So often this is easier said than done.
Last weekend I stayed up all night Saturday digging out from under a pile of nonsense on my desk. It was regular stuff that I had let pile up. It was junk. And it was medical bills.
There were 7. Not explanations of benefits, but actual bills.
I am fortunate to be fully capable of paying my medical bills. The part that is so often a struggle is sorting out WHICH bills NEED to be paid. Between Meghan and I we are at at LEAST 2 appointments a week. And that is a really good week. Some are close, and some are far, but they are still blocks in our daily calendar.
I try to remain very organized about where we were on which day – but it is a formidable task that sometimes gets away from me. Both of our insurance companies have moved to electronic storage of claim status, which is really helpful. Except for my husband’s, my secondary, which won’t allow me access to my records, in some twisted HIPPA attempt to protect me.
But, I digress. It was about 5 AM on Sunday and I was tired but pleased. I had pared down the pile and was left staring at these bills. I sorted, cross referenced the bills to processed claims, and printed what was necessary. Only one of the 7 was for something I actually owed. The others were clipped with notes to assist me when I got around to teaching people how to do their job billing when there are two insurances. When I could combine the energy with time to spend on the phone, during business hours, while working a full-time job.
I was ready to leave for the grocery store by 6:30 AM. I am grateful for the stamina that allows me to pull that off every once in a while.
We seem to have a good handle on #beatingcowdens. But, really the day-to-day living with it is not for the faint of heart. It is that day-to-day that is wearing on me.
We are, my daughter and I, the “healthiest looking sick people” you’d ever want to meet. I am grateful. I am lonely. I am tired.
One thing blurs into another. Someone asked me how I was spending my weekend, and I replied, “trying to return to zero.” I think she thought I was nuts. I have long passed hope of relaxation or socialization. The schedule is so insane that the weekends are for getting it all re-set.
It’s not all bad. Some of it is swim practice and theater- normal teenage runs. I don’t mind those.
And even though our physical therapist, and our chiropractor are lovely, I would prefer to meet them for a social call than so often at their offices. The orthopedist is a delight. So smart, and so personable. Yet- visits every three months I could do without.
Every step seems hard. I have the unshakable sense that not many people do their job with integrity or pride. There is so much energy getting through each day, that the residual battles over copays and forms can sometimes be too much.
It seems that any variation to the tightly planned schedule which balances practice and appointments (often layering many things into one day at precise intervals) sets off a chain reaction that is hard to recover from.
Which brings me to the problem of when things go off track completely.
The ‘Lymphangiomas’ on my spleen were first found in 2012 after my diagnosis. They were an incidental finding during the many screenings I underwent during that time frame. They were to be monitored via ultrasound.
They grew. A bunch. And they keep right on growing. Annual ultrasound monitors their measurements. Currently there are at least 4 of them and they are bigger than the spleen itself.
You may not remember, but in November I drove myself to the Emergency Room when I was concerned about this very same spleen. November Post- “You Might Have Cowden’s Syndrome if…”
It held on then, and I was released.
The most recent ultrasound was in April. One of those lymphangiomas grew a centimeter in 2 of three directions. That’s quite a bit of growth.
They are benign. They are vascular. They are growing. I am not. We are battling for space. I am stalling on the inevitable.
I know exactly where my spleen is. I can trace it at all times. It is not painful, but really annoying. I’m trying not to let it bother me. Its kind of like a friend who will soon be moving away, forever. I will miss it when its gone.
I’m used to surgeries that send me on my way in hours. This one seems a little more dicey.
The oncologist said, “It’s not cancer, so we’ll deal with it when you’re symptomatic…”
This week I met a new primary care doctor. She was fine. I’ll need her for pre operative clearance. Lesson learned during the February surgery debacle was to have a “primary” available. I have a great deal to teach her. Maybe she will want to learn. At least she will be able to complete necessary paperwork so someone can check their boxes.
She examined me, and then the area where my spleen is housed. She was confused as to why it is still in my body.
She had a suggestion for a doctor. I asked if she knew a surgeon. Her plan was to send me to a gastroenterologist to see who he thought I should go see.
Like I said, she’s got a lot to learn, and we don’t have time for unnecessary stops.
I found the surgeon I want to meet. I read all about 15 surgeons from 4 hospitals. I want to try him first.
I sent an email to my oncologist to see who she recommends. Not only was I not thrilled, I was more sure that I want to meet the one I picked out.
Last week the hospital that manages my care wanted me to see a genetic oncologist. I called for an appointment. They wanted my genetic testing. Then they told me I would see a counselor first. I explained there was no way I was spending time with someone who knew less about my disease than me so they could tell me about the effects of the diagnosis.
Nope. Double mastectomy. Hysterectomy. About ready to lose my spleen. Kid with 18 surgeries. I’ve got this. It’s relentless. I know. And I have no time to be told again.
So, the appointment I was requesting was with the “director” and there are “steps”.
Not to sound too arrogant, but I don’t need anyone I have to jump through hoops for.
I sent an appointment request on-line to the surgeon I want to meet. He deals with abdominal tumors all the time. Of course, not splenic lymphangiomas, being that this article says there are only 189 cases from 1939-2010! But, he spends his life operating in that area. He’ll be my guy.
From – http://www.archivesofpathology.org/doi/full/10.5858/arpa.2013-0656-RS?code=coap-site
And if he’s not – I’ll find another.
I’m not sure when, but I know in my heart it’s not if anymore. This has been the long goodbye for my spleen.
Now the plan is to get it all set up on my terms before it becomes a medical emergency.
I’ve got a really strong knot at the end of my rope. I’ll climb back up. Until then, I’ll just hang out right here…