1,001 Ways to Make My Head Spin

December 28, 2010 at 11:38 pm (Healthy...?, TGF) (, )

#1:  Make me fill out forms with instructions more complicated than those from the IRS. Seriously. Applying for individual health insurance requires a PhD in and of itself. And who in the world remembers the name of the doctor you saw in the ER when you were having an asthma attack 4 years ago? Or where you put the paperwork for that ER visit. List every medication you’ve been on in the past year. Yeah, right. Ask me to list everyone in my 4th grade class, why don’t you?

Then there was the fax fiasco. Call the old insurance provider. Get proof of creditable coverage faxed so we can submit with new insurance application. Sounds easy enough. But using an efax number that limits you to 10 pages per month is not good if you’re going to receive 3 copies of a 6 page document. What about our actual fax machine? Good idea. Only our fax machine is part of our all-in-one printer/scanner/fax and it no longer feeds itself. You have to sit and manually put the paper through so that it doesn’t jam itself and think there’s a fax or print job forever in queue. And, since we’ve not received a fax in oh, 2 years, there’s a bit of rust to come off the old grey matter to remember just how to make the machine receive the fax.

Fax received, finally. But look! My partner’s name is spelled incorrectly. Does this matter, as she’s not going to be on my new policy? Probably not. But holy heck that was an ordeal.

Back to the forms. Please explain every medical procedure you’ve had in the last 5 years. What was the outcome of each procedure? Then please explain why the baby dykes who look like Justin Bieber are cuter than Justin Bieber.  And get me coffe. Stat.

I’m going to bed now so that I can gear up for another day of trying to spend the last of the flexible spending account money that will go away on Friday if we don’t use it. Today I had to wait at Costco for freaking 90 minutes to get my prescriptions filled when they said it’d take 30. Why do they lie? Why can’t they just say, “hey, we’re busy, come back this afternoon?” That would make so much more sense. Tomorrow I’m going to have an eye exam and get new glasses. Because I can. And hopefully the new lenses will make my head feel a little less discombobulated when I’m filling out more forms.

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Second Class Citizen

December 28, 2010 at 12:35 am (Baby on the Brain, TGF) (, , , , , , )

There’s nothing like a little discrimination to make you feel, well, downright shitty. I’ve spent the last few days in a funk, trying to figure out how I’ve lived this long and never really had anyone make me feel like this. I’ve been an out lesbian for over 15 years. I’ve been in a committed relationship for 10 of those years. I’m open and very vocal about who I am and what I am. So here I sit, utterly powerless, all because my partner’s company won’t extend benefits to me as her domestic partner. And according to my insurance agent and her legal counsel, it’s all legal, even in the state of California.

Because although we have a law that says companies must extend equal benefits to domestic partners as they do spouses, it doesn’t apply when the employees are partially funding their coverage. Fucking loopholes. This, my friends, is discrimination. And why I give a big “fuck you” to those asshats who say that domestic partnership is the same as marriage. If I’d gotten married when it was legal in California, would I be having this problem now? I don’t know. I’d probably be having a different problem, since my partner’s company is based in another state and they wouldn’t recognize our marriage anyway.

I’ve been lucky in that this has never been an issue before. But I think in a way it hurts more now. We have a plan, dammit! This was supposed to be the year we started making babies. Like, soon. And now if I switch to individual insurance, not only is it going to be ridiculously expensive (try anywhere from $280/month to $610/month) for me, it’s nearly impossible to cover prenatal care if I get pregnant within 6 months of my enrollment date. I can’t get pregnant until June BECAUSE MY INSURANCE COMPANY SAYS SO. It’s so unfair. And nobody offers any sort of coverage for infertility. We already knew that was going to be expensive.

To top that all off, my girlfriend and I are 400 miles apart this week. I’m staying with my parents through the new year and she’s back at home, working. Phone calls are not as comforting as hugs. Feeling all alone because I haven’t even told my parents we want to have a baby is dumb, but I don’t want to get their hopes up. So yay, I get to be all clandestine when I’m reading the insurance information, scrolling through the pregnancy/maternity/post birth coverage stuff.

