Here is where I’ve looked up and found myself.
Medically, since coming back from Amsterdam a few months ago, I’ve felt like I’m sinking and waiting and spinning and shaking and guessing, guessing, guessing all the time.
I feel like I have an ever-growing list of Shit I Need To Figure Out.
I feel the weight of this infinite illness that I can’t afford.
Since losing access to my Dexcom, I feel blind. Like I have no sense of blood sugar control, like I don’t know my body, like I don’t know how to even begin to take care of myself. I feel very, very, very in-the-dark. Lost in the deep, dark diabetic forest.
This isn’t diabetes burnout I’m struggling with.
This is the elusive diabetes itself.
I woke up today with that line by Rilke buzzing through my brain, “You must change your life.”
I can do this, I thought. I can. I felt okay about it. I had the day off, I could certainly take a small step in the direction in which I need to go. That is, the opposite direction of the way I’ve been going.
I had my laptop in front of me with about 47 tabs open to my new health insurance policy, to Dexcom, to the supplier that Dexcom uses, to eye doctors, to endos, to the black market in an attempt to sell my soul to afford these things.
So, I began by calling Dexcom. I just can’t play this game without a CGM. I really can’t. And I don’t want to. Having a Dexcom made managing this disease feel possible in a way that is now lost to me. And that loss, my friends, is mighty dangerous.
I’m not going to go into every excruciating detail of the phone calls that ensued for far too long, but just know it was a lot of “Please wait one second while I transfer you” and 20 minute holds and lots of back and forth between companies and suppliers. In the end, of course, I first needed to make an appointment with an endo so I could get the verification I need for Dexcom supplies. But… I’m just getting back on my feet here in this city, and I didn’t like my previous endo, and I want a new one. Round and round and round in the circle game. Cue many more debilitating phone calls.
They went a lot like, “Sorry, our next available appointment is in 2016 and your co-pay for this next-year appointment, on top of the exorbitant amount you pay monthly for god-awful health insurance, will be $70 because in the healthcare system we live in, it’s either your money or your life. See you in January, good luck getting by until then. Cheers!”
So, guess what?
I didn’t even end up making one appointment today. I didn’t set one thing straight.
My blood sugar dropped. I cried into my hands.
Back into the forest I scurried.