So, I think I'm going to read another parenting book.
Wait! Before you tell me that I'd be better off sticking a nail file up my nose, let me explain. I just read an essay by this woman, and did not fling the magazine containing said essay across the room in disgust. In fact, I said, "Hmm. That is a topic that I've often thought about. I would not object to reading more of her work."
Here is the essay...oh wait, that's not all of it. Well, here's the essay's introduction, then. Sorry.
And this is, indeed, a topic that I've often thought about. Or, at least, I've often wondered whether people think the boys are adopted. I am about as white as you can get; my larger veins, in fact, are quite visible through my skin. True story: during the days of retail and slightly less tequila, a coworker said one day, "Hey, you have some blue crayon or marker on your face!" I went into the restroom to investigate, since it wasn't like I carried a pack of Crayolas around the store with me, came back out, and said, "Jenn. That's a vein. I don't think I'll wash it off." And she was just entranced, saying, "That's your VEIN? Really? I've never SEEN a person with such prominent veins!" She rattled on in that (oh no) vein (sorry) until I felt like a circus freak. Fortunately, that was before I wore glasses; now, my glasses cover up the most prominent vein, and no one has told me to wash the marker off my face in years. Or maybe I just work with people whose brain-to-mouth filters are in better operational order.
Anyway. I have brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin that sunburns easily. Dragon is half Filipino, with black hair, brown eyes, and a tan (but during his baby and toddler years, his skin was paler). And the boys are tiny little copies of him; the resemblances are eerie. Action Hero looks just like Boy Wonder did at the same age (he wears a lot of hand-me-downs, so pictures are extra-eerie). Boy Wonder looks just like Dragon's baby and kid pictures. Clearly, they are all related.
I seem to run across people with better manners, though, because no one has ever asked me the question that spurs the author's essay. Have they assumed my kids are of a particular ethnicity? Sure. Boy Wonder has been greeted in Spanish on a few occasions, and I think in Chinese a couple of times. He was even recognized as Filipino once. At the hospital where he was born, the nurses and techs on the maternity floor would go see the babies in the nursery, so they could chat with the new mothers about the new babies, and one of my techs was Filipino. She was utterly delighted about the fact that Boy Wonder was, too, and brought me all sorts of extra stuff--I got piles of graham crackers and little cartons of grape juice, and left the hospital with two free diaper bags.
Perhaps I have an aura that says, "Keep the obnoxious commentary to yourself." Many women write about total!strangers! asking to touch their pregnant bellies, and that never happened to me. So far, no one has criticized my kids' behavior in stores, restaurants, or other public venues (although now that Boy Wonder is ridiculously verbal and amazingly contrary, and is accompanied by a vocal toddler who likes to climb, I'm sure our day is coming). Instead of, "Such beautiful children! Where did you get them?" I get, "Such beautiful children! And your husband must be...Latino? Or Asian?" I suppose even that could be considered rude, in a way; it's still saying, "Tell me about your child's ethnic background!" Which is not necessarily anyone else's business. When in doubt, say, "What a cute child! You must be very proud."
At any rate...where did my point go, again? I'll let you know after I read a couple of this author's books. Somehow, I think I'll find them more enjoyable than I found the other ones...
*(I do have an essay topic of my own, though; someday, I'll write one called, "No, They're Both Boys." Remember that black hair? The boys have lots of it, and always have. Apparently, people are not used to seeing boy babies with hair, because I have gotten, "Oh, what a lovely little one! Look at the smile on her!" more than once. Not about Boy Wonder now, of course. But once, when he was a baby, a woman and her daughter, in front of us in the grocery store line, held a lengthy conversation in which they tried to decide just how to phrase their cute-baby compliment. And Action Hero has certainly gotten his share of "Oh, she's adorable!" comments. I've never quite understood it; sure, the boys have more hair than many grown men do, and Action Hero's curls rather charmingly, but their clothes are plastered with trucks, dinosaurs, and Spiderman. They've always looked boyish to me.)
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Lost in thought
Random thoughts on the season finale. Hopefully, some of you watch the show?
