Fight the Power as an Italian or at Least Wander Around It*

Italian anti-Fascist fighters, November 1944

Oh dear Lord. Please no one ask me what I think of the woman who identifies as a black person when, in fact, she's a white person. I just don't have it in me to join the discussion and will leave it to less exhausted finer minds than mine to figure it all out. I'm generally fascinated by these kinds of things, but lately I've felt nearly comatose and even bored when the newest wild story comes out. I know that says more about me than anyone else and is probably indicative of mild depression or at least a dissociative disorder, but it's the truth. I'm having a hard time not saying I don't care when people ask me what I think about anything these days. Ironically, one of the things I'll be working on beginning next week when I leave for my residency at Hedgebrook involves my own wrestling with identity -- both mine and my daughter's. Hopefully, I'll be out of this funk and able to organize my thoughts and care.

As I drove around the shitty this afternoon, listening to the interminable talk about the woman who identified as black but who was really white, I did think about my own ethnic identity -- how I'm one-half Italian, one-quarter Syrian and one-quarter Scotch English. If people ask me what I am, I tend to say Italian because I definitely identify more with my Italian ancestry than the Middle Eastern or northern European. I can't tell you why exactly, but I feel Italian. Yesterday's post provoked some really great comments, including Mary Moon stating that she'd heard Italians don't believe in God so much as God's mother. Ha! That's true of me!




I was also thinking about The Powers That Be today, mainly because I got a letter in the mail informing me that our insurance company, Assurant, will no longer be in the health insurance marketplace as of January 2016 so we'll have to start looking for a new individual plan in November during that open season which sounds like we're all going hunting (and wouldn't you love to hunt down an insurance company and hang it, stuffed on your wall?) but actually means you're allowed to enroll in a certain window. Insurance companies and the whole healthcare system in this joint are kind of fascist, don't you think? God, I wish I could say that I don't care, but I'm going to have to care and scurry around and do all the stuff that needs to be done, including making sure that Sophie's Providers are covered and that her drugs are covered and that we can afford the premium and it's all so exhausting and I just don't care.

On the other hand, I've been engaged with one of my favorite Realm of Caring people, Heather, on Facebook who has done an incredible amount of work with this medical marijuana thing. She's one of my heroes, to tell you the truth, and just a pleasure to know as a person. She's indefatigable -- probably not unlike one of those Italian anti-Fascist fighters even if she doesn't exactly identify as one. She shared my recent blog post titled Access Public Service Announcement where I took to task the head of the American Epilepsy Society who was just so dooooooown on that recent Dateline special. It turns out that I did a radio show back in April, and the doctor with whom I spoke was the very same one! You can listen to it here. She was equally as dooooooooown on the radio show, too, and Heather and I can't figure out why these people aren't more excited by our stories (Heather's son has been seizure-free with CBD for nearly two years!). I said would it kill them to express some enthusiasm and marvel a bit because they've been stymied so long? Then again, maybe they just don't care, and lord (or given my Italian identity should I say Mary) knows, I understand that.








*This post is a ramble, a wander and it might make no sense. Read at your leisure.

Absurdity As Vice

I felt paralyzed momentarily this morning, worried that I don't express gratitude often enough, am mean-spirited and perseverate on the same things, over and over.

Anyhoo.*

I got the above letter in the mail from our new insurance company, Assurant, and what is a blog good for if not to demonstrate absurdity as I see it? The fact that I see absurdity in nearly everything and that some people might object or try to analyze that impulse as being self-protective or indicative of some kind of personality disorder weighs on me every now and then like this morning. I'm not a big drinker, drug user or even Advil-taker. I only flee from my problems in food occasionally and when I exercise, it's not fanatically. I don't have a coping vice except, perhaps, this dogged sense of absurdity in literally everything, and I'm grateful for that, alright?

According to the letter, Sophie's drug Onfi will now be rationed. What that means is that the drug is so damn expensive, the insurance company needs a really, really good reason to continue paying partially for it (and I emphasize partially because we pay a hefty premium and copayment for this drug every single month and have done so for over seven years). If you haven't been reading here for years, I can fill you in that I've paid anywhere between $150 cash for this drug when it wasn't FDA-approved, $500 when it was FDA-approved and marketed in the United States, $60 when I got it from Canada using friends as Drug Mules, $0 when a non-profit, underwritten by the company that made it "helped" me to pay for it, and now $90 with Assurant.** What this also means is that this drug is highly addictive and there might, apparently, be patients who abuse it or, rather, physicians who over-prescribe it to people who have insomnia or anxiety issues or whatever the hell else demands the power of a benzodiazepine. What this also means is that the pharmaceutical company that makes it probably aggressively marketed it and created, in effect, a need for it.  It appears that I'll be making The Rounds of Telephone Calls in July to ensure that Sophie's supply of Onfi is steady.**

There's no point, really, in complaining about this shit, is there? What I'll do instead is observe the absurdity of it.








*For those of you not in the know, the word anyhoo both bugs the hell out of me in its cheerfulness and fits my absurdist sensibility perfectly. That's why I use it.

** The Drug Mule posts are some of my favorites as far as absurdity goes. Look them up on my search bar somewhere over there to the right.

** We are currently weaning Sophie from that f*%king drug Onfi, expect to be finished with the wean at some point in the future, and if all goes well might never have to beg and grovel for it again.