I had the privilege of covering the Colonial Beach Elementary School’s holiday concert tonight. Not only did I get to watch all sorts of local kids look adorable, but got to see three of my niblings be entirely too cute.

It brought me to memories of my little sister in a turtleneck and tights, carrying an old heavy, phone being one of the four calling birds.

Or when I was a member of the local Baptist church’s children’s choirs even though I was Catholic. Wearing white or blue robes and sitting in the too packed church, row upon row of children, sweating underneath our clothes as we waited for our turn.

Then onto high school where I was a member of the W&L choir for several years. I do have to say that we were damn good and our holiday concert was amazing. Our robes were worn for the holiday show and I really loved every second of it.

Watching Jylian, Coren, and Shawn start down this path toward hopefully years of shows made my heart sing right along with them.

It also put me in the holiday spirit a little bit. Just a tiny bit, but enough that there are now decorations on the outside of my house and the start on the inside. 3 weeks and a day to go. Ho Ho Ho.

Nothing more from CVS Caremark today. I’ll call them tomorrow to force the issue, hopefully.

Today has just been long. I got a few things done. Some things put away, a few more boxes taken care of, a good dinner made. I didn’t get nearly enough done.

I never do.

On the average day, I just do not have enough spoons to do everything I need to do. (Search Spoon Theory if you’ve never heard of it before.)

I’m worn. I’m stressed. I’m tired.

It’s 11:00 PM and I am way beyond ready for bed, yet, I need to get more done tonight. I don’t see it happening, instead I’m sitting here writing as I want to be back in the habit of writing that isn’t for work.

It is more difficult at 40 than it was at 25. When I started this journal/site/project back when I was so much younger I just wrote whatever came to mind.

Now, I can’t. There are too many people who are local to me that read this. There are too many town busybodies who pick over every thing I write, no matter where it is, for me to be completely honest with my words.

There are many things I would write about, but could be used against me.
Oh, hell, maybe, tomorrow, when I’m not so tired and worn and just done, I’ll actually delve into something that matters.

For tonight, I at least sat down here, wrote a few words, and uploaded them. That alone is a win. Two days in a row, I wrote on here.

Two days, wow.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away….

Wait, wait, wrong story, too soon, that doesn’t start for 17 more days.

Yesterday I had a doctor’s appointment, only the second visit with this primary care doctor and she sent off the pile of prescriptions to the pharmacy for me.

As I’m sitting there watching them ring them up, the total comes up. Nearly 2.5 times what I normally spend a month on prescriptions. Now, yes, I had a new one, however, there was no way that could be correct.

The lovely(really amazing) cashier handed me the pile of papers and I began to look at them. Every single copay was incorrect. Between 50%  to 200% higher than it should’ve been.

I questioned them, they looked it up, it had definitely been run through the insurance, and yes they were all much higher than previously.

Now, I just didn’t have that kind of money for one month’s prescriptions. I’m on a bunch of medications and being chronically ill (for those who might be new here, I’m a cancer survivor with diabetes, chronic pain, lymphedema, and a bunch of other things) it’s understandable that they cost a bit.

However, I was just stunned at the amount.

I pulled over to the one corner, in the store, and started to call my insurance. The first five times as I was waiting for an actual human being they disconnected from me.

Finally, a human being. Now at this point I’m pissed at the entire situation, I’m tired, in pain, and I’m out of two of the meds.

She starts to look at it and says that it is because they’re trying to force me onto mail order for all my scripts. Wrong, I actually read all the paperwork for our insurance, every time they are updated, and that isn’t correct. Our policy does not allow for that.

On top of that, two of the medications cannot be mail ordered and they are 50% higher than normal.

So, the round of holds, and her talking to others, and this and that continues. By now, I’m in tears, I’m done, I’m 3 hours late for picking up my husband who works an hour from where I was.

Then, she comes onto the phone to tell me that something is wrong with their system. A lot of profiles are showing things incorrectly. They’ll call me tomorrow with the information.
Today they called. They are working to fix it. Yay, right? Except, I’m still without the rest of my meds. Also, it is a big screw up with a lot of people. They are going to be auditing people and sending refunds to people who were screwed over.
Wait, this is happening to a lot of people yet no one has called that their meds were much more expensive? How do you not notice that?

