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I remember watching the Julia Robert’s movie, Erin Brockovich and thinking how is it possible for that insurance guy to be able to go along with that memo/mandate from the powers that be and deny patients their health coverage?  Then, this past year the very same thing happened to my sister.  She suffers a congenital degrading disc thing in her back.  She is a fit, previously healthy 29 year old.  She had a discetomy in her lumber region when she was in high school.  Since then she has lived with continuous back pain.  She has seen specialists all over the Chicagoloand area.  She continues to suffer extreme pain.  Finally, her main specialist suggested a fusion.  This would be a major operation and require pre-authorization.  BCBS-IL denied her because she had not attempted other means of fixing the pain.  Her previous discetomy was too long ago to be considered a viable attempt at fixing a “degenerative” situation.  So, in December she had another discetomy and recovered to only a slight amount of relief.  I now blame BCBS-IL for basically turning my otherwise healthy younger sister into a near Vicodin addict.  She has been popping major pain pills for almost a year now.  And now, NOW, BCBS-IL finally approved the fusion surgery because the various specialists all determined that the discetomy was not a viable treatment option for a condition that will only continue to get worse with time – as the “degenerative” label so obviously suggests.  So, until the fusion surgery she will continue to pop the Vicodin just to grit and bear it.  She has talked to lawyers and sought an outside review of the whole situation, but her situation has been resolved with the scheduled date of the operation.  Now she faces an even more interesting situation since the “spinal” issue will flag her for future insurance plans and thus cost her more.  The method of how BCBS-IL handled her case is just one example that completely frustrated her (and our family).  It coincides with my own.

I was denied for Surgical Treatment for Morbid Obesity.  Let me update this whole thing because I am not HUGE, but I am obese by BMI standards and having R.A. makes working out something that helps to combat joint stiffness, but doesn’t necessary allow me to attack flab with the gusto that I once enjoyed so much.  I looked into this two summers ago and began jumping through all of the BCBS-IL hoops toward approval.  Two years ago I was also a cardiac patient as a congenital heart condition came to light at the same time as my diagnosis with R.A.  Actually it was the chest pain that got the whole health assessment ball rolling.  The cardiologist suggested a follow up appointment with a rheumatologist and the rest is history: LBBB, R.A., and hypothyroidism.  That was a fun year: 2008.  I wasn’t really THAT overweight in 2008, I had previously lost a lot of weight in 2007 due to my obsessive working out that I did to cope with mourning a death.  I just thought that I was sore and my family was worried that my massive weight loss, combined with pain, was something heart related – especially since our family has heart issues on both sides.  Anyway, as 2008 hit me with all the medical woes, the working out scaled back and almost stopped, with the rare exception here and there.

With the slide into unhealthiness and the mental shock of dealing with a diagnosis of R.A. – the same disease that has possessed my mom – I was not the most motivated patient when it came to hitting a treadmill or lifting weights.  If I did what I used to be able to do with such little effort, I would be so sore and so stiff that I could barely function the next day.  I wore magnetic bracelets, sought Eastern therapies, and began to discover what life with R.A. was really like.  I had been heavy, then fit, then fat, then less fat, then really fat, then just mushy….all my life going up and down the scales and clothing sizes.  All my life I had done one thing or another to address my body composition.  Finally, the rheumatologist suggested that I look into Lap Band.  Getting all and any extra body weight off my sore joints was hugely important.  So in 2008 I attended an informational meeting about it.  There seemed to be so many insurance hoops to clear just to get to the point where they could submit to insurance.  I didn’t have the time and I really didn’t have the money.  So I continued to attempt diets.  The bariatric doc from 2008 suggested that I see another doc who prescribed the OptiFast diet.  I’m not sure how many readers can ever, ever say that they sustained a long-lasting success using this p.o.s. plan.  I did the weekly weigh-ins, meetings, and extra vitamin shots (those weren’t free either).  This was all very expensive, but I sucked it up because it was a “non-surgical” treatment.  I starved on that program, had migraines, flare-ups, and all kinds of digestion problems.  So I stopped because I couldn’t continue to feel like crap from doing that.

