Chop sticks, tooth picks, fiddle sticks: goodbye pump, hello pens
When looking at my dwindling income and rising outgo (gas, electric, and propane just keep going up and I can’t fucking believe how much a quarter basket of groceries costs now a days), I realized that I could no longer afford to be diabetic.
So I decided that as much as I love all of you, I was going to leave the club. But then I remembered a key point. Like the Mob, you only leave this club dead. Well, that doesn’t sound like too good a plan.
My new health insurance has turned out to be less than a bargain. One of the things our the clinic’s insurance “expert” neglected to tell me is that our policy has a special “DM rider.” All diabetic stuff is only covered 50%.
The insurance did pay for one box of CGM sensors. Well, half of one box of sensors. We now have to start the battle all over again for the next box. But now I find out they’ll only pay for half of my infusion sets supplies too. It never ends, literally. We’re still doing battle over some of the final medical bills from Deb’s grandmother. Leaving the club doesn’t make your medical bills go away. Like some kind of genetic plague they are simply handed down to the next generation.
Oh yes, back to the story.
I’m running low on infusion sets. I now realize that I can’t afford both CGM and pumping if I’m paying half. After some miserable soul searching I’ve decided to try to go back to old fashioned “shots” and keep the CGM.
I’m a little apprehensive. No, I’m actually scared shitless. I’m seeing in person what James S. Hirsch reportedly wrote about in his book Cheating Destiny (it’s on my nightstand, but I’ve been too depressed to read it). We are becoming a nation of two new types of diabetics, not separated by disease process, but by economics. The rich will have the best technology, meds, and treatments. The rest of us will die early and miserable.