In America healthcare is a privilege (and that sucks)

I don't have cancer. I don't need dialysis. If these conditions rank 10 on a scale of 1-10, my needs are a -4. However, I do have a few issues that require the attention of a trained professional, and were negatively impacted when I lost my job and the healthcare benefits that came with it.

Before I continue, can we all agree that COBRA, while well-intentioned, is one of the least practical ideas in the history of mankind? Things more practical than COBRA: Shammie mops, Snuggies, pots made specifically to cook pasta - pretty much anything sold on late night infomercials is a more practical expense than COBRA, unless a family is dealing with a life-threatening or chronic condition such as those above. If the average American could afford $500-1500/month for health insurance, we would actually have the power to demand action of our insurance carriers through the use of our buying power. I was actually one of the lucky ones. Mr. Carlson and I were able to jump onto the benefits offered by his employer, so I didn't actually have one day without insurance. But even then, there is still a trauma of starting over with all the bureaucratic shit that becomes neccessary when you start that relationship anew.

In addition to annual check ups and the occasional flu or cold visit, I have two conditions for which I get ongoing care. I have a keloid scar on my upper back that should be treated monthly with steroid injections.  In my case, my keloid causes discomfort daily, exacerbated by constant irritation from my bra strap. It creates lightning rods of pain down my back. I have not had treatment for my keloid in over a year.
Unfortunately, the default for any keloid treatment is that it is a cosmetic issue and not covered. However, my reasons are not cosmetic, and it took over a year to get my insurance company to approve coverage for this treatment. Now I have to start over.

But the truly horrible aspect of changing insurance is that I have lost my psychiatrist. A doctor I worked with for almost 5 years. Someone who knew about my issues, recognized when I wasn't being honest with myself, and whom I had built rapport and trust with.  And not because I don't have insurance, but because she isn't covered under my new plan. It's also quite ironic to loose this relationship during the trauma of loosing my job.

I am lucky. I don't have cancer or need dialysis, and my needs are minor in comparison to those that do. And I didn't loose access to insurance in general. I am lucky that I still have access to the medicine I require at an affordable price. But why is luck a prerequisite to mental or physical health? And more importantly, why do we let it be?

I am a Superhero.

I have never crossed a radioactive spider, and no - I can not fly - but I do have a super power.  Like most superheroes, my true nature is best found at night. During the day, I hide behind a false identity and glasses. And like most superheroes, that thin veil can be shattered by the simplest bit of logic. It's really the social contract of my world that allows those around me to ignore the gaping holes in the plot.

The power didn't come from a failed science experiment and it is not driven by the insatiable urge to avenge a loved one's death. My origin story is more of a montage than a comprehensive narrative. It's not even a cool montage where I learn to dance or do kung fu. In fact, as time goes on my montage shows me trying less and less.

You see, my secret power is the ability to make myself feel worse about myself than is humanely possible. My self-doubt has super human strength. I can become invisible to those around me. My lazer vision catalogs my every flaw. And my true identify and alter ego have never been seen in the same place at the same time. 
 

Fatties can read (or how anger at someone calling people fat doesn't change anything, but standing up for yourself will)

A lot has been made of the MarieClaire.com blogger that took a naive step into the very deep end of women and our issues with weight and social stigma. Read it here.

When I read it, I was really irritated by the writers ignorance of what she was actually saying. So I went directly to the source. Here is a tidbit of my email exchange with Maura Kelly.

Hi Maura,

I'll be honest, when I first read of your article I was livid. I was ready to write you off as the worst type of person. But while so much is focused on the outrage of your thoughts on overweight people, I think the biggest issue that you really provoked is the ugly way that overweight women are directly attacked.

Your first thought is probably that it wasn't directed specifically at women, but let me explain.
King of Queens, Average Joe, According to Jim, Grounded for Life, Charlotte on Sex in the City, any Judd Apatow movie. Fat or unattractive men are a fixture of TV and film, so Mike and Molly isn't the first time you've probably seen (or been told) of an overweight person kissing, or snuggling or getting their fat rolls all a flutter- it's just one of the few times that the woman has been of equal size, and that's the real crime, isn't it? You're argument wasn't that the actress playing playing Molly should be encouraged to be healthier- it was that she shouldn't be seen or successful until she is. What an interesting concept if your thoughts were that Mike and Molly offers a great opportunity to show two overweight people can be funny, be lovable and maybe overtime have each other for support in their weight loss.

