So the inevitable that I’ve been dreading since the state, in all its wisdom and compassion, decided to drop the health care plan I used to be on—limiting my viable, affordable choices to one HMO system—has happened. My current cocktail of meds is no longer keeping me healthy, happy, and hale. Actually, it’s been happening for a while, but I’ve been trying to adapt and adjust on my own. But it’s hit the point where I need to do something about it. My emotional equilibrium has veered off kilter, and aside from the problematic mood and sleep issues, I’m seeing a corresponding impact in motivation, productivity, and general engagement with the world.
I need to see a doctor to discuss, evaluate, and adjust my meds. Problem: I no longer have a doctor, as I lost all of my previous stable of them when I was forced to change health care plans. And I have nothing to go by as far as who to switch to. I may as well be tossing darts at a list of names. And considering my past bad experiences with p-docs, which have ranged from useless to malpractice-level incompetent, the prospect of random luck favoring my selection of a new doctor does not fill me with confidence.
Still, I’m thankful that my lupus/MCTD continues to hold stable. I do have a rheumatologist. Because, well, if I didn’t, my immune system would rise up and try to kill me in a fit of misguided zeal. But I’m having to pay four times what I used to for fewer services and a lesser degree of monitoring, a state of affairs that I expect will be amplified with any new doctor I see under this health care plan.
This whole thing is aggravating and dispiriting—which, all in all, is an ironic catch-22.