First things first, yes, I am a 32-year-old woman without health insurance.
I pray I don't get hit by a truck when I leave my house after admitting that publicly.
I know it is reckless and irresponsible, and I should have been prioritizing my health over having HBO, but sometimes people just have to learn the hard way.
Case in point...
It was two days before New Year's Eve and I had a fabulous day going into Philly to see the Nutcracker with a few of my best girlfriends and our moms.
I must have still been high off the wine and sugarplum fairies because when I returned to a text from a bad news bears guy asking me to hang out, I foolishly said yes.
This is the kind of guy that you always have a blast with but is so painfully non-committal that you know it's just not worth it, regardless of how much fun you have.
To protect his identity (and to make myself feel like Carrie Bradshaw for a moment), I shall refer to him as Mr. Medium.
I happened to have the next day off from work so I head over, ready for a night of guilt-inducing fun.
Almost immediately, however, I started having cramps. I thought they were ovulation cramps (another fun thing my thirties has blessed me with). Annoying, but whatever.
Mr. Medium poured me a glass of wine and we began the 40 minute process of trying to pick a movie we both agreed on.
We finally settled on The Rainmaker (Helllooooo young Matt Damon) and I cozied up on the couch.
But the pain got worse. And it felt a little different than normal, it was specifically on the lower, right side of my stomach.
"I think I have appendicitis", I said to Mr. Medium, wincing in pain.
He rolled his eyes. He was used to my dramatics.
Maybe the universe was just punishing me for my bad decisions.
I asked if he had any edibles, as on occasion he does. Don't judge me, I thought it would help with the pain!
He did.
40 minutes later, I was no longer even watching the movie. I was curled up in a ball, half sleeping and whimpering in pain.
At 8:00 AM I woke up and the cramps had kicked up. A lot.
My puppy dog whimpering had upgraded to the moaning of a woman in the early stages of labor.
Mr. Medium got up to get me a heating pad and Advil. Poor guy, this was not the experience he had signed up for.
He said I may have to go to the hospital. My previously mentioned lack of heath care swayed me to tough it out.
I spent the next 5 hours in utter agony. I was in such pain that I started puking. I could barely look at my phone, but with what little strength I had, I did what everyone does... I self diagnosed myself on Web MD.
I narrowed it down to kidney stones, appendicitis or an ovarian cyst. GREAT.
Alright, fuck it. I think I need to go to the ER.
At this point Mr. Medium was off-duty. He had retreated to another room to get some shut-eye before work, away from my constant moaning.
I called my mama to come save me. I think she was initially more upset that she was picking me up from Mr. Medium's than the fact I may or not be dying.
We arrived at the hospital and I couldn't even stand. I stumbled through to get checked-in, do blood work and give a urine sample.
And that's when I remembered the edible.
OMG, they'll see it in my blood results. Am I going to go to jail!?
My phone died on the way over so I couldn't even google it.
I then sat in the waiting room for FIVE HOURS wondering if I was going to die, if I could afford the bill if I didn't die, and if I was going to be taken right from the hospital to prison for having THC in my system.
FINALLY, they called my name. By now my pain had decreased from a 9 to a 3.
I was greeted by a hot male nurse who handed me a hospital gown.
I was suddenly very aware that I was pale & clammy with last night's makeup smeared all over my face and my hair in knots.
And I was in florescent lighting.
The doctor came in. He was even better looking than the nurse. What is going on here?! I wondered if my file said I was single...
He came over to look at my stomach.
WAIT, WHAT UNDERWEAR DID I HAVE ON?
Okay, phew it was black lace.
Then he stepped out to grab the results of my blood test.
Welp, here we go.
He asked if I used tobacco products, drank or did drugs.
Gulp.
"I don't use tobacco products", I said.
"What about drugs or alcohol?", he asked.
"I'm a drinker."
"Drugs?"
I couldn't lie, he'd know!
"On occasion", I finally said. My mom chuckled.
Kill me now.
He said my blood looked normal. My Web MD diagnosis was spot on - it was looking like one of those three things but only a CT scan would be able to tell us for sure.
I asked what that would cost a gal without insurance. His answer? THOUSANDS.
He concluded that since my pain had gone down (it was now feeling like normal menstrual cramps) that it was most likely a cyst. He suggested that I go home, take ibuprofen, and pray it didn't get bad again.
If it did, I'd have to bite the bullet and get the scan.
Dr. McDreamy left the room and I came clean to my mom about the edible. We had a good laugh about how I ruined any chance with the doctor by now making him think I was a crackhead.
THANK GOODNESS the pain never did get worse again. Two days later it was gone completely. But it was scary as hell thinking it could come back. And it was scary not knowing for sure what the real cause was.
The lesson learned here? Spoiler alert: It's the title of this post...
Health Insurance is important, drugs are bad, and you should always wear cute underwear.
So yes, I am going to be a big girl and enroll in my work's healthcare plan. It's insanely expensive so if you see me come March (the next enrollment period) toss some trail mix or something my way, because I'll probably no longer be able to afford to eat.
XX
A.
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