the trick is to keep breathing

What the actual fuCK is insurance these days

So I’ve been off of Cymbalta for what is now 14 days. I’m absolutely not ONLY feeling the lack of the drug in my current all-over State Of The Union, but I’m ABSOLUTELY going through withdrawal now which let me tell you for duloxetine is absolutely fantastic. Have a story.

• about 4/10 realize I’m running out. Play happy phone tag w my rheumatologist (they always want me to come in for an appt before they will prescribe anything; i kindly ask them to check my records where it says I’m immunocompromised).
• 4/17 Dr office finally agrees to call in a 90 day refill and will do another one when i get an appt any time during those 90 days.
• me: waits expectantly.
• last week: no drugs, no notification of new prescription, no nothing. I call the dr office. They submitted it to Express Scripts on 4/17.
• call ES. They have absolutely nothing on record for me more recent than a 2016 script.
• realize my other prescriptions have been filled through CVS Caremark.
• call Caremark. They have the other prescriptions but nothing for Cymbalta.
• call my Dr. They won’t submit another script even though ES has nothing on file. They tell me to call Caremark and have them contact ES to get the script.
• call Caremark / Carefirst / whatever it is. I discover that the other prescriptions were run up through my old Bridgestone COBRA insurance.
• I spend 2 hours on the phone bouncing between 7 different people trying to explain the situation.
• Apparently there is a special team that is supposed to handle my current insurance plan, but as I am transferred around, I apparently haven’t talked to anyone from that fucking team yet.
• I eventually manage to find someone who can transfer all of my recent refills OFF the COBRA and ONTO my carefirst insurance.
• I’m then tossed through three other people before I find someone who can tackle the missing duloxetine.
• turns out CVS/Caremark does NOT call out so they will NOT contact ES to look for the script.
• They recommend that I ask the doctor to submit the refill to a local CVS so that i can get the drugs sooner.
• i start laughing uncontrollably and remind them that the dr has already submitted a prescription and has absolutely refused to submit another, that the office is waiting for some insurance to make the request.

At this point, mind you: The dr has submitted a refill request and therefore won’t initiate anything. ES has not received anything on file for me at all, and therefore can’t do anything for me. CM will not contact ES. My literal only option here is for CM to contact the Dr for a new refill script and just PRAYING that the Dr will mcfuckin fill it.

• I finally - finally - land someone willing to take down the information and request a 90 day refill (through the mail service, because that’s the ONLY way i can have the request initiate from CM, since my dr won’t initiate and ES can’t) from my goddamned dr office.
• they recommend i call the Dr office and explain what’s happening so that they don’t reject the refill request.
• fuck
• the dr office doesn’t really seem to understand what I’m saying. They have me schedule an appointment and they’ll ask the Dr if they can submit another request to CM. I’m desperately trying to explain that CM is going to send a request just like please just make it go through and don’t complicate this any more.
• i am transferred to scheduling, where I sit and let the phone ring repeatedly for 15 minutes before I hang up and call back. The phone lines take a lunch break from 11:30-13:00. They were just going to let me sit there for an hour and a half i guess?????

HOW is this the way things are SUPPOSED to work? (Spoiler, it isn’t; I’m american, i get it.) just. Like. I HAVE BEEN ON CYMBALTA FOR OVER SIX YEARS. This isn’t some new medication everybody has to be woo-boo careful about. This is a fucking maintenance drug I’ve taken for a big portion of my adult life.

And I’ve been off it for two weeks. I hurt. My brain is dumb. I’m fucking exhausted. And I’ve wasted all morning on this. I’m so frustrated I want to cry and punch things.

what the FUCK.

so mike and i are going to pittsburgh this weekend for my brother's birthday. i had a full list of things to get ready for today - get things settled for the catsitter, clean the kitchen, do some laundry so i have something to wear, pack, rig up my bike for the weekend, sort out my medications (this takes about a half hour every week to load them into my "morning" and "evening" weekly pill boxes, ugh) ... there was a lot.

the thing is, i have been tired as actual fuck this week. because i end up overcharging my energy credit card during the week, i usually try to save up and pay it off on weekends, meaning i need lots of sleep, relaxing, and a good amount of alone solo-time. because of the recent messes (previous posts), i haven't had a free weekend to myself since the middle of june. this means not only am i exhausted, and carrying around the static background-noise of someone who hasn't been able to ground herself and clear everything out*, but of course the house is a mess and i am behind on everything.