I had acupuncture.  I had a permanent pin in my ear in order to “curb” my appetite.  By the way, the acupuncture was super helpful, and of course, since it was able to actually relieve my R.A. pain (I mean “relieve”) it was not covered by BCBS-IL, so I became poorer in my paying out of pocket for it and then had to give it up since I just couldn’t do it because of cost.  Nonetheless, I continued to gain weight and hurt.  The vicious spiral or R.A. and weight….it hurts to work out, so you don’t, so you get heavier, you hurt more, you become even more sedentary.  Last January (2010) I finally resolved to see out the bariatric surgery option, really as a last resort.  My surgeon said that I should have no problem getting it covered because of my BMI and the co-morbid condition of R.A.  Well, if only it was that easy.

I began to work with my new PCP who not only was the THIRD doc to explicitly recommend The South Beach Diet as part of my “medically supervised diet” but who also addressed the heart related issues that I needed to have monitored.  BCBS-IL paid for these monthly appointments, the mandated pulmonary and gastric testing, and other appointments with specialists as part of the pre-op process.  There was a sleep study and an upper-GI – these exams are by no means cheap, and BCBS-IL paid them.  Then, as the scheduled date for surgery approached I received a letter to say that my coverage was denied due to two reasons.

The first reason is crazy.  They claim that I have not documented that I am 18 or older.  I’m sorry – every doc’s note shows my birthdate on it…are they kidding????

The second reason states that I have not attempted appropriate non-surgical treatment!!!  What?!  Come on BCBS!  They want to see a medically supervised diet!  Didn’t I just do that?  But they wanted Weight Watchers, NurtiSystem, or Jenny Craig.  That is nuts!  The South Beach Diet was recommended by THREE different doctors.  Am I supposed to be doing a “medically supervised diet” that goes against what a medical practitioner says to do so that I can go to a strip mall store front and check in with a part-time customer service agent?  Give me a break, BCBS-IL!  You are purely playing a numbers game and denying me the procedure because you think that you can.

I’m going to fight!  I pulled together the 54 pages of the previous submittal and re-submitted with a cover letter that outlines the points of their contention.  My PCP wrote a letter stating the “medically supervised” part of the process.  I just heard today that BCBS-IL turned it down again.  The date was set for July 19th, is now pushed back to July 26th.  It looks like it might be pushed back to December now since they want me to do Weight Watchers.  I intend to get this in the calendar year 2010 since I don’t want to have to go through paying my deductible all over again – which is probably a factor that they have considered.  What a nasty numbers game!

So I surfed the web to see what other factors were going on with BCBS and was shocked to see what a large number of consumer complaints there are.  I’ll begin by saying that their pre-authorization procedures for my case (and for my sister) are ridiculous!  I can’t also begin to express my absolute and utter DISGUST at their automated phone system.  Their help line needs help.  They will not pass me along to anyone who can do more than simply restate what was in a letter or what the plan states.  They don’t HEAR you, they don’t LISTEN.  BCBS-IL will find any way it can to keep the BIG MONEY that it gets paid.  It is all about profits.  It is rather sad that people’s hard-earned cash gets funneled into this system that makes it impossible to get the coverage when it logically makes sense to provide it.  Hanging up coverage on a tiny technicality here or there, forcing my sister to have an operation that the specialists knew would not do a thing for her, just because the damn insurance company wanted to see that procedure first, is inhumane.  She suffered pain, loss of time from work and family, and a year of her young life to pain.  Their system, that she, me, you – all of us pretty much have to fund FAILED.

Just to make things all the more disgusting, try this.  Do a web search of BCBS CEO’s salaries.  Their salaries aren’t nearly as shocking as the “bonuses” and “payouts.”  There are fat-cat corporate dudes getting rich because of my monthly paycheck deductions.  Yet, I have to continue to jump through hoops for some company that can fly their execs around on Leer Jets!?  Unbelievable!

I’m going to the Illinois Insurance Reform Group’s site and seeing what my next steps are.  I’m going to ask BCBS-IL to do a peer-to-peer review.  I am also going to have an outside review too.  I’d love any thoughts/ideas/suggestions for how to get some actual answers from someone who can actually do something.

It isn’t like this is a new idea.  I live in the Chicago suburbs.  Lately, we (as well as much of the Midwest) have been getting hammered by one severe storm after another.  These low pressure cycles sweep through in an aggressive rush rendering old oak trees a little lighter as wind gusts of up to 70 mph free the trees of their spindly bare branches.  There are a lot of older trees in the area that have these dead limbs.  I park my car under one that threatens to splinter with a strong blast.  Thus, I would probably need a new car.  The oak trees in my neighborhood range from about three stories to five stories tall.  It is impressive.  Like a skeletal system, these sturdy and strong wooden bodies endure the tribulations of the four seasons.  Like my skeletal system, severe weather, pushes them to suffer more than is the status quo.

