We Are Not Alone, Charlie Brown

It happened today at the DBSA support group.  I was sitting in my car getting a quick sip of latte from my Dunkin Donuts mug when I saw the door to the church where we meet swing open and a young lady I'll call Elise came out.  She was running toward another young lady who was just getting out of her car, a trim young woman with long black hair, and I watched them hug.  I'd never seen either of them before at group, but they were long time members, as I was the new kid.

The two young ladies took seats near me and we began the group with the usual reading of the rules (be nice, etc.) and introductions.  The young woman with the skinny jeans (whom I'll call Michelle) was fourth on the list and she began to talk about problems with meds and doctors and shrinks, and pain in her legs, numbness in her hands.  Getting the idea?

I had thought I might be the only person with bipolar, PTSD, and also have MS in the area.  Turns out no.  Michelle as well. There was a bonding immediately.  Michelle has RRMS and different challenges than yours truly due to age, income, and past challenges.  But we face the same demon every morning, determined to wrestle that demon down, even if its just for the day.

It was said in the group that more people show up as the days roll closer to The Holidays.  Happy Hanukkah, by the way.  You can understand it.  We can sound like Charlie Brown very easily.

Charlie Brown should be in our support group.  He would find his answers without having to direct the play and find a role for the Christmas Queen.  But we'd miss the Snoopy dance.

The fact that Snoopy is cowed into not being joyous by Lucy and Schroeder is more telling than most in the story.  Snoopy has to hide his talents (animal mimicking, etc) because "it's not called for."  He is threatened ("I oughta slug you"- Lucy) and remains slightly apart from the group through the whole special, even when he joins in the laughter at Charlie Brown and his tree, or in singing the carol at the end.

We need to dance and be as joyous as we can.  We get so short a time on this planet that we have to celebrate ourselves, recognize our faults, and be open to new things (like Charlie Brown at the end, realizing the true meaning of Christmas [whatever that means to the reader]).  Right now it seems like a time to celebrate a family, one long ago, and one established just this morning. I met a sister.

More holiday stuff to come.  Almost to 2000 pageviews. Thanks for reading.

Let's Go Shopping!

Yesterday I received a notice from my neurologist that she was moving on, so with that, and the upcoming court appearance of my psychopharmacologist, its time to go doctor shopping. Quick, dear, grab the catalogue!

Back when I was a kid the only catalogues I was interested in was the Sears and Montgomery (or Monkey) Wards catalogue, and then only in the weeks prior to December 24.

Now my interest is not in electric trains, or GI Joes, but now its in what people in the area can keep me functional and/or happily drugged, and more importantly who will pay for it.  My health insurance did not pay for my psychopharmacology visits so that was $90 a pop, then the script co-pay.  Now I need to start over.  My regular doctor recommended a group, and I'll go head after them for my bipolar scripts, but as far as the the neurological stuff, it gets tricky.

Now this is all personal opinion but it seems that some doctors specialize in different drugs from different companies, drugs such as Copaxone, Rebif, or Tysabri (and others).  My Copaxone costs $48,000 a year, and I'm sure the other drugs are comparable.  Fortunately my health insurance kicks in and I've only got the copay.  Gee what do people do who have no insurance and need that drug?   Right, Tea Party folks they should get a job that provides health insurance.  Hmmm, I am in constant though livable pain, my brain is foggy perpetually, and its time for another nap?  Or how about this one, I'm the ticking time bomb guy at your office, the quiet one who is nice and polite, and one day comes in as the Joker and you know the rest.  I'm sure you'd like to hire me, Tea Party person?  Fortunately, I have drugs dosed out to me to keep things on an even keel and for the most part they are.  But its my responsibility to make sure for the benefit of myself and others that I take what drugs I need to be the best Tom I can, no more and no less.  I  am sorry for those who have no insurance, and need meds as much or more than I do.  They do with less or without.

But the drugs also hide behind the suits.  Leaving my present neurologist, I contact a respected doctor's office locally, following the directions on their website, which said call for a preliminary appointment.  Once I got an answer on the phone, the receptionist immediately contradicted what the website said.  "No, we need your present doctor to send us the medical information, and then our doctor here will look it over and decide whether he wants to accept you as a patient."

Accept me as a patient? This doctor does MS.  I have MS.  Seems workable.  Although having Primary Progressive MS (no cure, no treatments, remember?) may not turn me into a real money maker for anyone, but at least you can count on consistent visits for a while, anyway.

OK, well you've got some forms you'd like me to fill out here on the website.  Should I-

"Someone from this office will contact you following the review of your medical material, and let you know about an appointment time and what you need to fill out."

Not what it says here.

"What?"

So for the small fee of 75 cents a page that Albany Med will charge me to copy information only helpful to me, I can get you this packet, may I drop it off?

"Mail it.  Someone will contact you."

Click.

The really neat part is I'm going to be stuck doing the same thing for my psycho drugs soon (arraignment is July 27 for my psychopharmacologist).  There are few doctors in the Albany area who do what my doctor did, but that search will go on using the InterWeb.  The scary part here is, I've seen the size of my case file at my psycho.  Hope they ain't charging 75 cents a pop.  Did you ever notice by the way that little cent sign — ¢ — is gone from your keypad?  Probably been gone for years, and I'm oblivious.  But I started using an actual manual typewriter, kids!  

Mine was black.  I guess these were made before Corona met Smith.  I wrote two entire horrible and 
deserve to burn in Hades, reform and burn again novels on that machine.


And now with all this technology I can search and compare and search, and hope I find a psych before I run out of pills.  And tell everything all over again, and hope this person sees it clearly.


Then again, there's always...

More to come as the shopping spree continues....