(*i am also suffering from not having my Vicodin at the moment; those four hours of reduced pain help me clear out the static noise and ground myself like fuck, but because i have to go back to formal pain management (which is a process) i don't even have that tool in the toolbox right now.)

so anyway, i am tired and pretty strung out at the moment, but it's jim's birthday and mary wants us to be a surprise, so we'll be a surprise :)

so last night, i come home tired from the pain-load on my circuits. i take two tramadol and a glass of wine, which i'm sure my liver is mad cool about but it helps shut the pain up when i don't have opiates. i crash on the couch for a bit, with cats, and then slowly start hitting my chores. i make a pact with myself because i'm watching Chopped on tv, so every commercial break i get up and do a thing. this continues on, laundry and litterboxes and drugs, via Chopped and Beat Bobby Flay commercials (look, i love BBF, it's all fancy cooking and trash talk, that's my jam), until the second wind wears off and i get tired. well, i say, i'll get up early in the morning to finish it.

the alarm goes off at 5:00.

1. i am having a dream where a group of people (no one i know, which is surprising for my dreams) and i are hosting some kind of event luncheon thing with food and wine for fucking Donald Trump and some Republicans, I guess trying to talk some sense into them or come to an accord or argue with them or spy on them or, i don't know, it seems reasonable in the dream. and i'm some kind of power hostess but i'm focusing mainly on the cooking (thanks, fucking Chopped and Beat Bobby Flay), and trying to make points and break up fights while making sure everyone has food?, i mean at one point i fucking leave an argument to go make more fried cornmeal balls (hushpuppies i guess)???? so like: i'm already pretty discombobulated.
2. i finally manage to get out of bed, after some snooze buttons, at about 6:00
3. i head downstairs, turn on the keurig, head to the basement. pull the dry laundry out of the dryer and put the wet laundry in the dryer. yes, i went to bed with laundry in the washing machine. it was literally only there for like 5 hours, it didn't smell or anything
4. i get my coffee and sit down on the floor to fold the laundry but i'm tired as fuck and end up playing out my stamina in FFBE
5. i fold the laundry, while finishing FFBE/FFRK stamina, with Iggy and Potato helping. this literally hakes maybe an hour? i'm so tired i feel heavy, like i'm moving slowly because everything weighs 500lb, including my thoughts
6. i finish the laundry and go to get the cats ready. write a note, set out food, fill their dishes, give them wet food breakfast, get everything set
7. my brain finally processes that i had a dream about catering donald fucking trump, where i made him bruschetta and fucking hushpuppies rather than punching him in the face, maybe with a knife. i spend a good 15 minutes severely disappointed in my subconscious
8. it's starting to get close to when i should be leaving for work, and i'm starting to unravel a bit here. i go upstairs to pack. weirdly i fucking gained back 9lb in the month of july, i do not know how, so i'm also trying on everything i want to pack to make sure it fits. a lot of random shit just goes in the bag
9. i spend a half hour sorting out my pills. i have 20 empty pill bottles and at least 2-3 refills of each type, which makes everything more confusing than it should be. i do not know how it happened and my brain really wants to know rather than focus on getting each med in its appropriate pill box. eventually the boxes are full
10. i scramble to get ready for work, throw some shit on, the jeans are actually still damp but honestly i ignore it bc they stretch out better that way after a wash. hair goes up in a braid, fucks not given
11. head down to start loading the car. checking my important list on my phone. get jim's gift in the back seat, bike pump in the trunk because once it had a spider on it. look around the garage, and i don't have my bike rack
12. it must be in fucking mike's garage
13. i legit spend 20 minutes attempting to cram my goddamn bicycle into the back seat of my fucking honda civic
14. i mean, maybe if i take the front wheel off
15. the front wheel isn't coming off, the brakes are in the way
16. how do i undo brakes
17. maybe if i wedge it this way
18. fuck it we're gonna have to stop by on the way out and get my bike
19. head back in to wash the oil and smudge off of my hands. i am sweaty, and extremely cranky at this point
20. hands clean, everything else in the car, head out to get in and go to work
21. the bike rack is hanging from one of my ceiling hooks
22. someone was helpful and "put it away"
23. at this point i am decidedly sweaty, cranky, and obscenely late for work. there's a constant stream of "fuck you, fuck this, fucking fuck, fuck this shit, fuck everything" coming out of my mouth like i'm reciting the world's worst rosary
24. while taking the rack down the straps get caught in my hair and pull half of it out. everything is terrible
25. the rack is on the fucking car. the bike is on the fucking rack. go wash my hands again.
26. get into the car. what's on my seat? oh, it's the post it note of my to-do list. let's check it. i forgot to leave the key for the fucking catsitter
27. fuck you, fuck this, fucking fuck, fuck this shit, fuck everything
28. the key is safely in a plastic bag in its place
29. i am stopping at starbucks if it fucking kills me
30. literally i do not care if i am fired for being late i'm getting a goddamn starbucks

...

1. get to work. no one is here. half the group is traveling or on vacation, and the other half is off for 9/80 fridays. all my brain can come up with is "9/11" and i sit staring into space for 20 mins trying to figure out what the 9/11 schedule is
2. it is surreal
3. i don't know what i'm doing

so now i really just want a nap. and another starbucks