1. Dominic Monaghan must be BFF with the producers and screenwriters, because Charlie got one heck of a sendoff. Nobly volunteering for a suicide mission, having several chances to change his mind and not changing it...and then finding out that he was the right one for the mission, because I don't think anyone else on that island played the piano. I'm somewhat sad; I always liked the character.
2. I will assume that Walt (no wonder they shuffled his character off; the actor's growth really outpaced the character there!) told Locke that the boat was not a Happy Rescue Boat. I will assume this because I like Locke even more than I liked the previously mentioned character.
3. No, I don't have any guesses as to who was in the coffin. Looked like someone short, though, which sort of lets out Saywer and Locke.
4. Are we sure that Mikhail's name is not Rasputin? Good grief. Did he die in the grenade blast too, or is he going to chase Desmond to the surface?
5. I briefly wondered if the mother/son accident victims were Claire and Aaron, once I realized that it was a reverse flashback episode.
6. My own personal theory, which is probably utterly ridiculous: Ben is not in charge of the Others, although he's welcome to think that he is. Richard is really in control and has always been. Ben is an experiment, meant to determine just how crazy someone will become, and how far he will go, given the right circumstances.
1. Dominic Monaghan must be BFF with the producers and screenwriters, because Charlie got one heck of a sendoff. Nobly volunteering for a suicide mission, having several chances to change his mind and not changing it...and then finding out that he was the right one for the mission, because I don't think anyone else on that island played the piano. I'm somewhat sad; I always liked the character.
2. I will assume that Walt (no wonder they shuffled his character off; the actor's growth really outpaced the character there!) told Locke that the boat was not a Happy Rescue Boat. I will assume this because I like Locke even more than I liked the previously mentioned character.
3. No, I don't have any guesses as to who was in the coffin. Looked like someone short, though, which sort of lets out Saywer and Locke.
4. Are we sure that Mikhail's name is not Rasputin? Good grief. Did he die in the grenade blast too, or is he going to chase Desmond to the surface?
5. I briefly wondered if the mother/son accident victims were Claire and Aaron, once I realized that it was a reverse flashback episode.
6. My own personal theory, which is probably utterly ridiculous: Ben is not in charge of the Others, although he's welcome to think that he is. Richard is really in control and has always been. Ben is an experiment, meant to determine just how crazy someone will become, and how far he will go, given the right circumstances.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Brokedown parable
(This goes out to everyone who's experiencing A Series of Unfortunate Events lately.)
Many years ago, during the days of tequila and retail, a coworker told me this story.
One Sunday night, his girlfriend called; her car had broken down. Actually, it didn't so much "break down" as "speed up uncontrollably"; her gas pedal had gotten stuck in the down position. Fortunately, she was driving on the highway at the time, and was eventually able to brake enough to take an exit into town and pull into a gas station. And, since her car was rather unsafe to continue driving, she asked if he could come pick her up.
So he went to pick her up, and they examined her car in the parking lot. They decided to just take his car home, and worry about towing hers somewhere later. Unfortunately, once they decided this, his car wouldn't start.
So, since SOMEONE's car needed to get fixed fairly quickly, they decided to call a tow truck and send one of the cars to the repair shop. A tow truck arrived, and promptly broke down. The tow truck driver was mortified: "This has NEVER happened before." he said.
At that point, they decided the hell with it; they'd take the bus home and worry about the cars in the morning. They walked to the nearest bus stop, waited for a while, and then boarded the bus, happy to be on the way home.
And, at least eight years later, I can still see him, clear as day, saying with a grin and trying not to crack up again, "And then, and then, the BUS broke down."
I've had a few runs of luck like that myself, although usually they haven't taken place over one evening. Among the more memorable: two years ago, my grandfather got really sick, and eventually passed away, giving the family a one-way ticket on the Stress Express. Boy Wonder spent that same winter getting every virus that hit southeastern WI, developing a stunning array of fevers, ear infections, and GI viruses. Then he fell off the couch and onto the coffee table, biting through his lower lip and inspiring our first child-related ER trip. Then he got a nasty bacterial infection. Then I dropped the VCR on my foot, causing broken toes and a nasty bruise. Then Boy Wonder had his ear-tube surgery, followed by a solid week of nasty gunk draining out of his ears. (I think I could use the word "nasty" once more, if I tried really hard.) That was a really long few months.
