It's expensive to get sick. This is not startling news. Many of us have felt the burn paying out-of-pocket for doctor visits or God forbid, an emergency room experience. Yikes.
Try getting really sick. Like With The Cancer sick.
A couple of weeks ago, I received an itemized bill for my first stretch in the Big House (for which we, so far, don't owe a penny, thank The Maker).
Yeah. Um. Wow. Add Your Favorite Potent Expletive Here.
The total bill was nearly as much as the asking price for our house when we bought it. Almost half that amount was represented by the line item "Pharmacy". Chemo is some seriously expensive poison, not to mention the litany of antibiotics, pre-chemo drugs, and various other pills and such I received as part of my treatment. Apparently, had I been given the choice, I could have either gotten the medicine or for the same amount of money bought a fairly well appointed luxury vehicle.
Obviously, if you want to strike it rich, get into manufacturing chemotherapy drugs. Black gold, Texas tea. Pshaw. More like idarubicin and fludarabine and cytarabine.
Now that I am home, my doc's got me on a one-two combo of highly potent antibiotics to prevent possible infections. One of these medications couldn't be filled by my usual Target pharmacy nor did the hospital pharmacy have it. Our local uber-pharmacy, Westbury, came to rescue. When I went to pick it up, the pharmacist, a charming older man, leaned over the counter and said with a twinkle in his eye, "Honey, you've got insurance, right?" I whipped out that card like I was showing my papers at a dicey border crossing. The going price for 105 mL bottle of this antibiotic (made specifically to combat fungal infections in people with compromised immune systems) is... are you ready for this...
Sweet baby Moses; that's almost a mortgage payment.
Fortunately, we only (and I am using "only" very loosely here people) had to pony up $108 for my eensy bottle. 105 ml ain't a whole lot. Here's the rub: I gotta take a spoonful of this stuff three times a day. I've been taking it for less than a week, and the the bottles just about half empty. I know my doc's going to want me to continue taking my antibiotics at least as long as I am neutropenic. First time through chemo, it took me weeks to get my shitty white cells to eek across that border. So this might mean refill.
All I know is that if I as much as get a freaking yeast infection while I am taking Liquid Gold the manufacturer is going to be getting at least a nasty phone call from me. Maybe I'll sick Zombie Warrior on their butts, screaming for my $108 back.
When I was examining the box the other day to see who makes this caviar of anti-fungals, I came across an interesting fact; it's made in Ireland. That explains it.