The One Where I Complain About Health Insurance

It's no secret that I have some medical needs.  Things are actually pretty awesome in the RA department, but even when I'm feeling good I still have to take medicine daily to maintain the good.  Until recently this has been no big deal.  I have insurance which covers a bulk of the cost.  My local pharmacists know me on sight.  And I (usually) remember to order my refills in time.

All was going well until last month when my insurance company decided that my expensive medication (enbrel) had to now come from a "specialty" pharmacy.  As far as I can tell the only thing "special" about their pharmacy is that it's especially annoying. 

When I have to pick up my enbrel from my local pharmacy I get this. 

I can call the pharmacy on a Friday when I need the enbrel on Saturday.  It takes me 5 minutes to get to the store.  And, as an added bonus, I can pick up a Diet Coke, or People magazine while I'm there.

Under the new policy (which is supposed to make the process easier), I have to call the pharmacy at least a week in advance.  They then bug the crap out of me on the phone (um, no I don't want to sign up for anything I just want my medication, and I'm already annoyed that I have to call you to do that so lets just move on shall we).

And did you notice how small the box is that my medicine is in?  Yeah, because this is the package that came in the mail today....

And inside that giant box was an equally giant styrofoam cooler

And inside that giant styrofoam cooler were three cold packs, and one tiny box of meds....

And YES the cooler and ice packs are necessary to keep the syringes at the right temperature...but seriously?  Mother Nature is SOOOO pissed at me right now (and I blame you Health Insurance)!

It's the pits

(WARNING: This is kind of gross, sorry)

One of the many glamorous things about having RA is that my immune system isn't quite up to snuff. You see having RA means that my immune system thinks that the fluid surrounding my joints is evil and attacks it causing swelling, pain, and super sexy claws where my hands should be. Clearly my immune system takes the short bus to work. Now, because it's my immune system that is the problem the medications I take suppress my immune system so it can't attack my joints. I'm all about the medication because it's one of the reasons why I am now able to do things like dress myself (I'm a big kid now), but having a immune system that doesn't fire at 100% means that infections are a real concern.

Keeping this in mind I became concerned when I noticed a large, red, warm lump under my arm (I'm to dignified to say armpit). A major infection could easily land me in the ER which I have tried to avoid since my senior year at Witt when I broke a finger by falling off my porch, sober. After several days I did what most people do, I told my mommy who made me call the doctor, who made me come in to the office. So I found myself on the exam table about to get Harold (as I like to call the lump) lanced. I admit I was pretty excited about this because, well I'm weird and I wanted to see what was going to come out of Harold. I was fully numbed before the scalpel came out so I didn't actually feel anything, but I could hear the scalpel and ahhh, like nails on a chalkboard. Not even the crap coming out of Harold could make up for that noise. Also, because Harold is the gift that keeps on giving, I've been having to apply and reapply bandages to the area ever since then. Do you know how much it hurts to remove medical tape from your armpit (guess I'm not that dignified after all)? Especially when there is an incision there? And it bruised from trying to squeeze Harold to death? It hurts. Yesterday I actually used this sentence in conversation "I couldn't get on the treadmill today because my armpit hurt". For real people do you know how often your armpit moves during the day? A LOT! But still as the saying goes "better out than in" and I'm frankly ready for Harold to move on, and take his crap with him (even if it is kind of cool, in a gross way).

Confession Part 1

I stole this idea from Bridget, hope she doesn't mind!

Confession: I'm afraid to exercise

Yes, it's true, my treadmill frightens me. I bought my treadmill several years ago when the one I inherited from my parents needed to go to exercise equipment heaven. When I bought it, I loved it. I would get up early 3-4 times a week to walk before work (if you know me personally then this will have extra significance since you probably know how I feel about sleep)! I felt great, I loved how I felt after walking, I had more energy, I was actually alert on my drive to work. It was all in all, a good thing.

Then I got RA and the treadmill became my enemy. I couldn't even walk to the bathroom without being in pain so the idea of doing extra walking, on purpose, was laughable. I spent a lot of time (I'm talking more than a year) altering the way I did everything to try and keep pain to a minimum. I started walking with my hands in my pockets (less chance of hitting something on accident), I got all new (flat and boring) shoes, I started avoiding touching people (if a kid accidentally bumping into you in the hallway made you cry and vomit you'd avoid it too). All in all I did everything, everyday, to minimize or avoid pain, and I am not being dramatic when I say that it's all I thought about.

