Mercy Seat

Today, I spent two hours on the phone with my pharmacy, my health insurance company, and my psychiatrist’s office. I was trying to get my anti-anxiety medication filled. Two hours on the phone plus time on my computer researching what my insurance covers.

Last week, I realized that my anxieties caused by my physical health were out of control. I was lucky to get into see my psychiatrist that day because she had a cancellation. We decided to increase my escitalopram (AKA Lexapro) from 20 mg to 30 mg. I’ve been on varying levels of escitalopram for around a decade. I’ve gone up and down, depending on how my mood has been. The psychiatrist also added a new anti-anxiety medication called buspirone.

It’s a minimum 45-minute ride to my psychiatrist’s office. There’s a shortage of behavioral health care providers in my area, so 45 minutes isn’t that bad, considering. I’ve had friends give up on their needed psychiatric care because there’s always a high turnover. You wait for weeks for an appointment. You see the provider for a few weeks, maybe even months, and then they announce that they’re leaving.

When you’re dealing with any type of medical problem, re-explaining your condition is exhausting. But when you’re dealing with behavioral health problems, it feels worse because you have to let your guard down.

I digress. My mental health has been awful. The anxiety is crippling. I’m an extrovert and a Gemini. I love to socialize. Of late, I haven’t been wanting to do anything. Reading, watching movies, playing Disney Tsum Tsum … things just haven’t been appealing to me. My sleep has been completely erratic. I sleep all the time. Then I don’t sleep at all.

I did the right thing. I spent a total of two and a half hours driving to get to and from the psychiatrist. We plotted a course of action: The new medication would take about three weeks to start working. I’d start the increase of the escitalopram immediately. And I’d return for a follow-up visit in one month.

During my ride home, my pharmacy called me and a staff member told me that my health insurance wouldn’t authorize the new escitalopram dosage. The pharmacy staff member told me that they would contact my doctor. That was on Thursday. Now it’s Tuesday.

Thursday to Tuesday might not seem like an inordinate amount of time, but when you have neuro cardiaciogenic syncope and your heart rate gets stuck around 120 BPM and you feel like you can’t do anything right and you break down and ugly cry in front of your partner and cat, it feels like forever.

I feel like am barely explaining this situation. I don’t want sympathy. I want a better health care system in this country. This month, I’m keeping track of the number of hours I spend as a patient. I want to spend my time improving my health through yoga, physical therapy exercise at home, eating better, socializing (IRL!). Not hours on the phone with health insurance companies, pharmacists, and doctors offices. Not worrying about how I can afford to pay my medical bills.