUFACTURER of the drug, and that is out of stock and there's no resupply date available.

Que chasing tails to see who cares about the manufacturer. The doctor? Nope. Just the insurance.

So today I spent nearly 90 minutes on hold (off and on) as the insurance company called around to other "nearby" pharmacies to see if they might have the manufacturer available. (Nope.) Then they tried to override it so we could get it filled from a different manufacturer (the pharmacy has plenty of that available) and...no override. Because it's not a covered medication (see the previous about fighting to get this one.)

So they've filed an appeal and I can wait 48-72 hours to see if they're going to deign to approve it or...we can just pay out of pocket. They found a coupon to get it down to $60 and you know what fine. Just pay it.

But good grief. Who knew insurance companies could demand a specific manufacturer?? Not I. And it's ridiculous.

Progressive Pain

At the end of July, it was time for the annual visit to the eye doctor. Since I seem to keep getting older every year, it was generally no surprise that my prescription needed updating. This time with the recommendation of progressives. Because my eyes found a new way to be broken.

So fine, fine. What could go wrong?

Other, of course, than the cha-ching that four new pairs of glasses caused (2 for me - regular and sun, one each for the boys).

Glasses came in. I was assured that in a week or two I'd adjust and have no problems and would love the progressives.

Yeah, that was a lie.

I've essentially had the beginnings of a migraine for the better part of two weeks. And my eyes physically hurt after an hour or two. And we won't talk about the joy of feeling carsick while driving.

I reached my limit yesterday, I think. It's just too much.

So I'll be reverting to my old specs and will take the new frames back to the eye doctor and have them put new lenses in that are not progressive. For the close up work? Well, I guess I'll just take them off and on as needed. Perhaps get some cheapo readers if necessary from the drugstore?

Because apparently I fall into that small percentage of people who don't adjust to the progressives.

Yay me.

Trust me, I'm a doctor.

Met with the doctor for youngest's ADHD med management yesterday. All things considered, I like her. (Which I guess isn't required, but it's a nice side bene.) Now that we have one med at a reasonably stable dose, we're tweaking another. So she sent those prescriptions in, and the barrage of texts from CVS began.

One of which, of course, was that the insurance wouldn't cover the new med.

Because of course not.

This is the second med she's had to fight with them about. Because I guess insurance companies have decided that they know best and heaven forbid someone who actually specializes in treating this condition have an opinion that differs from the almighty bean counters at CareFirst.

I know that apparently the world looks at our healthcare and shudders, but by golly, I don't want some bureaucrat second-guessing my medical professional. And you know--YOU KNOW--it would be so much worse if we had "universal healthcare." (I reference my Canadian friend whose husband needs a hip replacement, but who can't get said replacement yet because it's "elective," yet he's in so much pain that he has done permanent damage to his liver with the pain meds they foist off on him instead. But they know best.)

So I've emailed from the portal to see what type of song and dance number I need to prepare in order to not pay $150 every thirty days to get his meds refilled. (CVS had a "coupon" today that made it only $56 for me. I mean, thanks, I guess. But also insurance companies aren't doctors and they need to stop pretending they play one on TV.)

Well, then.

Sister got her latest CT report over the last two days.

Yeah, that clinical trial stopped working.

She's not sure, yet, where this leaves her -- there are conversations yet to be had, probably (hopefully?) another PET scan. But at the end of the day, the one tumor that she had (vs. "just" metastatic cancer floating around looking for a home) is now an inch, which is a little over double what it had been. There's a NEW tumor in another lymph node that hadn't previously been there. And there are "micro nodules" in her lungs that are presumed to be metastatic cancer forming tumors.

Good times.

And of course she's in California, so I can't do anything for her. But that was her choice and of the things that are bothering her, that doesn't seem to bother her. Which is more good times for me but whatever.

In completely (like 100%) unrelated news, hubs and I have tickets to see John Crist (a Christian comedian) live in Tyson's on Sunday night. I was so excited when the tickets went on sale to attend an honest-to-goodness theater event.

And then of course, living here in wokeland, things got stupid.

Theater's requiring proof of vaccine. I'm vaccinated, for all the good it has the potential to do (it was a smart choice for me b/c of elderly father and cancer-stricken sister) but by golly I disagree with the "papers please" mentality of the woke crowd.

We debated not going on principle.

But I reallllly want to go and have some kind of "normal" night out.

So we missed the refund window.

Then they come out and say that we also have to be masked the whole dang time?

Like really? Everyone entering the place is vaccinated or has proof of a negative test within the last 72 hours. WTF are the masks for? (Not that masks do anything anyway unless we all have single use surgical masks but whatever, don't question your betters!)

I'm all grumpy about it again.

I hope John mocks the ridiculousness mercilessly.