One year ago today I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
It has cost $371,838.40 to “fight” my cancer this past year.
My insurance, for which I am grateful,
changed drastically in the middle of my treatment.
My out of pocket costs unexpectedly skyrocketed.
My insurance company won’t always pay for what my doctors say will keep me alive.
I am now the face of a previously uninsurable, pre-existing condition.
If I was diagnosed a few years ago, I might be filing for bankruptcy right now.
The national debates about Obamacare and insurance continue.
While you vote for yourself, I will deal with the outcome.
Social media has told me I caused my own cancer.
Agencies who decide these things have made sure I won’t get any pain pills.
The comment section is sure people like me deserve the karma we get.
The internet has told me I can cure my cancer with weed and turmeric and enemas.
Forum posters are convinced I am an idiot for listening to my doctors.
The TV news said the mammogram that showed my cancer is a useless tool.
The lady at the store said big pharma has the answer and they are hiding it from me.
People I don’t even know have advised me to chop them both off.
I’ve thought about cancer a lot this past year.
But I’ve also thought a lot about all of that other stuff.
The most stressful part of having cancer this past year wasn’t always the cancer.
Somehow, that just doesn’t seem right.