My medical ID bracelet came in the mail today. It is a full six days early. The good news is that everything is spelled correctly, my emergency contact number is correct, and it fits like it was made just for my wrist.
The bad news is everything that has already been stated above.
I keep hoping that I am going to wake up from this bad dream, but every day, there is something else that makes it more and more real. Yesterday was the rescheduling of the rheumatologist's appointment I accidentally missed. The day before, it was the hour long conversation I had with my chiropractor- which was informative, but I can't help repeating over and over in my head one of the things she said: "Those kind of drugs take ten years off your life." That quote is completely taken out of context, because she was telling me about alternative treatments that could help cut that number down a bit, but we all know how the mind works: we hear a snippet that just embeds itself into the folds of your gray matter and won't go away. All the while, there is the dull throb of this and the ache of that playing out in the background of my life.
Mixed in with the mail that brought me my pretty, shiny bracelet were two pieces of mail that were funny in that not so ha-ha way. The first one I opened was from a company named Meridian. My first thought was, "uh oh, who stole my identity this time?" However, it turns out that Meridian is a company that does independent medical surveys. It seems that Anthem-Blue Cross hired them because I had so many medical bills in such a short amount of time, my insurance company thought I might've been in an accident of some sort. It is literally a note/survey on behalf of Anthem-Blue Cross to make sure that I am okay, and to see if they really need to be paying this much out on me, or if we can pawn this off on some other poor soul.
Sorry, Anthem, this is all yours. Send a thank you card to Meek's for choosing you as our PPO.
The second interesting piece of mail was a statement from Anthem-Blue Cross. I am so used to seeing those, but this one seemed a little out rhythm with my doctors' appointments. It was a statement that one Stephen Vanucci, MD had billed out to my insurance company. Who in the hell is Stephen Vanucci? I have seen A LOT of doctors in the past two months but NONE of them were close to that name... oh wait... that's right, it is probably one of the doctors they sent my biopsy to- the biopsy that turned up ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. No big deal, just add it to my running tab.
I was proactive tonight, though. I remembered to tape a note to the bathroom mirror to remind me that tomorrow is NOT a folic acid day. I cannot take the folic acid on the same day I get injections, and Thursday is pretty much going to be known as injection day (except for Thursday, November 27th, because I don't think the turkey is going to want to shoot me in the ass, although that would be just desserts actually). Woo hoo... that means if my "Thursday calculations" are correct, I am going to get a birthday injection in two weeks! Score!
In other news, I went to the FDA's website last night, because I wanted to hear from our glorious government all of the ins and outs of this wonder drug being injected into my rump once a week. It turns out that methotrexate was approved by the FDA back in 1959. Surprising to find out that it is going to have it's half-century birthday soon. The most interesting piece of information I ferreted from the twenty-seven pages published on methotrexate was that it is cut with HYDROCHLORIC ACID to help stabilize the pH value of it.
You have got to be fucking kidding me!?! I am willingly letting Nurse Ratched force hydrochloric acid into my body? (Sorry to Dr. Afrasiabi's nurse, she isn't nearly as twisted as Ratched was... at least I don't think so). Of course, that does completely explain why it strongly advises to NOT get it on your skin.
It is supposed to help. Keep telling me that. It is supposed to help. My spine, my joints, my tendons, my ligaments- they are all getting stronger. It is supposed to help.
Someone pinch me.