I’m sure that these storms have more than arthritis patients aching.  I’ve heard that people with broken bones can sense the change in the weather too.  Apparently, as a low pressure boundary encroaches, once-broken bones may have an opportunity to expand more.  High pressure feels good because it helps to push that somewhat compromised bone together.  With RA, high pressure helps to press our swollen, aching, and compromised joints together.  Low pressure allows for the aches and pains to fire up.  This is how it was explained to me.  Looking at the sizes of the ganglion cysts on the top of my right foot seems to be confirming the hypothesis.

It was almost three weeks ago that I started a short-dose of prednisone to combat the bursitis I had developed from a rather innocuous nodule on my left achiles.  The bubble on my left heel was simple unsightly.  My feet, in general, are unsightly.  Nonetheless, I took the damn prednisone.  It is amazing how much better EVERYTHING felt.  Yes, not medicating with methotrexate and the other cocktail of RA drugs means that I’ve pretty much allowed myself to “tune out” the usual aches and pains of the eveyday.  But, what a difference about three days of prednisone made.  It was unbelievable!  I was running and jumping and chasing my two and a half year old niece around her swingset with ease.  Then the course of the prednisone was finished.

Within one week, and in combination with this powerful weather, I’ve felt like garbage.  I notice the achiness of my fingers and wrists.  I’ve seen the bubble reappear on my left heel and watching the crazy swelling of the larger bubbles on the top of my right foot.  RA said, “remember me?” and made its return loud and clear.  Yet, I am still holding my meds.  I saw my G.P. doc yesterday for a pre-op physical and he  was intrigued that I was so much more conscious of the RA pain.  We both agreed that it is a case of that adage: “It is sometimes easier to live with the devil you know, than the angel you have never met.”  I think that going without meds for more than a year now I was certainly accustomed it.  Sure, the weather would turn, and I would ache.  This is not something that a perfectly normal and healthy individual might not also feel.  This is just how it is.

What I find ironically and strangely symbolic is that as the weather rages, it sends me raging at the conscious acknowledgment that I do in fact have RA.  I think, not having popped pills and poked myself with syringes, it was kind of easy to forget that I had it.  Sure, those first steps in the morning always felt like I was walking on shards of broken glass, but by 10 a.m. I was doing fine.  I also wasn’t logging posts here, so I really didn’t dicuss or think about RA for weeks at a time.  I was too busy.  It seems like this past spring was one of the most mild ones I can remember in a long time.  That helps to the illusion of being RA free.  And since I’m not taking meds, I don’t see my rheumatologist – after all, what is the point?  She will say, “take this” and I’ll say, “no thank you.”

Anyway, the weather now reminds me that I indeed have this damn disease.  The bubbles (those ugly arthritic nodules) reminds me that I have it.  The searing joint pain, yes, hot and stinging – more than achy, reminds me too.  I had a dream last night where I was running (with great ease) through a beautiful park.  I decided that I wanted to see more and more of this park so I just kept on running.  The running was so smooth and I was breathing a healthy heavy breathing, not anything like the pre-heart-attack huffing and gasping I’d probably do if I tried this in real life.  The dream was so simple and lovely.  Then I woke up and had to go to the bathroom.  I was immediately frustrated by the pain from my feet.  There it was: reality.