And now my partner feels really bad because her company sucks ass. I feel guilty because she has to pay for all of this. Could this suck any more right now? Oh wait, I could have PMS, too. Well, as luck would have it, I do. So I’m crying on the phone, I slept 16 hours last night, I’m eating everything in sight. FUUUUUCK. I know it’ll work out. In my head, I know this will work out. But for now, I’m going to feel sorry for myself and tuck my lonely, fat body into a cold, lonely bed.

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A Minute to Talk About My Boobs

December 19, 2010 at 10:29 pm (Healthy...?, Randomness) (, , )

Ok, maybe more than a minute. In the past 3 or 4 months, I’ve noticed that my normally 34AAA cups increase in size right around the time I’m ovulating, making their presence known for a good week before resuming their regularly scheduled programming. They’re markedly bigger. Like, I might have to buy a different sized bra to wear when I’m ovulating bigger. This may not seem like a big deal to most people (or maybe it is, I don’t usually discuss my boobage with other people, you’re just lucky!) but for someone who’s always had a flat chest, the increased size is, well, totally bizarre.

I’ve had conversations with women who have bigger than average tatas and heard many of their complaints about bras, playing sports, people who talk to their chests, etc., and while I’m never going to have even average sized breasts, I’m beginning to realize what they’re talking about when they say that wearing sports bras and trying to run without crossing their arms over their chests is a bouncy, painful, I-may-lose-an-eyeball kind of experience. I can usually wear tank tops with a built in bra and not feel like everything’s hanging out. Not so with my hormonal boobs. I mean, I have cleavage. For real. Even confining them to a sports bra still gives me more of a chest than I’m used to. They’re, ahem, grabbable. Now that’s weird.

Only don’t grab them. Don’t touch them. They hurt. At least for the first day. 2nd and 3rd aren’t so bad. But that 1st day? I can’t even dry them off after my shower.

Thus concludes my post about my boobs. I’m sure there will be more.

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I Can’t Wait for an Actual Baby in Our House

November 8, 2010 at 7:55 pm (TGF) (, , )

The one that’s here now? She’s going to be 34 in 2 weeks. Yes, I’m talking about my girlfriend. She woke up with a sore throat this morning and hasn’t stopped whining yet. Yes, she blames me completely because I had a sore throat last week, and (don’t tell her this) I’m pretty sure she’s right. Now, I’m not expecting that she’ll be her normal, sweet, caring self when she’s not feeling well, I know I’m no angel when I’m  not feeling well, but come on! “My throat hurts. It’s all your fault. I don’t feel good. I feel yucky.” Ten minutes later, the same 4 sentences. Repeat for 12 hours.

And don’t expect her to do anything–she started the dishwasher this morning but was apparently looking for some plastic container. An hour later she asked where the plastic container was. Um, in the recycle bin? “I’ve been looking for it for hours.” I suppose I should think about improving my mind reading skills. I also need a refresher course on patience and empathy. But when I asked for 3 hours, “Do you want me to go get you some dayquil?” and I got no response except for the occasional “I don’t feel good.” I wanted to scream.  I couldn’t even get mad at her for forgetting to flush the toilet. Really? You don’t feel well so you forget seemingly automatic things like flushing? Tearing my hair out seemed my only option. Instead, I made her the only food she’ll eat when she’s not feeling well: ramen with an egg.

So 2 hours ago, I asked again, “do you want dayquil?” She asked, “Will that make me feel better? Can you get me some sore throat-stopping stuff?”

Ugh. I love you, quit being such a baby.

I ventured to CVS, returned with her meds and cough drops, fed them to her (complete with, “Sit up, you can’t drink water lying down.”), emptied the dishwasher, did the other dishes, cleaned the toaster oven, made her tea. Now I’m letting her listen to This American Life and watch tv and I’m not even yelling at her to turn it down. Even though I can’t think. I think I’m going to bed early. After I’ve fed her more dayquil and tea.

What are we going to do when there’s a real live, screaming, crying BABY in our house? Do we both have to become adults? Can we take turns? I’m pretty sure that neither of us are going to be feeling 100% when the kid gets here. I think I’m going to make a sign: SUCK IT UP. Probably more than one. How about one for every room?

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