4/21/20 (I wrote this last week, but I’m still working, so whatevs)
You know what’s fun? A merry-go-round. The one at Disneyland is my favorite. There is a special horse, Jingles, that used to be Mrs. Disney’s favorite. For Disneyland’s 50th anniversary, it was repainted and dedicated to Julie Andrews. Now Jingles boasts Mary Poppins artwork. Someday I’m going to ride Jingles.
But the insurance merry-go-round is not fun. I’ve talked with over six people in less than a week. And they need to talk with other people. Every one I talk with doesn’t have the notes from the previous people, so I have to start the process from step one with every.single.phone.call.
A friend just reminded me that it’s a marathon and not a sprint. True. And I have time. But if this is so jumbled up from the start … Let’s just pray that someone gets a notes section started in my file so that this evens out soon. I’ve also just emailed someone at the insurance company to suggest the same. I’m so helpful.
I also now have a file that I keep with me. I’ve labeled it: “My Lovely Lady Lumps.” Thank you, Fergie.
Started my questions for Dr. VK and the surgeon. Bizarre questions that I’d never contemplated before last week. Will you remove sentinel nodes? Are expanders put over or under the muscle? Just ovaries or Fallopian tubes? If this seems like TMI, these are just the tame questions.
The prices of mastectomy recovery shirts are absurd. It’s not that I can’t afford them, but I’m thinking of others. Shirts with drain pockets run $35-$60 each on Etsy. Stories vary on the time with drains, but it runs one to three weeks. Let’s say three shirts that are washed every day. Or you can go with a drain apron under your shirt and those run about $30. A lanyard is also needed to hold the drains while I’m in the shower. Luckily, my hubby has a spare Bob Ross one I found yesterday. Throw in a couple of button-up pajamas and it’s easily $100-$150 minimum.
Then add in the insurance deductibles and co-pays.
Oh, and the diagnosis of cancer or a gene that causes cancer. It’s like a demonic coupon code.
A friend of mine (same one as above) suggested setting up a fund. Like a reverse baby shower. A booby shower? Sometimes people love to help others and this is one of those awkward situations you might find yourself in as a friend. It’s a cool idea. I need to noodle it because I’m not sure that it’s the right one for me.
This whole thing is a deep rabbit hole that I keep falling into. And like Alice in Wonderland, I keep drinking the potion and eating the cake.