And among the more recent: well, 2006 started out wonderfully, what with having Action Hero and buying a house. But then my metaphorical security blanket was whisked away with a vengeance. Just bought a house? Great, but you don't have a job. Getting one won't be easy, either. You won't get one before the year's out. And your transmission needs rebuilding! Hey, it's 2007! Still no job. Your basement leaks. Oh, hey, have a job. (Yay!) But you'll have to change the kids' daycare center. Boy Wonder will seem really excited about it, but after being there for a couple of weeks, he'll start telling you that he wants to stay home with you and Grandma all the time! AND THERE ARE BATS IN YOUR ATTIC (and, momentarily, in your basement)!
Of course, things aren't all bad. With the kids around, they never are. Boy Wonder and Action Hero are awesome; more than awesome, really, and I'll have to blog about them more often, just so I can share their awesomeness with the Internet, my small corner of which consists of five friends and my in-laws (hi!). (Bit from today: my cousin graduated from college today, and had a little family get-together at a local restaurant. Me: "Boy Wonder, time to change clothes! We need to get ready for Cousin's party!" Boy Wonder: "OK! (pause) Mommy? What color does Cousin like?")
And really, the inconveniences can march merrily along. I'll take those in a minute over some of the things that I've been reading about in the news lately.
Many years ago, during the days of tequila and retail, a coworker told me this story.
One Sunday night, his girlfriend called; her car had broken down. Actually, it didn't so much "break down" as "speed up uncontrollably"; her gas pedal had gotten stuck in the down position. Fortunately, she was driving on the highway at the time, and was eventually able to brake enough to take an exit into town and pull into a gas station. And, since her car was rather unsafe to continue driving, she asked if he could come pick her up.
So he went to pick her up, and they examined her car in the parking lot. They decided to just take his car home, and worry about towing hers somewhere later. Unfortunately, once they decided this, his car wouldn't start.
So, since SOMEONE's car needed to get fixed fairly quickly, they decided to call a tow truck and send one of the cars to the repair shop. A tow truck arrived, and promptly broke down. The tow truck driver was mortified: "This has NEVER happened before." he said.
At that point, they decided the hell with it; they'd take the bus home and worry about the cars in the morning. They walked to the nearest bus stop, waited for a while, and then boarded the bus, happy to be on the way home.
And, at least eight years later, I can still see him, clear as day, saying with a grin and trying not to crack up again, "And then, and then, the BUS broke down."
I've had a few runs of luck like that myself, although usually they haven't taken place over one evening. Among the more memorable: two years ago, my grandfather got really sick, and eventually passed away, giving the family a one-way ticket on the Stress Express. Boy Wonder spent that same winter getting every virus that hit southeastern WI, developing a stunning array of fevers, ear infections, and GI viruses. Then he fell off the couch and onto the coffee table, biting through his lower lip and inspiring our first child-related ER trip. Then he got a nasty bacterial infection. Then I dropped the VCR on my foot, causing broken toes and a nasty bruise. Then Boy Wonder had his ear-tube surgery, followed by a solid week of nasty gunk draining out of his ears. (I think I could use the word "nasty" once more, if I tried really hard.) That was a really long few months.
And among the more recent: well, 2006 started out wonderfully, what with having Action Hero and buying a house. But then my metaphorical security blanket was whisked away with a vengeance. Just bought a house? Great, but you don't have a job. Getting one won't be easy, either. You won't get one before the year's out. And your transmission needs rebuilding! Hey, it's 2007! Still no job. Your basement leaks. Oh, hey, have a job. (Yay!) But you'll have to change the kids' daycare center. Boy Wonder will seem really excited about it, but after being there for a couple of weeks, he'll start telling you that he wants to stay home with you and Grandma all the time! AND THERE ARE BATS IN YOUR ATTIC (and, momentarily, in your basement)!
