How will you be paying for your cancer treatment today?

This post has been a challenge from conception to execution. Frankly, it is not a subject I ultimately was eager to revisit, however, it certainly has shaped a lot of my recent opinions on health care and human beings in general. I hope not to be too boring or overwhelming with nonsensical details. The usual disclaimer applies on this post. I welcome any comments, but please be warned that this is a personal tale, and it has shaped my opinions on health care, and all content is my personal opinion, not a statement of right or wrong. Fucking deal or fuck off.

A little over two years ago, my mother found a lump in her breast. She was without health insurance. We walked into the hospital outpatient surgical facility, and began the check in process. At the time, my mother had not yet been approved for Medicaid, but her physician felt the need for a biopsy was immediate. When we explained to the hospital representative what my mother was there for and that she did not have her number yet, the woman stopped typing, and looked at my mother. “You don’t have your number yet?” Her voice was measured, tentative. Her eyes softened, and she delicately explained to us that no procedure could be done until a payment arrangement was made, and if she was entered in without that Medicaid number, she would be deemed “self pay” for the duration of her cancer treatment, and be financially responsible for the entirety. We needed that fucking number, and we needed it at that very moment, or no biopsy.

My mother, already terrified of both the biopsy and its larger implication, tried to hold it together. Her face fell, her voice quivered and stammered, but she did not cry. I immediately grabbed her cell phone and started calling every person she had dealt with from the doctor’s office to the county, trying to reach anyone for that magical number. The hospital representative made her own calls, to various people above her, a look of concern and helplessness clearly displayed on her face, as my mother sat looking distant, broken, answering a barrage of questions from both myself and the representative in a trancelike state. She could hear us. She responded. But she was lost in her own mind, concurrently thinking about the cancer inside her and how the fuck was she going to pay for treating it, or even diagnosing it.

It was in that moment that I formed my opinion on health care. 

Ultimately, we had to leave without a biopsy that day.

For those that want to know, my mother did not die from cancer. In fact, she is very much alive. The reason she is alive is Medicaid (and of course, the science of cancer treatment). We got our hands on that magic number the very next day, as a result of due diligence.  

You know what number they should have needed? Her fucking Social Security number, because everyone should have health care. It’s just that goddamn simple.

 

Oh, and now that her cancer is in remission, her benefits are being revoked. And she has a pre-existing condition…..

This week.....

I am researching for a bit of a story on my mother's breast cancer. Hopefully, it will be an interesting blend of personal journey with something (GASP!) uplifting for a change.

What's in a name?

misscelestia

It's mine. Well, not really. It isn't the name on my birth certificate. And I'm glad. Allow me to go back, a million years or so (riiiiiiight) and trace the origin of my "name" as I present it on the web.

My given name is Michelle. As a child, I hated my name, and irrationally so. To this day, I cannot recall what it was about "Michelle" that was so awful. Currently, I love my given name, and have for years. At any rate, I wanted to change my name when I was six years old. Fortunately, they don't allow elementary aged children such indulgences. Unfortunately, I had been given a common name, and my name was shortened to "Shelly" for school purposes. I hated it. I have always hated that nickname. I have hated that my given name was so easy to shorten into something that sounded like a joke. I was also irate that I was the Michelle that had to suffer the nickname, while the other girl enjoyed he entire name. But alas, "Shelly" I remained until I graduated high school. 

At that point, I did what any college freshman does - I reinvented myself. For me, it was in name only. Other than that, I stayed painfully the same. I changed my last name, and my first name became, very rigidly, Michelle. I, to this date, loathe nicknames. I cringe whenever someone thinks they're cute and gives me one. 

After my freshman year, I made the stupendous blunder of getting married. I had no idea what kind of psychosis I was getting into. My husband had decided he was Wiccan, and as such, I was supposed to share this journey with him. We read books, mainly mainstream Wicca fluff, and he insisted I needed to dedicate myself to Wicca with him. The only part of this that was appealing to me was to choose a name. It is believed that choosing a name is part of taking control of your life, your being, and whatnot. Your name, as given to you from your parents, isn't necessarily a reflection of you as a person. 

I almost just took Celeste, and then I realized that I was only limited by my imagination - and a traditional name was not required. So I decided on misscelestia. All one word, all lowercase. I actually get annoyed when people erronously capitalize it (although I know they are just trying to be proper or courteous).  

I have always been fascinated by..... well, stars. Space. Planets. The irony is I suck at science. I have always looked up at the night sky and thought about what is out there. Not so much in the sense of other life, but more in the sense that the Universe is so large, so beautiful, and I am humbled by it. Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I see the stars, and it is so.... comforting.

As time has passed, I have come to realize how much misscelestia means to me. There is a fair amount of foreshadow to the name I had chosen, and I never realized how long this name would stay with me. But, I don't ever want to change it. I have evolved, I have become many things, but I am always misscelestia.  Just as much as I am Michelle. 

Motherhood.

Allow me to preface this with a warning - this is a rant. I will do my best to be somewhat fair, but bear in mind this is a topic that I feel strongly about.

Today is Mother's Day. I am lucky enough to have my mother, and be close enough to spend the day with her. That said, I am childless and sterilized, and I am both completely comfortable with and proud of these facts. These are life decisions I made, and I believe it was the right choice for me and those around me. There are reasons, obviously, and if anyone cares to read them, I will share them, but that's another blog.

Today, while at work, I was greeted with "Happy Mother's Day!" from many a customer. Now, I realize that they are just being nice, but I was irritated. I do not appreciate the assumption that a woman is a mother. I also hate that just because a woman has squeezed out another baby she is a "mother" - I have seen some serious failures become "mothers" and it is tragic. Fathers are another topic entirely, and I am not going to broach the issue right now, but we all know some real failures there too.

When do I get a day in honor of my responsible life choices? When is the "Responsible Birth Control Day?" And no, I am not asking for that day literally - political correctness, in this instance, can go fuck itself.

For all of the honest to goodness mothers out there, I hope your kid(s) are honoring you properly for all that you do. Mothers that do their jobs well are a gem, and impact their children in ways they may never even know. My mother means so much to me, and has taught me both by guiding me and by the way she conducts herself. I hold everyone else to the standard she set, and I know many other kids that do the same.

For those of you that go around wishing every woman you see a Happy Mother's Day - stop. It's presumptuous and, while you have the best intentions, it doesn't change the fact that it isn't even any of your damn business if the woman is a mother. If she mentions her kids, go for it. If not, keep your greetings out of my ovaries.

Soooooooooon.

Soon the end of the semester will be upon me, and I can actually post some things here that I've been stewing over.