But it's not your fault. It's your editor's. Who assigns someone with a history of anorexia to discuss obesity? Did no one think you may be negatively biased given your own experience with body issues? Can you imagine if your insecurities had manifested in a way that caused you to overeat rather than under eat? I'm not downplaying your pain, it's just not that far from the demons many of us struggle with in regards to weight.

You are not the first person to ever tell someone they shouldn't be fat - that's not what is causing the outrage.  You are the latest in a long, long line of people telling millions of American women that they are not good enough to be loved because of it. That is a message all girls, skinny and fat, have received over and over since we were very young. It's a deplorable message, and it's one that damages you in a way that no amount of exercise or healthy eating will help. And that is what you should really be apologizing for.

I've been overweight all my life and have lost significant weigh 3 times in my life, only to slip back up again. And if you ever wish to look at weight from another's perspective - I'd be happy to be a resource. I think we could have some interesting discussions on the topic.

Thank you for reading,

Mrs. Carlson

I was happily surprised to find her reply in my inbox a few days later.

Dear Mrs. Carlson-

Thanks for your polite email; I really appreciate that you have communicated with me. 

I really never meant for anyone to assume that I think all people don't deserve love--we all do, of course. I also never imagined people would take what I said so personally--and would be so hurt by it; I think that is partly because I didn't understand how much shame and pain overweight people feel and how badly they are treated. Now, I understand a lot more. 

I do think you're right that this is something of a gender issue--although for whatever it's worth, the image I had in my head when I was talking about being uncomfortable seeing an extremely obese person walking across the floor was of a man who could barely walk, who had been eating plates and plates of fried food, and drinking soda after soda. He's like many people I've seen in other parts of the country, and it's hard not to wonder if people who are eating that way know how bad that is for their health. I know losing weight can be such a struggle--but I've heard this week from many formerly obese and obese people who have begun to lose weight who say they're glad that I've helped to get the message that change is possible. I'm sorry to hear you've tried 3 times--I know it can be tough in ways that I don't completely appreciate, and I know some people can't take it off or keep it off. But it also seems like so many Americans aren't trying at all, and as someone who has always felt empowered whenever I've been able to change certain things about myself that are unhealthy, I've been puzzled by that. 

I'm truly sorry I hurt you, and hurt so many other people. 

-Maura

She had listened, but I'm not quite sure she understood.

Hi Maura,

First, Thank you not just for reading, but for taking the time to write back. I'm actually quite impressed with how you have handled yourself given the attention you must be receiving. Your response actually helps me better understand where you were coming from. I don't want to berate you - but I did want to share just a few thoughts that became clear as I read your email.

- It's important that you've made the distinction between someone who is "fat" and someone who is obese or severely overweight.
I think think the landmine that you hit is that in our society, no matter where you land on the BMI scale, anything above skinny is considered unattractive. Think of this, the guys and gals of 'Jersey Shore' will be getting along just fine with each other, but when one of the boys gets mad, one of the first places he goes is that the girl is fat - even if he was trying to get in her pants right before he said it. (Of course, I'm not using JS as a control group for civility). My point is that the minute anyone wants to belittle a female, they go right to the fat comments, whether they are a size 6 or a size 16. Being unattractive is actually the worst. So even though your comments may have been directed at the raise in obesity, it hit the nerve in people that are 130 lbs or 160 lbs, or any of us who have been deemed "fat" whether we are obese or not.

- Call it semantics, but I haven't "tried" to loose weight three times in my life as you said - I "succeeded" in losing weight. And unknowingly to you, that simple change of words took away all my hard-work, hours in the gym and pride in doing so. See, unlike a college education or career development, weight loss isn't something that once you reach a specific level it can't be lost. What if your goal in life as a reporter was to win a Pulitzer for your work. It's something that you will work hard for and struggle to achieve, right? But what if that's not enough? what if you have to write a Pulitzer-worthy piece with every assignment or they will strip you of your award, tell you your writing sucks and mean it. Would you be able to handle living like that? would it get to you? Would it affect how you feel about yourself? your work? maybe sometimes it feels out of reach and you stop trying for a while? I too feel empowered to take control of my life and be the person I want to be. I've woken up plenty of days wanting nothing more than to succeed at eating healthy and going to the gym, but one day does not a Pulitzer make. Some days I have other things I need to focus on - my marriage, my career, my sanity.