Of course, things aren't all bad. With the kids around, they never are. Boy Wonder and Action Hero are awesome; more than awesome, really, and I'll have to blog about them more often, just so I can share their awesomeness with the Internet, my small corner of which consists of five friends and my in-laws (hi!). (Bit from today: my cousin graduated from college today, and had a little family get-together at a local restaurant. Me: "Boy Wonder, time to change clothes! We need to get ready for Cousin's party!" Boy Wonder: "OK! (pause) Mommy? What color does Cousin like?")
And really, the inconveniences can march merrily along. I'll take those in a minute over some of the things that I've been reading about in the news lately.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The batman cometh
Bat Exclusion has begun around here, and I can't tell you how happy I am about that. Technically, the bats may have been excluded by now, but Batman generally likes to give them two full weeks to vacate the premises.
I had better explain that.
Right around a month ago, I saw a bat in the basement. At least, I was pretty sure it was a bat. It was flying too smoothly, and too darned fast, to be a bird (or, at least, to be the type of bird that's common around here; besides, there weren't any big splats of white on the floor). I went upstairs and told Dragon that there was something flying around in the basement, and he did his darndest to try to convince me that it was a bird. Or a really, really big moth ("We're not living in the tropical rainforest!" I said). Or, if it was a bat, it was, in fact, in my belfry, and did not actually exist. I was unimpressed, and soon we donned hats and gloves and took a flashlight down to the basement. We did not, however, find anything.
The next day, I e-mailed the local bat conservatory, careful not to phrase things in an "OH MY GOD I SAW A BAT GET IT OUT OF HERE NOW!" way. It's a conservatory; these people like bats. (Of course they do; they've had all their shots. The people, I mean.) I described the situation, asked if they thought it was likely that I had seen a bat, and if so, what I could do about that. A nice lady called back, and, unfortunately, responded very much in the affirmative. "Probably one of these guys," she said. "In Wisconsin, they're generally coming out of hibernation right now. They prefer attics in winter, but once the weather warms up and they wake up, they sometimes like basements due to the warmth and humidity." Yeah, my basement is a little more humid than I would like. Rain, rain, go away. Anyway. She also said that she thought it highly unlikely that I'd see the bat again, as he was probably about as thrilled to see me as I was to see him (and yes, it probably was a him; females of that species tend to send the guys out for groceries), but that since I have young children, I would probably want to contact a licensed professional about doing an exclusion.
Boy, did I ever. So I checked the list on their Web site and called Batman, who stopped by a few days later and confirmed that yes, we probably did have a few of those guys hanging out, and had for a while, probably since well before the previous owners of Charming Bungalow moved away...and the previous owners, being older and perhaps harder of hearing, and not needing to do late-night laundry, probably hadn't even been aware of them. So he explained the process. Which I will now detail, just for you. Oh, you're not interested? Too bad. Neither was I, really, until I saw a BAT in my BASEMENT. If I had to learn about it, you can too.
Basically, bats are protected, and exclusions must be humane. So, the exclusion specialists determine where the bats are entering and leaving the house (usually through a small gap on the roof or near the chimney), put up a one-way door, like capped PVC tubing or some sort of netting, over their main entrance, and seal up all other openings. The bats will be able to leave through the one-way door, but will not be able to get back in, and will find somewhere else to crash during the day. Hopefully. In Wisconsin, this needs to be done by the end of May, when bats generally celebrate Mother's Day. Baby bats cannot fly, and would not be able to leave, putting them in an inhumane situation. And I did not want to wait the whole summer long until the baby bats could fly. Especially since, once they do begin flying, they sometimes get lost and go whizzing around the house, frantically looking for a way out.