I’ve been reading a lot lately.  Part of it is school related.  I’m trying to get a jump on planning for the fall.  I want to be AWESOME this coming school year!  In all of my reading, I can so easily “get behind” characters who rise to a challenge, attack it creatively, and achieve a level of success.  I see it happening in the pages and then step back to the real world.  Things are such a mess, besides my own personal health woes.  There is the oil disaster, the bankrupt state budgets (which I fear will negatively impact me next spring), the human rights sturggles that have always been a part of mankind but are thrown much more in our face due to the instant accessibility of our mainstream media, and probably most sad, this ever-more-pronounced sense that I feel in culture’s move away from heart, spirituality, faith.  It is a dog eat dog world out there, nature is venting her fury, and when it seems like masses of humans should be reaching out to one another with kind, open hearts – myself included – we tend to get more and more wrapped up in the rat race.  Sure there are exceptions, with certain individuals who can embody peace, generosity, and spiritual strength despite the storm…sure, even individuals can shift in and out of that mode too.  I consider myself that type.  Yet, I can’t help shaking this sense that we are all in the midst of a severe storm.  Although it may seem sunny at the moment, the storm is still raging in other ways.  It is in the worry I see carved into my dad’s wrinkles when he wonders how Medicare will sustain my mother once my dad retires from his firm three years from now?  If Medicare collapses or adjusts its benefits, will my parents have the retirement funds to make it?  It is in brother-in-law’s worry-laiden pondering as he fears that the collapse of the state budget will mean deep, deep public education cuts.  As a music teacher, he fears for the worst, especially given his Masters + 30 pay scale credentials will mean fewer schools would consider him.  God, such sad irony that a budget determines something like the weeding-out process of candidates.  My sister, knowing that this is the case, wonders how she can remain a stay-at-home mom and knows that a newer home with the additional bedroom she would need for the next baby they want is no longer in the cards at this time.  The storm is too unpredictable to think even that close-range into the future.  And, what happens if I get riffed?  Will I be able to afford Cobra?  How long would it take me to find a job given the sheer numbers of potentially out of work teachers when the projections of next year’s cuts combine with the realities of the cuts from this year?  It is terribly messy.  I wonder what can be done?  Where will the fixes come from?  Didn’t I too believe in the Hope that Obama seemed to embody?  I’m certainly not against him.  I just can’t imagine anyone short of a legit messiah being able to tackle the problems of this country, let alone the world, and being able to make a signigicant change without being able to conjure a few miracles.  At times, the suffering, the storms, the destruction and dysfunction seems so much that I can’t help to believe we are in some sort of “end of days.”  If the Mayan calendar has it right, I just might not need to worry about paying back some of my credit card debt.

How did I ever get so off topic?  Goodness.  On the flip side of this storm idea is that there is always “the calm after the storm,” which implies that to know such calm we must know the storm.  In order to bring this back to RA, I will suggest that my dream of carefree running suggests the possibility that I can achive it.  When my culture, my own family’s struggles, appear to be rather omninous, I can choose to believe in the hope of my own personal health.  Maybe the advancement of medicine and technology will mean that my RA is not so debilitating as it has been for my mom.  Maybe it means that should I be blessed with my own children, there will someday be a treatment to eliminate this gene from their genetic make-up.  Maybe, it is just the simple hope that I will experience that calm after the storm because I can, once again, trick my mind into thinking about something else and I’ll “forget” the pain.  Whatever the case, I am not an ostrich hiding my head in the sand because there is a storm raging at this moment.  I am aware.  I can sense it.  And, I can always hope.

“With the care that it receives from its mother each infant is able to have a personal existence, and so begins to build up what might be called a continuity of being. On the basis of this continuity of being the inherited potential gradually develops into an individual infant. If maternal care is not good enough then the infant does not really come into existence, since there is no continuity of being; instead the personality becomes built on the basis of reactions to environmental impingement.” (from “The Theory of the Parent-Infant Relationship,” 1960)

“Maternal failures produce phases of reaction to impingement and these reactions interrupt the ‘going on being’ of the infant. An excess of this reacting produces not frustration but a threat of annihilation. This in my view is a very real primitive anxiety, long antedating any anxiety taht includes the word death in its description.” (from “Primary Maternal Preoccupation,” 1956)

D. W. WINNICOTT

Thanks to Winnicott and the whole transition object idea, I think that I have some semblance of an understanding as to what went on in my own infancy.  My mom, dad, and grandmother complete this tale as they have filled in the blanks over the years.  Let me begin.

My parents attended the same high school but one year apart.  They grew up in southern Illinois and went to a large high school, so they didn’t know each other.  My dad was, and God bless him for it still, a nerd.  My mom was a socialite.  My dad’s parents were blue-collar working class types.  My mom’s parents were more middle-class merchants.  The possibility of these two ever getting married was probably some bookie’s worst odds nightmare.  And yet…. My dad got into The University of Illinois’ College of Engineering…M.E. (those of you who know engi-nerding know what that means, eh?).  My mom attended junior college at first, and then later transferred to UIUC for her Education degree (yeah, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree on that one either, although I tried, tried, tried to do other careers less kid-related).  My mom did all that sorority stuff and my dad wore glasses and carried a slide calculator.  This sounds so cliche doesn’t it?

