My diabetes supplies are everywhere.
Pump caps adorn every stationary surface. Sometimes the cats trot off with them in their mouth and then play versions of Cat Hockey on the kitchen floor. Stray testing strips litter the floor of my apartment, my desk at work, and my boyfriend’s car. Once he woke up with one stuck to his face from my 3 am testing.
I gently peeled it off and threw it away before he could notice.
The bathroom cabinet, purchased exclusively to house diabetes supplies, holds no less than $6,000 worth of goods. There are several boxes of infusion sets, pump reservoirs, IV prep wipes, and countless blood meter test strips. Two Quick-Serters for the infusion sets are wedged in between boxes of infusion sets. I have a One Touch Ultra Smart meter that I use everyday, but there are three back up meters stored in the cabinet. There are also back up boxes of strips, each test strip costing about a dollar. Lancets are everywhere. The crappy meter that came with my Paradigm 512 pump is thrown in there, too. A stash of AAA batteries for the pump and AA for the meter lie on the second shelf. Also, my old Humalog 1.5 pen (which I had run over twice with my old car and it survived to tell the tale) and the accompanying needle tips are hiding in the cabinet, too. And boxes upon boxes of short needle syringes are lying in wait for those moments when the pump fails me.
Oh, and lest we forget the abundance of the coveted glucose tabs.
I used to take stock of my supplies and not think about their monetary value. I was covered by my parents’ health insurance and they picked up the balance of anything owed. Then, all of a sudden, I graduated college and the burden of health insurance was mine to bear. That was 2001.
Since that May, I’ve worked in the following fields: Banking, car repair (admittedly random, yes), arbitration, and insurance.
Out of those employment opportunities, I’ve found satisfaction in: None.
What I would actually like to involve myself in doesn’t appear to be able to finance my diabetes habit. Anything in the realm of publishing, freelancing, PR, and marketing either isn’t available in my immediate area of RI or doesn’t offer medical insurance. I oftentimes find myself bored and miserable at work because the job does nothing to stimulate my synapses, but I won’t up and quit because I can’t afford my medical supplies without insurance.
Couple that cycle with the fact that my current insurance sports an obscene deductible before they’ll kick in and I’m working at a job I despise to pay for a disease I don’t particularly want. And since my entry into the work force four years ago, medical insurance costs more and covers less.
I sense a frightening trend that I fear could affect my ability to provide the supplies necessary for my disease.
Today’s Pity Party is sponsored by Kerri’s Boring Job and the daunting insurance bill waiting to be paid on her desk at home.
Good thing I have Eddie Izzard to lift my spirits.