So Batman came; this confused Boy Wonder a bit. ("Not that Batman, honey. A different one.") He had a Brag Binder with him, which I rather enjoyed. I think all independent businesses must have these: photos, documents, or other memorabilia of well-known, rich, or otherwise noteworthy clients. In this case, it was mostly photos of fancy homes that he'd performed exclusions on; one belonged to a famous actress. ("So this is meant to make us not feel so bad about having bats, right?") Dragon was concerned, saying, "But if he's in such demand and working for famous people, why is he coming to OUR house? Or charging us more?" I tried to reassure him, explaining my Brag Binder philosophy. I assume that he works on regular houses the majority of the time, but they don't end up in the binder; it's not all that impressive to say, "And look, I did an exclusion on this little three-bedroom down the street! And here's a garage where bats were roosting. And a barn, too!" Much grander to keep a photo of the fancy historic mansion downtown, even if it's a Polaroid. Anyway. He came and started the exclusion last Friday, and we now have two one-way doors on roof sections and a bunch of other sealed-up cracks. In another week, he will come remove the doors and seal the openings. ("Did Batman come to take the bat away? He did a good job! I never even SAW a bat, Mommy! He did a great job!")
I sure hope he did, and that they will be gone soon, if they're not already. Bat-free is the way to be! Whee! Whee! Whee! Ahem. Naturally, Boy Wonder has recently become entranced with all things Batman (the one with the cape, not the one with the Brag Binder), and is now the proud owner of Batman pajamas, Batman underwear, and Batman sheets and pillowcases.
Perhaps those will serve as protective talismans.
I had better explain that.
Right around a month ago, I saw a bat in the basement. At least, I was pretty sure it was a bat. It was flying too smoothly, and too darned fast, to be a bird (or, at least, to be the type of bird that's common around here; besides, there weren't any big splats of white on the floor). I went upstairs and told Dragon that there was something flying around in the basement, and he did his darndest to try to convince me that it was a bird. Or a really, really big moth ("We're not living in the tropical rainforest!" I said). Or, if it was a bat, it was, in fact, in my belfry, and did not actually exist. I was unimpressed, and soon we donned hats and gloves and took a flashlight down to the basement. We did not, however, find anything.
The next day, I e-mailed the local bat conservatory, careful not to phrase things in an "OH MY GOD I SAW A BAT GET IT OUT OF HERE NOW!" way. It's a conservatory; these people like bats. (Of course they do; they've had all their shots. The people, I mean.) I described the situation, asked if they thought it was likely that I had seen a bat, and if so, what I could do about that. A nice lady called back, and, unfortunately, responded very much in the affirmative. "Probably one of these guys," she said. "In Wisconsin, they're generally coming out of hibernation right now. They prefer attics in winter, but once the weather warms up and they wake up, they sometimes like basements due to the warmth and humidity." Yeah, my basement is a little more humid than I would like. Rain, rain, go away. Anyway. She also said that she thought it highly unlikely that I'd see the bat again, as he was probably about as thrilled to see me as I was to see him (and yes, it probably was a him; females of that species tend to send the guys out for groceries), but that since I have young children, I would probably want to contact a licensed professional about doing an exclusion.
Boy, did I ever. So I checked the list on their Web site and called Batman, who stopped by a few days later and confirmed that yes, we probably did have a few of those guys hanging out, and had for a while, probably since well before the previous owners of Charming Bungalow moved away...and the previous owners, being older and perhaps harder of hearing, and not needing to do late-night laundry, probably hadn't even been aware of them. So he explained the process. Which I will now detail, just for you. Oh, you're not interested? Too bad. Neither was I, really, until I saw a BAT in my BASEMENT. If I had to learn about it, you can too.
Basically, bats are protected, and exclusions must be humane. So, the exclusion specialists determine where the bats are entering and leaving the house (usually through a small gap on the roof or near the chimney), put up a one-way door, like capped PVC tubing or some sort of netting, over their main entrance, and seal up all other openings. The bats will be able to leave through the one-way door, but will not be able to get back in, and will find somewhere else to crash during the day. Hopefully. In Wisconsin, this needs to be done by the end of May, when bats generally celebrate Mother's Day. Baby bats cannot fly, and would not be able to leave, putting them in an inhumane situation. And I did not want to wait the whole summer long until the baby bats could fly. Especially since, once they do begin flying, they sometimes get lost and go whizzing around the house, frantically looking for a way out.