Then I started to get better (by the grace of God), but despite that I still continued living in my "avoid all possible pain" way which included ignoring the treadmill in my bedroom. But now I'm 20 months into this battle, 18 months post-diagnosis, and 6 months into feeling pretty much normal (well as normal as I ever was). It's time for things to change, to get over the fear that any physical activity will lead directly to intense pain, to take my doctors advice and get moving. While I'm still likely to walk with my hands in my pockets (I'm a klutz), and avoid handshakes (can I wear a sign that says "this isn't a pissing contest just a handshake, go easy"), it's time to conquer the treadmill.

p.s. sorry for the gratuitous use of parentheses (but I really like them).

Help?

I am an independent person, a very independent person. In fact stubborn would be a nice way of putting it! The point is that I have a hard time asking for, or accepting help from people. Despite my earlier rant about having to complete "man chores" I would actually prefer to do it myself than to have to ask for help. And as for actually needing help, well I'm sure not going to admit that! Even at the start of my RA, when I could hardly get dressed by myself, I hated having to ask for help, and rarely did. I was in horrible, horrible, horrible pain, and I still would rather do things myself than ask for help.

For the record, I'm kind of an idiot.

RA taught me many things, including the fact that sometimes you just have to ask for help. I still don't do it well, but I do ask when necessary (even if I have to give myself a pep talk first). So this week has been a lesson in asking for help, and I'm pretty darn proud of myself! My rheumatologist agreed to let me try and lower the dose of one of my meds, as a result I've been feeling a bit off. When I went to the grocery store and bought lots of heavy items, the idea of loading them into my car was a bit much so when the bag boy offered to take them to the car for me I accepted, for the first time ever! Today at Lowes when I had to buy mulch I decided not to repeat last years performance (it ended with tears and no mulch), instead I went right in and asked someone for help.

Either I'm growing as a person, or I'm becoming more Southern....either way, it's a good thing!

The Real Story

I get asked about my RA a lot so I thought to write about it and answer lots of questions at once!

I went to a Halloween party on a Saturday night in '07 dressed as a girl scout (it was awesome). The costume itself isn't significant, but the party is because I was driving that night so I stuck with one glass of wine and lots of water. The point being that I wasn't drunk and, despite my perpetual clumsiness, I didn't fall down. Still the next day my right ankle hurt and I was limping. By Monday my limp had turned into a full-fledged pain and I had a disturbingly large lump on the back of my ankle. My sister insisted that I call the doctor to see what was up, which I did a bit begrudgingly since I don't generally like visiting the doctor. My doctor agreed to see me the next day and when she saw my ankle she was stumped. There had been no apparent trauma to my leg or explanation for the giant lump. After some head scratching and a few looks in the medical textbooks she decided that my best bet was a visit to an orthopedic surgeon. An appointment was made for a week later and I headed home with a still swollen ankle, a more pronounced limp, and a little bit of anxiety over just what the heck was wrong.

I woke up on Wednesday to discover that not only was my ankle still sore, but now other parts of my body were following suit. By Friday my hands, wrists, back, feet, knees, and even jaw were also inflamed. Things didn't improve when I got a call from my mom telling me that her bosses wanted me to come in for some blood tests. My mom is a nurse at an Oncology practice, and although she told me not to worry...I did. Blood tests were run and it was decided that what I really needed was a Rheumatologist. A call was placed and I was given an appointment to see an amazing rheumatologist. The catch was that the appointment wasn't until January 18, 2009.

Now for those of you keeping track my symptoms started the day after a Halloween party. Within a week of that, nearly every joint in my body was inflamed and painful. My doctor's appointment wasn't until January 18! That left me with 2 and a half months to try and deal with my symptoms on my own. True, my regular doctor gave me a prescription anti-inflammatory as well as a dose of steroids, but overall there wasn't much to be done. Those months were not my best, and I'm sure I wasn't fun to be around. I slept very little because of the pain, and ate even less because my jaw was to sore to chew. When the day finally came for me to meet the rheumatologist I was happier than I had been in months! After a LOT of blood work, and another week of waiting for results it was confirmed that I had Rheumatoid Arthritis.

48 days later I turned 30....awesome

Can gardening really be fun?

When I was younger there was one chore that I hated above all others....yard work. I absolutely despised having to work in the yard. It wasn't the mowing that bothered me because quite frankly a lawn mower is just a big loud power tool and who doesn't love power tools! No it wasn't the mowing, it was the raking! Why oh why did we have to rake? And it wasn't a little bit of raking, we had a BIG yard which equalled a LOT of grass to rake. I couldn't understand the point of raking and, in fact, I refuse to rake my own yard now (instead I set the mower to mulch and just deal with it). Now before you start to think that I was a poor, overworked child, let me assure you that I wasn't. I had my usual set of chores to do and parent's who were fun and never unreasonable. Plus my dad decided one year that instead of a raise he would have someone come and do our yard for us so the raking stopped before I hit my teens. Still the hatred of raking stayed with me and spilled over to include all sorts of yard work including any kind of gardening. I was utterly confused by anyone (my mom included) who seemed to actually like spending time in the yard. I didn't see the appeal of backbreaking work all for a few flowers that would die anyway.