My parents met from sharing a ride from U of I to their hometown together.  My mom must have seen something about my dad and that was it.  She dumped her boyfriend, made sure my dad knew she was interested, and the rest is ball and chain – forty years ago this summer.  This was just as the 60’s were wrapping up and the 70’s were setting in.  My dad took a job requiring them to eventually settle in the Chicago burbs, which gave my mom the opportunity to teach school in a nearby town to where I eventually grew up.  She did this very, very briefly (three years maybe) and then once I was on the schedule, she became the stay-at-home-housewife-super-mom (that my “super mom” middle sister is now).  My parents designed and built the same home that they still have today.  They had a dog and a baby on the way.  Both of their parents lived five and a half hours away and the one and only aunt I would have was a busy singleton living in the city.  Their world was small, neat, and tidy – just like how the house used to be.

I am told that I was “right on time” with my due date.  The labor was four hours long in the fourth month of the year at four in the morning.  Other than these details, the number four has never been a special number to me.  My mom claims that the doctor who delivered me was drunk after partying late into the night following a day of golfing.  Whatever the case, drunk doctor, promptness, whatever…I was born a healthy baby.  My parents were overjoyed and their lives changed – as change is the ever-present factor of life.  They brought me home to the house on the lightly wooded lot near a park.  My mother tells me that she knew right away that something was wrong with her.  She claimed to be overwhelmed by sadness while the rest of the family was basking in joy.  She couldn’t ever hold me and soothe me.  I screamed and pushed and fought against her touch.  Although I nursed, she claims it was always a “power struggle” and that I was never gentle.  I spent my days screaming fitfully, driving her crazy, and then when my dad would return home, I would coo and giggle and fall asleep on his stomach while he crashed on the couch.  This pattern continued, according to my mom, and she felt terrified by the madness of her situation, her mind, the torture of being left along with me all day long.  She asked my dad if she could “see someone.”  He said no.  Who knows the real way that conversation went down, but my guess is she didn’t divulge the severity of the situation and my dad, not having had any relatives ever seek mental health treatment, didn’t understand or ever rationalize that a woman who should be so grateful for a healthy newborn, a lovely new home, and the freedom to stay in it and raise said baby could not be happy.  Nonetheless, my mom’s postpartum depression deepened.  Her resentment at me for being a sweet baby each day my dad came home only fueled this negative experience all the more.  There is actually a picture of me pulling myself up, even before I could walk, to look out the window at the driveway waiting for my dad to come home.  I think I’ve even remembered this at some point because I did this for a couple of years and later saw my youngest sister do the exact same thing, although it was a different dog posing alongside in her picture seven years later.

Psychology claims that children can not make memories prior to around the age of three.  Yet, despite my being able to give an accurate narrative of those three precious years, there is something profound that must have taken place because I am 100% certain that the mother-child bond was not established and never really has been in all the years since.  I know that I had my transitional object (still do, and yes I am in my mid-thirties)…Baby Bear.  “Baby” went everywhere with me.  I had a cute little nursery that both of my parents worked so lovingly on prior to my arrival.  There was a favorite blanket and another stuffed animal (long gone now) and these things, plus my books, were my world.  My mom read books too – on how to raise the perfect kid.  The early 70’s were full of some hippie-type child rearing theories, and I was guinea pig for them all.  There was this idea that if I was constantly crying that I should be left along to “cry it out.”   My sister, the “super mom,” would never, never do that for, if her baby cries, then there is something wrong.  Yet, I was left to cry and scream, and grip the railings of my crib.  Maybe there was some level of fear that I experienced when the one parent that I did bond with, my dad, left the house to go to work.  I was left with a mom who must have been such a bundle of mental woes that even a newborn could sense it.  This may be where some of the anger started.  I’m sure that it is.