- Finally, I really hope you take this opportunity to change the discussion. I don't eat deep fried donuts or 1000 calorie bacon burgers. I eat salads, and baked chicken and sometimes I have chocolate. Maybe the conversation should be why the average American can't maintain a diet that allows them to stay at a healthy weight? Why if obesity is a health issue there aren't more insurance programs that cover gym memberships or nutrition therapy? How many processed foods have a caloric intake are disproportionate to the caloric cost of digesting those foods (HFCS)? Have that conversation, and don't worry about Mike and Molly. That show won't be on very long because it's not funny, not because their overweight.

Best, Mrs. Carlson

I stand by my Mike & Molly prediction.

Life Mania

A while back I got into playing casual games, those cartoony games where you solve a puzzle or cook a meal to order. My favorite was a time management game called CAKE MANIA.

You're Jill Evans, a recent culinary school graduate that has keep up with an increasingly difficult line of customers and  design their cakes to order. (The cupcake craze hadn't hit Jill's town yet). In short, you point and click all the places you need her to work. As the game progresses, Jill banks money. And in between rounds you can visit a supply store that offers faster ovens, decoration stations, a TV to distract customers, etc.



Now being unemployed, I have a personal stake in seeing Jill's small business succeed, so I used to play until my wrist gave out from using the mouse. But eventually, after I had all the fancy ovens and quicker frosters and all the bells and whistles, I got to a point when I still couldn't get Jill to move fast enough to beat the time limit on the higher levels. My play dates with Jill got fewer and fewer, and then the ovens went cold. Poor Jill.

A few weeks ago, I got curious. Did I have what it took to beat that final level? Could a few months off give my wrist the break it needed to strengthen?

I opened the game and found Jill in the store. "They send you to the store when you have it all?" I thought to myself. Then my cursor brushed past her feet and I noticed the shopping column flicker. THERE WAS AN OPTION TO BUY FASTER SHOES. In fact, there were two different speeds of faster shoe to select from.

This is how real life goes for me too. I'm running around trying to figure out how to win at things, but the whole time I can never win because I don't have faster shoes. Right now, I don't even know faster shoes are available.

Life is hard for Brody Carlson

My cat is a bitch. She is ornery and hostile, and she likes to sit on my lap with her rear in my face. That is, when she allows me the pleasure of her company. She spends most of her time in a self-imposed solitude, either in our bed in an empty bedroom or the sock-monkey dog bed I got her in an effort to limit her time on our bed. She sheds a lot. I tell you this to explain why I would purchase a novelty bed for a cat, not as another example of her poor attitude. Brody doesn't like to wear a collar, so she isn't allowed outside. I'm a silly woman, and I can't have my cat roaming the city streets without proper identification. I'll expect the same from my children when they exist. Psychologically, this is probably related to a mean neighbor I had growing up who put traps out for the neighboorhood cats and delivered them to the pound without question. But this is not a story about me.

This morning Mr. Carlson and I noticed that Brody was no where to be found. We took turns looking through the usual places - under beds and couches, near piles of laundry, under boxes waiting to be taken to the recycling bin. No Brody. We expanded our search to Lola's favorite hiding spaces (our other cat) - on top of the water heater, dining room chairs, the bathtub. No Brody. I remark to Mr. Carlson that on Hoarders the trouble usually started when the person had enough junk around to loose a cat in. We are teetering.
We demise that Brody probably jumped out the backdoor last night when the air conditioner was in use. What an adventure she must have had. Out for an entire evening and into the following afternoon. I got worried when the sun came up blazing again today, so around noon I took a walk around our building calling her name and making puckering sounds, her cat call. Despite the heat and having no access to food or water since the night before, she remained AWOL.