Tony’s one med was correct, exactly to the penny, so my profile was screwed up, but not his. I do not get it.

They are supposed to call again tomorrow. Then, I can call the pharmacy and make them reverse and rerun all of the medications. I’m sure that is going to go over well with the overworked pharmacy employees.
We’ll see. I’m still out of luck on my meds, I have to drive another two hours, round trip, to pick them up, and I’m out the extra money I paid for the two I did pick up.

I wasn’t happy when Blue Cross changed to CVS Caremark as our prescription policy management and I’m even less happy now.

Let’s see what happens tomorrow.

Oh, and Welcome to Holidailes!

I got three pages into Jen Larsen’s “Future Perfect*” when the panic attack, and tears, began. I’ve been fat since around the time puberty began. Prior to that I was normal sized, average size.

Then the hormones kicked in and I began to grow. I was chubby at age 12 when I decided I needed to lose weight. Off I went onto the diet treadmill. Now, at 12 you don’t know much about nutrition, food, or what is required to keep you healthy.

I was surviving off half sandwiches, a cup of popcorn, and half an apple here or there. The weight was coming off of my ass, slowly. At that time a friend of my Mom’s sent me a basket full of eggs. Plastic ones, with trinkets inside of them.

Each egg had a number of pounds on it, or a “you followed your diet for a perfect week” note on it. I could open an egg as each goal was made.

I got to open multiple eggs and then I got sick. Very sick. So ill that I ended up hospitalized for more than a week. At age 12, due to the way I was eating. I lost weight, but I made myself ill.

Not only did my Mom’s friend reward me for disordered eating (and that is what it was,) but my Granny offered to buy me new clothes if I kept the diet up.

Yeah, our society is so anti-fat that a 12-year-old who puts herself into the hospital by improper eating is told how great of a job she was doing.

I’m now 40-years-old, still fat, disabled (due to multiple reasons, none of which are my size,) and happy, most of the time. I’m loud and proud. I’m not ashamed of my body any more. I’ll eat in public, because you have to eat to live.

I’ll take up space, because I am worthy of space on this planet. I’ll wear loud colors, dye my hair pink, talk loudly with friends. I’ll be fat and a public person.

I will roll up to people (cause I have the scooter of whee) and introduce myself now. I’ll order dessert if I want to, because everyone deserves to have a treat once in awhile.

Yet, that fat little girl, who was picked on not just by her peers, but by one particular teacher, and made to feel less than. That little girl who felt she had to starve herself to be accepted and loved. That little girl who was afraid to eat in front of people, who was afraid to take up space, who was afraid to be herself…  she’s still in there.

Today, that little girl came out and cried for all she was, for all she is, for all the other little girls and teenagers and women and men, for that matter, who think they are less than because they are fat.

You are not less worthy, less loved, less capable. You are worthy of all you want and dream and deserve. You are loved. You are wonderful. You are amazing.

 
*Note, I know Jen, she is an amazing writer and wonderful person.  I will read the entire book and review it soon. Buy it now here or here or here.

I love purses, typically the larger, wilder, or nerdier the better. However, I do have a “grown up” job as a reporter and need to look the part sometimes. When I was in Pennsylvania last week with Tony for his job, I stumbled upon the outlets there.

Then, I wandered about as they had a Peeps outlet (way overpriced, but cute Peeps brand items,) and a Coach outlet. Now, every woman on my side of the family has at least one Coach bag. I have held out and carrying my different purses, changing them quite often as I said I love purses.

I decided to wheel into the Coach store and saw two bags that drew my eyes in immediately. A bright orange one and this pink one. The orange one was Coach orange, and cute, but it just didn’t feel right. Then, I grabbed this one, tested out the shoulder strap (which is a necessity for a disabled woman as I don’t typically have a free hand to carry a bag.)

This one came home with me. It was much cheaper than your typical Coach bag, but still more than I have ever spent on a purse, but I love it. It is smaller than my normal bag, but holds all the stuff (including my kindle, which goes everywhere) that I need with me on a daily basis.

Now, I just need one of those fancy camera bags (currently I use an Amazon basic bagpack) and I’ll be set.