::Rant Mode On::
Yes — this is going to be one of THOSE posts, so put your armor on. Either that or moan, croan or vomit your support, depending on what your current migraine pain is.
Last year, I made a whopping $5100 before taxes. Suddenly, I no longer qualified for Medicare, despite the fact I make BELOW the national poverty level of $6000. If I didn’t live with my Mom, I’d be out on the street (where I had been for the previous five years — but that’s another story). SO, I had no health insurance.
But I need Prozac in order to keep from blowing my brains out. It would also be nice to be able to afford an ambulance ride if I should ever need it. Apparently, it’s my God Given Right to own a gun, but NOT a God given right to be taken care of if I get shot by someone else’s God Given Right or try to kill myself with my God Given Right.
So, I grit my teeth, took on two more clients, am working ten hours a day seven days a week in order to pay for medical insurance myself. All of my new money from the two new clients is already spent on medical insurance premiums. How nice. I’m told I can write off my insurance premiums in next year’s taxes (whee — but this year I guess I don’t eat).
Today, my coverage is scheduled to start. I need to get my Prozac. It also would be nice to be able to find a doctor to help me with my migraines. I’ve also been fainting (but that could be due to working 70-100 hours a week). I still haven’t gotten my damn medical insurance card yet, and I was accepted into the policy on April 7.
So, no pills.
My acceptance letter says I could download and print out a temporary ID card from their website. I could use that to get my pills. Great. I went to the website. They want a user name and password. I enterred them.
They do not recognise that I exist. They changed my password and username without telling me.
I have taken a lot of Excedrin today and hope today to never meet someone who works in the medical insurace industry or the pharmacuetical industry. I would probably kill them. Granted, I have a pretty good defense in that I did not get my Prozac and this could all have been prevented had Medicare not dropped me like a piece of fox poo.
My Dream
In my “spare time” I write speculative fiction short stories, which garner a lot of rejection slips and not much else. One of the themes I write about is the Revolution. Not any in the past — the one that’s to come. We are generally a calm, complacent people — a nation of cows, really — but sooner or later we will reach our breaking point. Even cows kill people.
The Revolution is where we put all the bastards of the world who make life hell for the rest of us with things like health insurance premiums up against a wall and chop them to bits with machetes because we couldn’t get our Prozac because the damn websites won’t recognize our existence.
And then we will all live happily ever after.
Off to stare at machete catalogues and try to re-learn how to write in shorter sentences.
It’s all Tom Cruise’s fault.
::Rant Mode Off::