I finally found her on my third search, around 3pm. There was Brody laying out in the sun on the deck of a neighbor's unit. Relaxed on her side, her arms stretched above her head, she looked peppered and thymed with dirt and roughage from the property's shrubs. She seemed excited to see me until I picked her up and carried her (as much as she allowed me) to the front door. She whined and fought, evading my rescue while I tried to unlock the front door.

The wild Brody remains at large, roaming the finely manicured landscape of our condo complex. And by "roaming" I mean hiding behind a giant bush, whining for me to make the street traffic outside our complex disappear so she has the courage to scurry the seven feet between her and the door.

Side Note: I wanted to include a picture of our subject, however I have finally reached the point where the number of pictures I have of my cats are outweighed by the number of photos of actual life experiences, marking my final departure from cat ladydom.

Sleep

I've always had trouble sleeping, but without a regular job to anchor my days my nights are ruling my life.
At first it was a way to avoid thinking about my situation. I'd try to sleep through the haunting thoughts of what had happened and what could happen now, and I'd eventually get worked up enough that I couldn't sleep. Being alone with my thoughts has never been the best option when I'm dealing with something. It's been three weeks and I'm still finding myself going to bed when the sun is coming up.

Somewhere in my mind is the idea that staying up keeps the next day from coming. It's a misguided attempt at finding the pause button, of needing the world to stop for just a few days so I can catch up.

Entering the Lion's Den

I was a crier. I've always wanted to be the type of person who was stronger, who could be more professional. I don't cry at Hallmark commercials (anymore), but when pushed and pushed my body expresses frustration in salt water.

So when I went to pack the rest of my office I was determined to be strong and walk in with my head held high. After all, by their own reasoning, I was a fine employee who contributed greatly during her time with the company. It's interesting how our bodies often betray our mental state. If I've learned anything from past break-ups and disappointments its that tear ducts cannot be reasoned with.

When I first arrived, I had a moment in the lobby when I thought I might tear up. I took a deep breath and thought of the saying that comes to mind when I need to find my inner strength. That sounds so zen, but its possibly one of the silliest things that my mind has grabbed onto. It goes like this:

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

Its the litany against fear, the incantation used in Dune to calm your mind in times of peril.

I've never even read Dune, so I can't even hide behind a sci-fi kink. I just came across David Lynch's movie late one night and saw the scene were Paul's hand is in the fire. At that point in my life my ex-boyfriend/ first love was coming into my work routinely with a new girl. I used it to focus my attention when I was caught off guard by their presence. From years of use its became the go-to internal dialogue for personal strength.

I ran into a few coworkers who were surprised to see me and we had awkward conversation. Some voiced their disbelief, while others just wished me well. These were stolen moments - quick asides in their otherwise busy day.  It had only been a week, but life had gone on without me. It would have been something to cry about if I was still the type of person who did that kind of thing.

Dinks No More

I've never lost a job before. I feel like someone just kicked me in the stomach. My employer of four years has eliminated my position. It doesn't matter that they've hired 5 entry levels in the past few months - there is no work at my level. The general manager of my office rushes out of the room and I go though the stages of grief while the HR manager tells me the details of our "separation agreement." We are agreeing to separate. They agree to stop paying me, which is the part of our agreement that I'm least excited by.  I wonder if they know that all the creative used in last years work came from me? I wonder why I postponed my grad school application only to loose my job a few months before the school year would have begun. Internally, I calculate that mine was 60% of of our household income. I go back and forth from what I'm being told, "It's not personal." "It's purely a business decision due to lower forecasts" and the voices in my head, "I'm being thrown away." "It's not fair." "Everyone involved in this decision is an assholes."

I walk to my car with all the signs of someone who has just lost a job. Tear-soaked face, frenzied eyes, a banker's box of files packed tightly with a box of tampons on top.

From Dinks to Sinks

Mr. and Mrs. Dink were doing well during a tough economy. While others became statistics of the recession, Mr. and Mrs. Dink thrived like many of the Dual Income, No Kids couples - they bought a condo, hosted their wedding and paid down their debts in anticipation of building their life together.

With a recent layoff, The Dinks are now Sinks. Are they sunk?