Oops! He did it AGAIN!

Except, it wasn't an "oops" the first time and it sure as hell isn't an "oops" this time either.  First, a little background.

Having lived a bipolar disorder, with a side of ADD (attention deficit disorder) just for ADDed fun, for as long as my my journals tell me I have (ECT's in 2004 really wreaked havoc on my my memory data bank), medication is something I depend on. 

Scratch that. 

Taking various medications every day to treat my bipolar disorder and ADD is what keeps my heart beating and my brain telling my lungs to breathe in and out.  In a word, medication keeps me ALIVE, and its importance got kicked up several notches two years ago when my vagus nerve stimulator (VNS) had to be shut down due to battery end-of-life and the fact that insurance companies, following Medicare's lead, will not pay for the device replacement because they DISAGREE with the studies showing the benefits of its use for treatment resistant depression — studies compelling enough for the FDA to approve its use for exactly that!  A 5-year study through Columbia University of which I,  personally volunteered to participate in.

The VNS device was implanted in my chest in January 2005 — and it literally, I cannot emphasize that word enough, literally saved my life.  In addition to closing the distance between my walking on Mars highs and the overwhelming feeling of being sucked into the Rabbit Hole lows, the VNS dramatically reduced the number of medications needed for mood stability.  My liver rejoiced.

When the VNS was deactivated two years ago, obviously the number of medications needed for mood stability increased.  Substantially.   Unfortunately, their effectiveness is nowhere even close to where I was when the VNS was active — which makes it imperative that my access to these medications not be hindered or interrupted; up to and including the ability to pay for them.

In addition to my needing access to medications to treat chronic medical conditions, I also need access to health insurance that treats these same medical conditions, as well as other health-related issues that might arise.

From the time Henry moved out-of-state almost 4 years ago, I have been covered under one of his employer-sponsored health plans.  We are not divorced, nor are we legally separated.  Which might come as a surprise to some people.  I am not, nor have I been since 2008, covered under any other health plan than what Henry's employer(s) have provided.

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Which brings me back to the subject of this post:  "Oops! He did it AGAIN!"

The first time it happened was May 1, 2012.  I remember the date because I was barely standing upright at the reception window, due to the excruciating pain in my back, in the anesthesiologist's office and signing in for the third injection in a series for two ruptured lumbar discs when I was told my insurance was inactive. 

Most people would think this was no big deal because their spouse would have discussed this with them when their employer notified them when the open enrollment period was, right? 

Certainly their spouse would have let them know when they submitted changes to their employer because this change affected them, too?

A perfect opportunity to tell their spouse a change was coming would have been when, TWO WEEKS prior, she asked him to send her a benefits booklet outlining physical therapy coverages on their (then) current benefit plan, maybe?

At the very least, for most people, a quick phone call to the other spouse would clear things up, injection could be done, life would go on.

Not. In. My. World.

Instead, I burst into sobs. Yep. Right there in front of the receptionist.  I couldn't breathe.  She was instantly beside me, having appeared from behind a closed and locked door, asking if I was okay.  I could only shake my head at her as she led me into an empty exam room.  She assumed I was crying from physical pain — she had no idea.  Somehow, I managed to calm down enough to let her know that I was okay (physically I was, for the most part; emotionally I was a wreck) and that I needed to make a couple of phone calls.

I dialed Henry's cell phone first and when my call went straight to voicemail, I left a message.  Feeling the panic crawl into my throat just short of strangling me, I called my mother-in-law, whom I adore and with whom I had always had a wonderful relationship with. She hadn't heard from him recently, which wasn't unusual, for two reasons —  only one of which she was aware of: the crazy and sometimes last minute travel requirements of his job; the other, that he was purposely pushing EVERYONE out of his life — including his parents.  He was already successful in keeping me out of his life, regardless of how hard I fought to stay in it.  When I explained to her what happened with the insurance she couldn't understand why that had me so upset, to the point that I was sobbing (again).  So, I spelled it out for her.

"Mom-in-law, when they told me that, I thought he died and nobody called to tell me..." my voice trailed off and I heard her gasp.  For a brief moment there was silence and when she spoke again she said, "Oh, sweetie...now I understand why you're so upset."

More on the death and dying thing later.

So, imagine my surprise when, on Sunday, I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up a filled prescription for a bipolar medication and was told my insurance was canceled as of July 11th.

Yep.

His reply to my inquiry via text message was that he had sent me a message, via text, on July 20th. When I told him I did not receive this message his response was, "Well, that would explain why you didn't reply."

Except this time, he didn't change health insurance plans, as of July 11th, he no longer works for that company.

The cash out of pocket for my prescriptions? Just under $600.  For a 30 day supply.