And then I bought a house.

One of the deal-breakers in my search for a house was that I had to have a fenced in backyard for my dog. I found myself looking at homes with BIG yards and small yards and settled on my "House of Dreams" which had the perfect sized yard for me and my Schnauzer. Knowing that I was going to buy a house with a yard I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to do some yard work. I knew it came with the territory, and since I already had my "no raking" policy in place I was okay with it. The House of Dreams in all of it's sad neglected glory had two flower beds in the front yard that were horribly overgrown. Almost immediately after moving in I decided that all of the shrubbery had to go and I set about doing a total demolition to the front yard. Imagine my surprise when I found that I LIKED it! I liked pulling out all of the old stuff and picking out just the right flowers and shrubs. I liked weeding the beds, and mowing the yard. I found myself feeling closer to my mom since we now had something in common (that she didn't share with my sister)! Gardening was fun, I was one of those people who enjoyed wandering the flower section of the home improvement store. And even though my "no raking" policy remained firmly in place, I found myself thoroughly enjoying all of the time I spent in my flowerbeds.

Then came the RA and my new found love of gardening, turned into yet another activity that I was entirely incapable of doing because of my joints. All of the plans I had made for my backyard fell by the wayside and I gave up the idea of being able to landscape the way I wanted to. However, I was happily able to start working outside again this week after many, many, many months of inactivity, and a lot of medication. Now with Spring just around the corner I am once again looking forward to playing in the dirt. While it's true that I have to work a lot slower than I would in the past, I'm thankful that I can at least keep working!

Losing my Doodle

Hello, my name is Jess and I doodle. It's true. I can't hide it any longer. I doodle when I'm in meetings. I doodle when I'm on the phone. I even doodle when I'm teaching. I have been doodling for as long as I remember. My drawing skills are pretty slim (I'm afraid my little brother got that talent), but my doodling skills are stellar. My personal preference is geometric shapes on account of my obsessive compulsive tendencies. I can also doodle a pretty spectacular flower. Sadly however, I fear that my doodling days are nearing an end. One of the more annoying side effects of my RA is the fact that my hands hurts pretty often. I can't write in a journal anymore and it's hard to take notes for longer than 15 minutes or so. All this means that my notes look cleaner, I appear to be paying more attention, but I sure do miss doodling!

8 things about me....

I was tagged by my BFF over at The Ivey League to post 8 things all about me. Although the rules say that I'm supposed to do this and then tag other people to force them into revealing things about themselves, I'm going to just do it for fun! Since I'm sure you're all just dying to read about me here goes.

1. I am a special education teacher while I like my job, I don't want to spend 20 more years in the classroom. I'm hoping to move more into the administrative side of sped which I get to do some since I'm a Lead Teacher at my school. I also secretly think that I'm much better at the administrative side of things than I am in the classroom.

2. Becoming an aunt is one of the greatest things that's ever happened to me. Getting to watch my sister as a mom is one of the most wonderful and inspiring things that's ever happened to me. I aspire to be as good of a mother as she is.

3. I was an Au Pair in Paris for several months, but got kicked out of the country by the government.

4. The above story IS true, but it's not nearly exciting as it sounds. I was there right after 9/11 and the French Government wouldn't give me a visa because the family I was working for weren't French. Still I can now say that I lived in France, and that I got kicked out. It's my "go-to" story when I have to introduce myself along with an interesting fact about my life.

5. The longer I spend at work, the thicker (and more Southern) my accent becomes. Friends from HS and College say that I have a Southern accent all the time, but I don't really believe them.

6. I tend to panic in large, crowded situations. I've actually had to jump out of a car in the parking lot of an outlet mall before because there were TO MANY PEOPLE! My friends and family embrace this quirk and are no longer offended when I simply take off for an open space and air to breath (even if it means ditching them in a crowded store).

7. I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis last year 6 weeks before my 30th birthday. I was in constant, mind-numbing pain for 6 months before medications started to kick in. Despite all of that I feel that I have a much better perspective on life now, and am more thankful for the blessing that the Lord has given me. It has also made me feel closer to my grandfather even though he died when I was 16. I think that I have a better understanding of what a wonderful man he was since he lived with RA without the benefit of the meds that I take.

8. During those 6 months of horrible I couldn't sleep at night because it hurt to much (I also couldn't chew or open doors, but that's another story). Instead of sleeping I sat up and watched war movies. When you're watching some poor soldier get his leg blown off in the forest of Bastogne your pain doesn't feel so bad.

So now you know all kinds of interesting facts about me....what about you?