Fragile Flower

 Herself speaks.

I went to the pharmacy get my flu shot today. (I already had a booster shot for COVID, two weeks ago. I didn't post about it then, because I still feel vaguely guilty about the availability of the vaccine and whether I am truly within a risk category warranting preferential access.)  It was fine -- stung a bit, but worth it to avoid/reduce the chance of getting sick. 

While I was at the pharmacy, I stood in line to pick up a prescription from one of my usual doctors whom I saw earlier this week. I had explained to him at the appointment that one of my chronic conditions has been flaring up again -- a congenital condition that, while not life-threatening, can be rather painful and interfere quite a bit with quality of life. (I have debated and decided not to name the condition here, since it is a gynecological matter; no one needs to look it up on the interwebs and have that possibly-distressing information rattling around in their heads forever.) We discussed options for changing up the treatment, and he recommended that I go back to an older treatment -- the treatment that seemed to work three decades ago when I was first diagnosed. I agreed. The only wrinkle is that the insurance company might not approve payment for that older treatment, for complex Reasons. We decided to give it a shot anyway.

After my appointment, I delved into a little research to see if there have been any changes in the customary treatments for this chronic condition. The research showed that the older treatment is a less-than-effective/out-of-favor treatment now, but there are a few second-line treatments to try that are somewhat successful. And then I got the expected email that my insurance would not cover the older treatment; so I contacted my doctor's office to request that he consider one of the second-line treatments that might be more effective than the older treatment anyway. He agreed, and sent in a prescription for one of the second-line treatments. OK then! Onward. 

When I got to the front of the line at the pharmacy today, the pharmacist informed me that my insurance had an issue with the second-line treatment, and that they had sent some information to my doctor's office for them to fax over to the insurance company. So all I can do now is wait, and see.

-----

I... am frustrated. 

Actually, I am angry. So very angry. 

It's not enough that I have several chronic conditions. Besides this one, there are the migraines and the IBS, and the related food sensitivities. The thyroid nodule that needs monitoring. The mammograms that must always be followed by ultrasounds and occasional biopsies. Let's not forget the various MOHS surgeries and repairs. Add to those, the periodically recalcitrant hip-and-lower-back issue that contributed to my giving up taekwondo; and the new grumbling knee that arose after we climbed that big mountain back in August. It's a lot. I try to exercise and to eat right, try to sleep enough and tend to myself, and yet I still struggle. 

It's hard not to take it personally. Why are you, body, making existence painful? 

I know that some people -- including some in my extended family -- tend to treat physical health issues as a personal or moral failing. If I only tried harder, I could somehow overcome the issues. Yeah, no. That won't happen. This is the body I am in, and it is temperamental and difficult. 

I feel a bit defective. Or maybe, I just feel a bit defeated. And I feel self-conscious -- my issues are, on the whole, invisible, and the temptation is to hide discomfort lest I look vulnerable, or needy, or weak. (Plus that niggling personal/moral failure thing.)

I am tired. Mentally, and physically.

I will keep trying. Onward we go.