So Batman came; this confused Boy Wonder a bit. ("Not that Batman, honey. A different one.") He had a Brag Binder with him, which I rather enjoyed. I think all independent businesses must have these: photos, documents, or other memorabilia of well-known, rich, or otherwise noteworthy clients. In this case, it was mostly photos of fancy homes that he'd performed exclusions on; one belonged to a famous actress. ("So this is meant to make us not feel so bad about having bats, right?") Dragon was concerned, saying, "But if he's in such demand and working for famous people, why is he coming to OUR house? Or charging us more?" I tried to reassure him, explaining my Brag Binder philosophy. I assume that he works on regular houses the majority of the time, but they don't end up in the binder; it's not all that impressive to say, "And look, I did an exclusion on this little three-bedroom down the street! And here's a garage where bats were roosting. And a barn, too!" Much grander to keep a photo of the fancy historic mansion downtown, even if it's a Polaroid. Anyway. He came and started the exclusion last Friday, and we now have two one-way doors on roof sections and a bunch of other sealed-up cracks. In another week, he will come remove the doors and seal the openings. ("Did Batman come to take the bat away? He did a good job! I never even SAW a bat, Mommy! He did a great job!")
I sure hope he did, and that they will be gone soon, if they're not already. Bat-free is the way to be! Whee! Whee! Whee! Ahem. Naturally, Boy Wonder has recently become entranced with all things Batman (the one with the cape, not the one with the Brag Binder), and is now the proud owner of Batman pajamas, Batman underwear, and Batman sheets and pillowcases.
Perhaps those will serve as protective talismans.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
I inHALE, dude
(We interrupt My Awesome Kids stories for this unscheduled mini-rant.)
I inhale. Regularly, in fact. I've been doing it since before I was in high school. Back then, I did it once in the morning and once in the evening. Now, the frequency has increased: twice in the morning and once in the evening. Over the years, I've experimented with several different kinds, but I've always come back to the one that does the job best. I always have some of it with me. Back in high school, it was no big deal; I didn't even had to pay for it. Now, though, I pay. Mightily, and I'm not too pleased about it, either. It's going to make a serious dent in the budget. In fact, when I first got the letter that my insurance company was changing the asthma inhaler that I use the most from a Tier 2 to a Tier 3 medication, almost doubling my copay, I...
Really now. What did you THINK I was talking about?
Anyway. Back to paying through the nose. Ironically, the healthcare organization responsible for this currently is running a series of commercials about how they are making things better, easier, and more affordable for patients. You've probably seen the commercials; the most recent one features a variety of medical gear wrapped in layers of red tape. They should make another one, featuring a woman reaching into her pocket over and over with a bewildered expression on her face, realizing she doesn't have enough cash for her copay, and then searching frantically for her credit card, and then searching for a different credit card. Perhaps, for dramatic effect, she could be coughing, or even gasping for breath.
I am seriously not thrilled about the increased copay. I did know about it beforehand, after I received my, "We're increasing the cost of the inhaler that you've used monthly for more than ten years. Ask your doctor about this new one, which you've never heard of in your life, as a lower-cost alternative!" letter. This is, of course, an entirely reasonable suggestion. But I really have tried several different types of inhalers in the past, and the results? Have not been pretty. They worked very well from a breathing standpoint, but I could have baked a dozen loaves of bread with what they made grow in my throat. I am not currently open to trying a lower-cost alternative now, thanks.
In additon, my generic rescue inhaler, aka albuterol, is being phased out as a generic. Why? Because albuterol inhalers contain CFCs. This confuses me slightly, because generally, people who use albuterol inhalers do not spray them into the air like aerosol hairsprays. They INHALE albuterol. Into their LUNGS. How does that affect the ozone layer? (Is this why I sunburn so easily?) If someone with a science background can explain this to me, I'd appreciate it. Because the name-brand rescue inhalers cost four times as much as the generic ones. (Granted, my asthma is well-managed by the daily maintenance meds and I am rarely in need of rescue, so I may not need to get another one for a while. However, spending $10 is still preferable to spending $42, even if it is the answer to life, the universe, and everything...)