When I was three, my sister was born.  Her delivery was early, funny because she spent the rest of her life arriving to things late.  If we were two of the Seven Dwarfs I’d be Doc and she would be Sleepy.  Being premature, she was tiny, frail, sickly, and in need of constant attention.  She bonded with my mom and I must have grown more resentful at yet another thing that upset my mojo.  I guess feeling as if I’ve had to always fight for the limelight became a neurosis of mine even way back then.  With two kids, things actually went along pretty well.  My sister and I got along for the most part and were highly complementary.  Where I was tough and messy and wild, she was cute and girlie and quiet.  And for almost four years we enjoyed this family of four.  My mom room-mothered at my Elementary school and still managed to play her regular tennis games and go for her morning jogs before whipping up breakfast.  The house continued to come along as newer furniture and appliances were added to the home.  My dad continued to enjoy the success of the growing economy.  We had Star Wars.

This brings me back to the beginning of my previous entry to when my mom first got “sick” – the pregnancy of my youngest sister.  Her delayed delivery in 1983, which was when my Grandma took me to see Return of the Jedi.  I can correlate the end of my happy childhood existence with the completion of the original trilogy.  My mom got sick, the diagnosis came – along with a chain-smoking Swedish au pair – and the family’s life was changed forever.

Again, there is something to be said for the level of stress my mom must have been under in the years leading up to RA.  I have a friend, my age, who also experienced a tragic stressful event in her young life and then developed her first flare up.  If stress is in fact some major contributor, then I feel sorry for my mom’s situation.  Yet, the anger is there too since a nine year old kid could not possibly understand these concepts then.  All that kid, and the toddler, and the infant versions of me knew was that I would be left alone to cry my saline tears into “Baby” and all along I could never find words, any kind of language, for that type of despair.  Now, even as I understand the forces in play, I feel absolutely clinical about it.  Now, as I make an adult life for myself as a patient with the same damn disease, I feel safe in knowing how different everything is.  I am not the past.  I am not my mom, even though physical appearance is uncanny.  I would love for D.W. or any of his disciples to take a crack at this dynamic and let me know if I’ve done a “good enough” job of developing.  If I tie my development into an adult to Winnicott’s theories, than one must wonder how successful development could be possible.

If I believe in the magic of George Lucas’s long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away, then maybe I was just tapping into the force and claiming my arrival into adulthood as a Jedi who has embraced the good in everything; while my Mom – – I mean, my “RA Mom” – – represents Darth Vadar’s slide into the Dark Side (of RA in this case).  There is still some good in her, but, she is ruled by the suffering of her condition, meaning that I have to take that burried goodness on faith and believe that it is there.  As glib as that analysis might seem, I promise that I can show how this turning to the Dark Side has been so very complete.  Again, I do not mean to sound mean.  Certainly I am bitter; RA took my mom from me when I was a little kid.  However, just like Vadar was Skywalker’s father, those two chose different paths through life.  While RA is my mom’s entire world, it doen’t own me.  Sometimes I feel that writing this blog tends to refute that claim, but I write because it helps to free me of the thoughts that might otherwise burden me for far to long.  Thus, I will elaborate on this story, the more current part, as I continue this blog.  But that will be a leap into the more recent past and part of a different post.

John Clease played a funny peasant in Monty Python’s Holy Grail.  In a scene where the townspeople want to burn a witch he claims, “she turned me into a newt.”  Then, since he is obviously human he adds with a goofy smirk, “I got better.”  Whenever I do get better from something I hear that character’s voice in my head.  My back is doing better.  I have realized that a lot of the pain was coming from my glutes and hamstrings.  Nevertheless, my back was seriously messed up and until about two days ago I was wondering when it would improve.

Despite the pain and the spasms I continued to work out – at a much, much lighter level.  I stabilized my back and did a lot of upper body stuff and smooth cardio.  The gym has a Cybex elliptical that is so smooth I can’t tell if I’m moving forwards or backwards.  It is awesome!  I also did walk in the therapy pool.  I had to spend a couple of hours sewing up a tear on my new swimsuit.  The last time I used it at the club I put it into that spin-dryer.  Since it is a larger size it got all twisted up on the machine and I had to rip it out of there.  It was a brand-new suit and so I was determined to stitch it back together so that I could get my money’s worth out of it.  My mending job makes it look like some Frankenstein thing.  Anyway, I managed to salvage it and use it!  I also kept up with the ice and heat therapy at home.  I continued to take anti-inflammatory meds – but not the prescription.  I forced myself to keep active after brief periods of resting.  The result is that I’m doing a lot better.

