Update: Liz deleted her blog Granny Gets a Vibrator, so I believe the dead links to it below represent lost writings, but her new blog is As The Tumor Turns. For those who don't understand the now-missing reference: Brenda was the tumor's name, and she appears to have been beaten into submission/remission.
The fantastic Liz at Granny Gets a Vibrator has been blogging and slogging her way through a recent cancer diagnosis and all the medical, financial and existential fears that travel in it's tumor-swollen baggage. (A quick and violent death to Brenda!) I can't say enough good things about her writing and I wish her all the strength and luck she needs for this week and until this is over.
The medical worries are bad enough, but I keep thinking back to Liz's recent rant about the financial concerns a medical crisis creates and adding her rants to the ones I work through daily in my head. (I've written just a little about them here.) Here's Liz:
The system at the "charity" hospital is a total disaster, a massive fuckup, a guaranteed death sentence. Not just for me, but for 4,000 poor uninsured people who desperately need health care every month. I'm slipping through the system's cracks: medically, there's no continuity, I never see the same person twice, no one can figure out what's going on, locate my records, or find out which doctor said what or why. And I'm slipping through the cracks financially: because I have a small amount of money left in my IRA, my "liquid assets" disqualify me from receiving free care, until every single penny I have is gone. Which at this rate could be in about three weeks....It is impossible and ruinous. The health care system in America is just broken. If Bush and the international gratitude his actions create don't kill us all, the health care crisis will destroy us economically as a country. And our independence one by one.
And the struggle to figure out how to deal with the financial monstrosity. I deeply appreciate the Paypal offers, but you know, we're talking about maybe $60,000 a month? Probably more. Astronomical. Impossible. Ruinous.
I'm not going into this all detail out of self-pity, or to whine about how it's so unfair to me. This situation is not just about me. There are millions of people out there in the same sinking boat I'm in, with nowhere to turn. It's just unimaginably horrible. I sat there and watched several hundred such people suffer today, and most of them looked completely defeated, thoroughly resigned. The tired dead-eyed hopelessness in their faces still haunts me.
I was in hospital four months. Three different hospitals, actually. I'm unemployed now, but because I was insured as a baby before my impairments were evident or serious, and because I still ride on that insurance through my parents, who finance it, I have excellent insurance coverage.
Still. This hospital stay forced me to activate the full Medicare benefits I qualify for and apply for state aid for the disabled. I have no idea of the full cost of my illness and recovery, nevermind the current care I receive at home. The hospital bills exceed a half million, I know. But the paperwork goes round and round -- employment of the circulators probably costs half what I owe. Medicare and my insurance company send me reports, the hospitals send me totals of various things, then they all request the others pay their share, and they all send me updates on how that's working out. It usually isn't working out, so it's a self-correcting program where we go round again. I'm not sure anything has yet been paid.
There are the inevitable errors that slow this idiotic process down. At one point my medical supplier billed my insurance company, and the insurance company paid but inexplicably sent the check to some random trucking company with a slightly similar name. The trucking company cashed the check, which was a little over 20K. (Well, wouldn't you?) The supply company demanded the money they never got, the insurance company insisted they'd paid it. Someone demanded a cancelled check. Someone refused. It got kind of pissy.
There was mention of going to court, where, of course, I would get named as the delinquent defendant. I swear this is all true. Meanwhile, I'm not speaking because I'm a lazy ass vent user and, frankly, I want some alone time from all this attention and being able to legitimately claim I can't speak comes in quite handy sometimes. So, my father spent a week or two on hold. And because he has a talent for this, he eventually made someone see reason and they all grew up and fought this out without my needing to pay legal fees. I don't know if the supply company actually got paid or if they agreed to add that bill to the merry-go-round again.
There was discussion while I was in the rehab hospital about whether or not my parents would need to spend down their assets to nothing so that I could receive the continuing care I need at home. My retired parents who have had the luck and good sense to cover their own aging butts as best as any upper-middle class couple in this broken system can were told they might need to give up everything so their 37-year-old daughter could live with them and get daily care. That's a rockin' deal for them.
The details of why this needed to be considered involve how I almost ended up in a very scary nursing home. I'll write on that another day. A hospital social worker helped us navigate the system so that only I need to be poor. Currently I do live with my parents and have 24-hour nursing care because of the ventilator and the laws attaching to receiving aid at home.
In order to get funding for home care while using a vent, it has to be qualified nurses rather than just anyone trained as a personal assistant. Though, of course, my parents learned everything the nurses need to know for my daily care from the rehab hospital staff and they are allowed to help. Because this country has a nursing shortage, in fact, my parents were on duty half the hours of every week (84 hours shared between them, sometimes 48 at a stretch) for about a month before all my nurses were found and hired by the agency required to handle this for me. If I had enough family to be present round-the-clock without pay, no one would care they didn't have medical degrees. (More on that, too, another day.)
In order to keep the funding that provides this constant professional care, I have to have less than $3,000 in total assets to my name. Constantly. Forever. I get a disability benefit each month. I'm not allowed to pay my parents rent and in these first few months I haven't been out too much. So, ludicrous as it seems, it's been a challenge to maintain my total poverty. I can't invest. I pay for what I can around the house. And I do what is called a "spend down."
Many disabled do it or something similar. My college roommate used to get her personal attendant funds and college funding in cash so it wouldn't show in her financial records at the bank. And she was wicked generous with birthdays and Christmas because she couldn't use any cash to, you know, build a future for herself.
One nurse told me of a man she used to help who had his home nursing cancelled because he had too much in the bank. He called the home health agency back a day or two later, said he'd been on a spending spree and they could come back now. He was poor again.
If I didn't live with my parents, almost every cent of my disability benefit would go toward food and rent -- or maybe just rent. I would be among the poorest of the poor at $760/month, or more likely be in that nursing home with no autonomy.
Anyone who could get hit by a bus tomorrow and need a ventilator would face all of this. Or anyone who has a tumor. Or is a soldier in the war. Because the system is broken, we're all just that close to losing any hope of economic independence. Or life outside of an institution. Astronomical. Impossible. Ruinous. And a lurking threat.
Crossposted at Echidne of the Snakes
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