So, my recent trip to the drugstore, for my now-more-expensive monthly inhaler, my no-longer-generic inhaler, and my other daily inhaler (which inexplicably cost a fraction of the other two) cost $100. This healthcare company is making things easier, all right; at least, it made the decision to switch to New Job's health and prescription plan a very easy decision indeed.*
And, in other news, OH GREAT NOW I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE TO WORRY ABOUT.
*I am, as always, grateful for what I have, and should mention that this stuff costs WAY, WAY MORE without health insurance, and that I'm lucky to even have the option of switching to an insurance plan with lower prescription copays. And that plenty of people are gasping for breath on a regular basis because they can't manage the cost of maintenance meds. Breathing easily should be a right, not a privilege.
I inhale. Regularly, in fact. I've been doing it since before I was in high school. Back then, I did it once in the morning and once in the evening. Now, the frequency has increased: twice in the morning and once in the evening. Over the years, I've experimented with several different kinds, but I've always come back to the one that does the job best. I always have some of it with me. Back in high school, it was no big deal; I didn't even had to pay for it. Now, though, I pay. Mightily, and I'm not too pleased about it, either. It's going to make a serious dent in the budget. In fact, when I first got the letter that my insurance company was changing the asthma inhaler that I use the most from a Tier 2 to a Tier 3 medication, almost doubling my copay, I...
Really now. What did you THINK I was talking about?
Anyway. Back to paying through the nose. Ironically, the healthcare organization responsible for this currently is running a series of commercials about how they are making things better, easier, and more affordable for patients. You've probably seen the commercials; the most recent one features a variety of medical gear wrapped in layers of red tape. They should make another one, featuring a woman reaching into her pocket over and over with a bewildered expression on her face, realizing she doesn't have enough cash for her copay, and then searching frantically for her credit card, and then searching for a different credit card. Perhaps, for dramatic effect, she could be coughing, or even gasping for breath.
I am seriously not thrilled about the increased copay. I did know about it beforehand, after I received my, "We're increasing the cost of the inhaler that you've used monthly for more than ten years. Ask your doctor about this new one, which you've never heard of in your life, as a lower-cost alternative!" letter. This is, of course, an entirely reasonable suggestion. But I really have tried several different types of inhalers in the past, and the results? Have not been pretty. They worked very well from a breathing standpoint, but I could have baked a dozen loaves of bread with what they made grow in my throat. I am not currently open to trying a lower-cost alternative now, thanks.
In additon, my generic rescue inhaler, aka albuterol, is being phased out as a generic. Why? Because albuterol inhalers contain CFCs. This confuses me slightly, because generally, people who use albuterol inhalers do not spray them into the air like aerosol hairsprays. They INHALE albuterol. Into their LUNGS. How does that affect the ozone layer? (Is this why I sunburn so easily?) If someone with a science background can explain this to me, I'd appreciate it. Because the name-brand rescue inhalers cost four times as much as the generic ones. (Granted, my asthma is well-managed by the daily maintenance meds and I am rarely in need of rescue, so I may not need to get another one for a while. However, spending $10 is still preferable to spending $42, even if it is the answer to life, the universe, and everything...)
So, my recent trip to the drugstore, for my now-more-expensive monthly inhaler, my no-longer-generic inhaler, and my other daily inhaler (which inexplicably cost a fraction of the other two) cost $100. This healthcare company is making things easier, all right; at least, it made the decision to switch to New Job's health and prescription plan a very easy decision indeed.*
And, in other news, OH GREAT NOW I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE TO WORRY ABOUT.
*I am, as always, grateful for what I have, and should mention that this stuff costs WAY, WAY MORE without health insurance, and that I'm lucky to even have the option of switching to an insurance plan with lower prescription copays. And that plenty of people are gasping for breath on a regular basis because they can't manage the cost of maintenance meds. Breathing easily should be a right, not a privilege.