Today I had a one hour swedish massage at a little spa in the downtown area.  The newspaper kids gave me a gift certificate there and I couldn’t imagine a better time to use it!  Wow, this was just what I needed.  The therapist found all of my knots and sore spots.  She spent a lot of time on my back, shoulders, and legs.  When she asked me to flip over I could barely move – that was because I was so relaxed.  The lavender aroma-therapy oil also helped to soothe away my tension.  I could really get used to such luxury, too bad my bank account can’t.  One thing that I wish I could take better advantage of is that foot massage.  Once, when I had visited San Francisco’s Chinatown I found a reflexology place.  I don’t know what they did to my feet, but it took an hour and I never had happier feet!  The massage today included some work on my feet.  That really helped me relax and feel better.  I will research online and see what other places in the vicinity might have reflexology.  I’d like to do that.

I would also like to re-visit accupuncture.  I did a series of treatments a little over a year ago.  It was too expensive to keep up, but it was awesome!  I could feel the chi responding to it; I also became aware of listening/feeling my body.  I am admitedly a needle-phob.  It takes a lot of mental prep to get me in to the lab for bloodwork.  So the idea of me laying on a table with needles sticking in me was pretty overwhelming at first.  But these needles are totally easy to handle.  They are tiny and flexible.  Sometimes I didn’t even feel them going in.  It turned out to be a very relaxing and rejuvinating experience.  The worst part was when I would feel chilly.  Anyway, the cost was my main hang up.  Scheduling time for the weekly sessions was also tough.  Once things got too crazy with my time and finances it was the treats like accupuncture that had to go.  I do think that it is extremely helpful for combating the chronic pain of R.A.  There are a lot of other things that it can help – which I read up on  – but, for me, the almost instant relief from joint pain was the deal maker.

So to add to my wonderful debt, I bought a Wii.  I’m not sure if I’m keeping it yet.  I’ve been wanting to get one for a long time.  Since I like the idea of interactive play, this seems to be a justifiable purchase.  I am thinking of taking it back because I can’t afford it.  I also can’t believe that I can drop the weight I need to drop and get my health to where it needs to be by playing video games.  That is a lot of money to gamble with on that notion.  I once bought a PS2 and barely even played it because I’m just not good at video games.  I’m already annoyed with the tennis games because I’m standing up and swinging like I would if I was actually hitting a ball and it messes up the shot and I end up hitting the net or hitting wide.  I almost just have to wrist the shots to make them go in.  I have one more week to figure out if I’ll keep the Wii or not.  Maybe I can see if my health insurance will pick it up.  Just kidding.

And regarding that whole health care issue: the government initiative thing.  I wish that I could understand the concept better.  I’m smart and I feel like I can wrap my mind around complex stuff – but, this gets me confused.  At times I think that one fair government-based health plan might be a good thing;  but then on the flip side I can not deny that we have an amazing state-of-the-art medical system that has thrived on competition and the capitalistic nature of our society.  We have “The Best” because we have created a market where one can buy the best.  If we level that field, then I’m not sure what will happen.  It is extremely complicated.  I’m glad to see that really smart people are at work on the problem.  I’m not sure what is really going to work to convince me one way or the other.  I fell asleep during the press conference – I was tired from working out.  I also can sense a lot of spin from the ultra-conservative side of the media.  I’m not liberal and I’m not conservative.  I guess I try to be ethical and educated when I feel a tug of war in things where my one little opinion is supposed to matter.  That is why I can’t say what I think.  Is re-vamping the system smart?  Not sure….Is it ethical?  Not clear.  So, for someone like me with a life-long battle ahead combating a disease that will spawn other medical conditions where I will want the very best care from the most adept and highly qualified doctors that benefit from cutting-edge advancements at pristine facilities paid in part from an insurance policy that I’ve worked hard to earn by getting my higher education and certificates and by paying into the benefits that my career allows me to enjoy….well, I guess, I’m just not so sure about this.  I guess I just want to see and know that I can be taken care of by the best.  But, at the same time, I want that for my fellow citizens too (as that is ethical).  The whole thing feels like a catch-22.

So what can I learn from this?  1. I got better.  2. I value alternative medicine and wish that I could afford to keep up with it.  3. I’m skeptical about the Wii actually keeping me motivated and on track (but that is all about me and nothing that an eletronic device can combat).  4. I can’t sort out the reality of our country’s health care dilema.  5. I’m way to wordy.

August 2017
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I’m currently reading:

The Sacred Balance by David Suzuki