I'm not very good at waiting. But waiting is part of Lyme. I waited over three years to find the right doctor for me; waited a bit more for the right diagnosis; longer to find the right treatment plan (and even after finding IT, found that IT could need tweaking at any moment); waited out a couple of awful months of feeling even worse than pre-diagnosis from what's known as the Herxheimer reaction (as the medicine started killing of Lyme and releasing its toxins after Lyme had grown very comfortable with me as its host); waited some more to be able to finally say I was cautiously, optimistically feeling better overall.
And soon, I will wait again. For my insurance company to give me their final decision on covering my medication. As you may know from past blog entries, they denied coverage for the medication that IS healing me—first they denied my pharmacy's request, and then, my verbal appeal. I have 180 days (tick, tick, tick, no pun intended) altogether from the date of their original appeal to make my last-ditch attempt at a written appeal. I'm certain that part of their strategy is to tire me out, and to a certain extent, they have done a good job. Because I have Lyme, I don't have any extra energy (physical or otherwise) to begin with (certainly not always able to be "up and doing"!). The task of a last-ditch effort seems overwhelming. Get all my ducks in a row; present a compelling case; muddle through the legalese of my insurance company's positions; muddle through other such cases and medical law. For the last two months, I have given myself some much-needed time off from this insurance battle (as we continue to pay out of pocket). But it's time to labor, time to pursue, time to achieve.
At the end of the day, I MUST have a heart for any fate. Whatever my insurance company decides will not deter me from continuing treatment. It's not easy now and it will be even more of a hardship if we must continue to pay out of pocket. But there's always another favorite literary quote to pull out of one's hat. This time it's Emily Dickinson, who said, 'Hope' is the thing with feathers. Who would have guessed that some long-dead (and very different) New England poets would be there to spur me on?
