Every six weeks I take a drive to the university hospital, take the elevator to the 4th floor of the medical office building. The receptionist smiles, greets me warmly like an old friend. She hands me my packet which includes current medications list, a medical bracelet and she buzzes me in.
Today, I’m greeted by nurses Heather & Nancy. The lazy-boys sit side by side around the perimeter of the room and are flanked by IV poles and blood-pressure machines.
“Take a seat … it’s your pick today!”
I’m the first to arrive this particular morning. And by morning end, I’m joined by many others. A white man and hispanic women … each in their 50s. A white women in her 60s. A black young man, maybe 20. And a young 20-something female who is planning her upcoming wedding. Today, we all look healthy. However, two of the patients give their pain indicators as moderately high. We aren’t supposed to pay attention to each other as we are getting hooked up, but we all do … and sometimes we compare notes, and discuss our bags attached to the IV poles. Sometimes we talk about life, because talking about the bags attached to the poles might walk us down the road to talking about why each of us have the bag. And I don’t think any of us want “that” to define us.
I have RA, Rheumatoid Arthritis. Not everyone does. Some have other autoimmune or rheumatic diseases. And every six weeks, I go to the infusion room and get hooked up for my joint juice.
My joint juice is mainly covered by my insurance. And without it, the bill would be a staggering $3200 every six weeks. RA sidelined me from my job as I couldn’t work and take care of my family. I chose my family. Thankfully, my husband has a good job.
There are many folks who have sat in seats in the infusion room near me that aren’t as fortunate as I. Serious complications from RA … and clearly lacking medical care at some point in their life as evidenced by the disfigurement of some of their joints.
Who knows what poor luck or bad judgement led to their lot in life. But in those moments, I put my headphones in and close my eyes and give thanks for my health care and wonder why everyone doesn’t deserve it.