It seems that the worse I feel, the more people tell me how "good" I look. At this point I'm not sure if they're just trying to be nice or if I've become fat enough that all my wrinkles and the bags beneath my eyes have smoothed out. Hoping for the former.
When last we tuned in to our favorite little orphan he, and his lovely wife Kristin, had set before God the three options that seemed viable to them in order to relieve their financial conundrum of going into each month two hundred dollars short on bills and, beyond that, unable to purchase food or gas. We needed to either stop my insurance, and thus cancer treatment, or have God provide either a very part-time job for me or a full-time job for Kristin. We simply laid these at the feet of Jesus and asked Him to show us the answer in a clear and easy manner. A week later we discovered that, due to an error on my part, we would not qualify for the eleven month extension clause for the disabled under my COBRA policy. So the choice was removed. COBRA, and thus my insurance, will end in January. (I'm aware I told a few of you it was December, but I was recently informed otherwise.) Under the current circumstances I will have to cease cancer-treatment at the end of January.
Kristin is, of course, still looking for work. We'll be paying for my COBRA as long as we have it... I think. If I stopped right now we could go from being hundreds behind every month to just breaking even. There was a great quote on the show Castle the other day, "Lady, I'm looking up at broke." (For those left confused, the character meant that he was so far into debt that he'd have to look upwards on the financial ladder to see himself being broke. That being "broke" would be a better place than he was currently in.) On the other hand, if I continued treatments until the end of January, and the doctor's are right about the one to three months I'll have after stopping treatments, it could allow me to live long enough for the life insurance we put on the car to be effective (because my cancer was a pre-existing condition) and pay-off the remainder of the loan. It would be a little, very small, extra pay-out for Kristin. I don't know what to do really. We have another week or so to decide. Kristin doesn't want to have an opinion about it. And I don't blame her. Can you imagine? "Well Sweetheart... I guess you should have insurance through December and then maybe you could live to our anniversary. That'd be swell." Who the heck wants to deal with that?
Of course, the Willamette Valley Cancer Institute (WVCI) will attempt to find some kind of grants or funds to cover my treatment after I lose my insurance. But it would have to cover the entire cost or I just can't do it. I don't want to leave Kristin holding the bag. It's bad enough she'll be holding the urn.
On a side note: The urns are still in process and I'm enjoying it. The actual color painting will take place, or start, some time next week. As I'm sure you've all read before here, I know I've mentioned it, the money I raised selling ad space on my urns (which was planned to go towards my cremation costs) ended up going to medical bills. It's a stipulation I included on the ad contracts because I knew it was a possibility. Recently, however, a society which provides cremation services has offered to take care of the entire cremation process at no charge. I'm filling out their paperwork tomorrow. Their name will be revealed when the urns are finished. Please, those of you who purchased ads, know that the money you donated was used for a good purpose and helped us stay afloat for a while after Kristin was laid off.
But that's what it's come down to. Not only can we no longer afford, and haven't been able to in a while, to pay my insurance... It's no longer even an option. If you've got an extra $410 that could ensure I'd have treatment for another month (December). I know it's tight. It's the holidays. And I don't expect that to come from anywhere. But if I don't ask I may never know.
This week I've been sicker. My body is breaking down easier than it used to and the treatments are taking their toll. Today I was diagnosed with uvulitis, which means the skin on my uvula is swelling, becoming inflamed and sloughing off. Every time I swallow it feels like I'm going to rip it from the roof of my mouth. Once again, my treatment makes my skin, all of it, not heal well. This could be days. Could be months.
But, I can tell you this... I can almost always tell you this... I am having a good time every chance I get. Clicky, clicky. Watchy, watchy: