This little gem arrived in the mail yesterday. Might be nice if they could put off the invite until I have officially and for sure survived cancer. I can only imagine what someone going through a relapse would feel, finding one of these in their mailbox. FFS, a little organization and thoughtfulness can go a long way. I can’t say I was any sort of impressed with it, and it shocked Rick, as his first thought was the same as mine: not yet a survivor, and we don’t need to be reminded of that one. Also in yesterday’s mail was a letter from Blue Cross, informing me that the Xeloda (Capecitabine) for my next phase of treatment had been approved, however, approval was not a guarantee of payment. That’s where they left it. I have a sinking feeling about this, that I’ll start, and then they’ll weasel out of payment. I don’t yet know what my dose will be, and while Capecitabine is on the relatively cheap end when you’re talking cytotoxins, it could still add up to thousands over 28 days. Cancerland, always full of surprises. <Insert near-fatal eyeroll here.>
© C. Ford.
If “approved” doesn’t mean they’ll pay, what does it mean? They won’t physically bar your access to it or threaten your doctor for prescribing it?
Wow, what a shitty thing to get. Did that actually come addressed to you? I mean maybe it’s because you’ve finished chemo, but it should be in your records that chemo is only one phase of treatment. Geez, it must feel like you’ve been sucker punched.
And how the hell can Blue Cross approve something and then choose not to pay for it?The health insurance business in your country sounds like a racket. They’re dealing with sick people who probably don’t have the resources or energy to fight back and so they take advantage and niggle to keep profits up. Health care should not be a business. I’ll keep good thoughts that it works out for you.
Ridana:
As far as I can tell, it means they gave my oncologist a green light to order it, as it has to come from a special pharmacy, and be ordered in time for radiation treatments, as they go together. I start treatment again next Wednesday, but I probably won’t start the radiation then, I have to have a CT scan and other crap done. That gives us a narrow window to talk with people -- I want to know exactly what Blue Cross means by this, and I want alternatives set up with my oncologists, just in case.
Our coverage does not include any medical accessories or prescriptions, so my bet is that someone will stamp the Xeloda as a scrip, because it is in pill form, which will allow them to weasel out of paying for it. If they are going to do this, I want to know ahead of time, because I’m not taking one bloody pill if it’s out of pocket.
Voyager:
Oh yes, it did. Honestly, I was stunned by the inappropriateness of it, the *pink!* and the aggressive tone. And this was not a “hey congrats, you made it through chemo!” thing, either. It’s for survivors, and I don’t qualify yet. I’m not even done with effing chemo yet, there are four more cycles awaiting me.
Eh, like I said, my bet is they’ll wiggle out under the ‘you aren’t covered for prescriptions’. And yes, it’s a fucking racket, all the way. That said, I really don’t have much room to complain, because compared to most people, our coverage is good. I’ve probably racked up well over $200,000 in medical costs this year, and we haven’t been stuck with that sort of crushing debt. We know people who don’t have health coverage, and the later years of their lives are completely shadowed by an enormous medical debt they’ll never be able to pay off.
I have a strong urge to punch something.
I may just vomit.
cn: dark humor
Why wait for five years with those invitations when you can get a higher response rate at five months?
/dark humor
Very inconsiderate.
I am not entirely sure I would want to get something like this even if I were a cancer survivor. It reeks of the “positivity” crap. Some people might appreciate it, but I think also there are many people for whom the everlasting regular checkups for remissions after succesfull treatment are a reminder enough.
However, those $200,000 are not a fair price. That would probably somewhere around one half of it or even much lower. In USA the treatments and especially the drugs are so overpriced, it is mind blowing. I have read somewhere that what in USA is the copaiment part of a procedure for people with good coverage can in Europe be the full price that uninsured people get charged (like 50,-€ for X-ray etc.). It all comes down to the fact that the state refuses to do its job and protect its citizens from fleecing by enacting and enforcing sensible regulations.
It is an extortion racket.
Chigau:
Sums up my feelings about it.
lumipuna:
:laughs: That’s probably scary close to the way they think.
Charly:
This is not the sort of thing I would ever go to anyway. I do not want cancer to be this big marker in my life, I want it to be as small a part of my life as possible. Right now, it dominates my life, and I do not want reminders of it down the road; and I sure as hell don’t want to be talking with people about all the family and friends they have who are dealing with cancer now and all that. You get a lot of that already with people in oncology and infusion. Once I’m out, I want to stay out.
Oh yes. I’m always shocked when I look up a drug which will be used in my treatment, and the difference between the prices here and in Europe, it leaves me speechless. All you can do is look at the difference to know that people are getting to stuff their pockets over peoples’ misfortunes.
Bloody bollocks from hell on fire!
200000? Charly it totaly right. It is extortion at its “finest”.
*states line 1 again, but very much louder*
I’d say that’s a very conservative estimate at this point. From what I remember, the cost of IV chemo is around $10,000 per cycle, so that’s $80,000 for that alone. And there’s the mass amount of tests I went through, and two surgeries. A PET scan alone can run anywhere from $5,000 to $20,000, depending on which hospital where. I’ve lost track of all the MRIs and CT scans I’ve had, and I have another CT scan next Wednesday. All in all, by the time I’m actually done, I expect it will be somewhere close to half a mil.
Hm. I can sort of see where they’re coming from with that invitation and all… positive thinking can help some patients, and getting together with other people dealing with cancer is pretty much a “support group”, and yada yada yada. But since when is One Size Fits Everybody, End Of Discussion a good thing? They don’t just dole out 1 (one) specific treatment to all cancer patients; why the heck would anyone think that all cancer patients need the same levels of positivity and suchlike?
Am thinking that it might be worth doing to bundle up all your Cancer Chronicles posts into a book. Am unsure that you’d want to do that, since it would kinda contradict your understandable desire to get the fuck past this imperial embuggerance.
Y’know, if someone wants to do the positivity shit, fine. All I ask is that it’s kept away from me. And as I said, when cancer patients are together, and that includes survivors, what you talk about is cancer.
I have the experience of a deeply intimate bond with my friend who is ahead of me in colon cancer treatment; the foundation of that bond is cancer. It’s like the movie cliché “We’ll always have Paris.” With us, it’s “We’ll always have Cancer.” Fortunately, my friend and I have much more in common than cancer.
To get back to this unwelcome invite: this is a prime example of just how damaging the positivity crap can be. Obviously, they get lists, much like spammers, then send out cards indiscriminately. Imagine, just for a moment, the effect of receiving one of these after your friend or loved one has died of cancer. Or you’ve received news the cancer is back. Or you’ve relapsed, you have mets and you’re terminal. Do the perky pink positivity ghouls consider any of that? Obviously not.
I’d be fine with doing a book, although it would be more of a pamphlet, and it’s not something I’d want money for, because cancer patients get gouged enough as it stands. And the reason I started them in the first place was to not only help myself process this event, but to help others going through the same thing. I wanted to provide a space where people did not have to “put on a happy face”, but could cry or snarl or indulge in gallows humour, a place to talk, to reach out, because cancer is very isolating.
And yes, I do know it’s important to a lot of survivors to keep that countdown of years, every single survivor can tell you when they got the news, down to the fucking minute. It has that much impact. On an individual level, you can’t get away from that because it’s a life-changing event, not just for yourself, but everyone else in your life too. I think the aggressive positivity crap is, in many ways, a disservice, and that’s to say the very least. It’s wrong to deny people their voice when that voice is angry or despairing. In many ways, this shit denies cancer patients their agency along with trying to make a constant “bright side” to cancer. To me, that’s like saying there’s a bright side to being raped.
Yeah, still not seeing how greenlighting doesn’t mean they don’t have to pay for it. If they’re not paying for it, why does the oncologist need their approval? smh
Also, did they not see the irony of holding a cancer survivor’s get-together at Sartoma Park? oO (yes, I know what Sartoma actually is, but still…)
Cubist, one more thing about all this. You know what cancer survivors get for a lifetime parting gift? Chemo increases your chances of getting cancer. I’ve met more than one person in infusion who is back with their second or third cancer, getting yet more chemo. So you see, I don’t consider any of this to be something to celebrate, and celebrate is the key word here. I do appreciate each day I get, but that appreciation is tempered by caution and the knowledge that I may well be going through this again sometime in the future. And once Rick retires, we won’t be able to afford the same coverage we have now, so my options in a future cancer would be…limited.
Ridana:
I don’t know, I really don’t. We’re going to have to pin someone down and shake the truth out of them. I just don’t want to find myself with a $5,000 bill dropped on my head.
I know! I swear when I first read it, I saw Sarcoma Park. It’s a popular park, and I know it well, but even so.