Today I called to refill my MS treatment, the shot regimen that we hope keeps the worst symptoms at bay for a good, long time. I pin so many of my hopes on that drug, my doctors, and the medical field in general.
I won’t say how much this treatment would cost me a year — the price tag is staggering. Like choke on sheer air from the cost. But because I’m insured, I am enrolled in a program that helps me pay for it.
Insurance I have because I have a job. And I have a job as long as I can stay healthy. The treatment keeps me healthy. My own little ouroboros, this cycle that always exists, and constantly gets renewed with each new box of shots.
It dawned on me the other day that I have become someone with a pre-existing condition. That’s a big chunk of seriousness with far-reaching complications, considering the biggest health issue I had before MS was persistent allergies.
I’m not going to tiptoe into the messy minefield that is our current political atmosphere, but I will say this much about the much maligned health care law: I am grateful beyond measure that if my job circumstances change and I have to get different health coverage, I can’t be denied insurance or charged higher premiums because of a pre-existing condition. I’m so grateful that I don’t even hear the grumbling of those who say it’s people like me who make insurance premiums go up.
The thought that I could be without coverage, and therefore without treatment, scares the hell out of me.
I now have a deeper sense of understanding for what my husband has been going through for as long I’ve known him. As a Type 1 diabetic, Nick takes insulin, routinely checks his blood sugar, and lives with the nagging thought in the back of his mind that life will always be a little more complicated, with a few more limitations.
But, we can hope, it is a life that will always include a way to afford health care.