I’ve been noticing a disturbing trend and I’m not sure what to do about it. It’s been brewing for a while, but a couple of conversations recently made me realize how problematic it’s become.
Embed from Getty ImagesFirst there was the conversation with a volunteer for one of the gubernatorial candidates. We were in a social situation, but when I asked about her volunteer work, the conversation turned to that. She started talking about his plan to make our state a single-payer healthcare system. I wanted to calmly explain why I didn’t think this would work. I remained mostly (but not entirely) calm on the outside, but on the inside I was boiling, thinking about the many injustices I have faced within the system and how the government certainly didn’t make it any better.
The second conversation was a few hours ago. A half dozen of us were hanging out after lunch, chatting. Then one woman asked us if we’d ever faced discrimination in healthcare due to our sexual orientation (we’re all bisexual.) This isn’t something I’ve experienced, so it was safe territory, right? But just hearing people talk about their experiences was very upsetting to me. It made me think about all of the similar experiences I’d faced that weren’t discriminatory, but were hurtful nonetheless. It made me want to share my own stories that were about healthcare, but that had nothing to do with biphobia. As they talked, I remembered incidents that I’d forgotten about. I thought about recent incidents that were still fresh.
And I got upset.
Again, I stayed mostly (but not entirely) calm on the outside, but inside I was simmering, ready to explode like a volcano. I wanted to yell, to cry, to ask for understanding, to plead for someone to help.
That’s not normal. It’s not healthy. I know it. But I don’t know what to do about it. I saw the warning signs of this many months ago and I starting looking for a therapist who had experience with chronic illness issues. But then I started having health insurance uncertainties, so I decided to hold off until they were settled. Well, they’re finally settled, but now I have a different problem. For personal reasons, I don’t want to see a therapist at one of the major hospitals. I would only see a private practice therapist. And private practice therapists generally don’t take medicare and medicaid for health insurance. And I can’t afford to pay out of pocket for someone.
The truth is, I probably should have been seeing a therapist before now anyway, but I’ve always managed to handle these things on my own. I tried therapy a few times and never got anything out of it. I’m pretty self aware, so I made do. But this is different. I don’t know how to handle the anger, frustration, fear, and desperation I feel whenever anyone talks about doctors, healthcare, or health insurance. Feeling these emotions about my own situation is bad enough, but I shouldn’t be feeling them whenever the topic is broached in a way that has nothing to do with me. I should be able to talk to a friend about their own medical condition without this kind of trigger response.
I just wish I knew how to make that happen.
What about you? Have you felt this way at all? Do you have trouble talking about other people’s medical issues? Do you know of any ways to get inexpensive mental health care in the U.S. or, even better, in Massachusetts? Please comment below and let me know about your experiences.
Posted by chronicrants 
results, etc. Unfortuantely, I was only recording everything from the end of 2012 and forward.
of the previous doctors, so the only records he had were the stack I handed him. He didn’t see anything on a computer or talk to anyone. That’s probably why he was able to start fresh. He ran the test. But when he looked back through my records, he saw two previous ANA tests that were high. They weren’t high enough for a diagnosis, but they were high enough that someone should have been keeping an eye on them. And yet no one ever mentioned it to me! So what else was missed?
of the year. It’s like queer Christmas, Chanukah, and birthdays all rolled into one. It’s something I look forward to for months. As I type, my fingernails are painted in rainbow colors. My buttons and mardi gras beads are ready. And I’ve been feeling crappy all week. Because my illness doesn’t care about Pride. It just acts up whenever it wants to.
fun. As usual, I was too tired to go to any of the parties at night or on Sunday, but that was ok, because I went to my top two choices: the Dyke March and the Pride Parade.
Chronic Rants 