I just called and left a long, rambling message for my oncologist’s office, saying that I think maybe I don’t need blood thinners after all. I had not been looking forward to a daily injection that I was told “might burn” if administered too fast. But I was prepared for that. And my squeamish boyfriend was going to heroically put his squeamishness aside to poke me in the abdomen with a needle for a few weeks.
But then there was the sticker shock of a $785 copay. Ouch. That hurt almost as much as the bump on my arm that mysteriously appeared last Tuesday.
I’ve mentioned before that since late July, my left arm has been hurting and pretty much just taking it easy while my right arm has been taking the brunt of the chemo. I even accused my left arm of faking it to get out of chemo.
But then the bump appeared, angry, red and burning. One night, I had a dream that I cut my arm and it hurt, and I woke up to my arm hurting for real. It would feel better in the morning, then it got progressively worse throughout the day.
On Friday, during my pre-chemo visit, I mentioned it to the doctor, who wanted to take an ultrasound for a better look at what was going on. The ultrasound technician looked at my shoulder and then worked her way down my arm. I could see the ultrasound, but it doesn’t look like anything to me. It’s just gray and black, like I’m dead inside. In fact, that would be my diagnosis to everybody if I gave ultrasounds: “Sorry, you’re probably dead inside, because it’s just gray and black with some white streaks of marbled fat or marshmallow swirl.”
The technician did find something in the screen, because then she called in the doctor and they agreed that my vein wasn’t compressing and told me that I had some superficial clots in the troublesome arm. (Just telling my boyfriend this part grossed him out, just to impart an idea of how squeamish his is and how brave he’s going to be to give me shots that I’m too squeamish to give myself.) The bump, apparently, was the biggest clot.
The good news is that these aren’t the kinds of clots that go to your lungs or brain—those are deep-vein clots, which often require six months of shots. These superficial clots can hopefully be taken care of in a few weeks. The doctors are puzzled that it’s happening now, especially in this arm that’s been taking it relatively easy.
After the ultrasound, I went back to the doctor, who prescribed Enoxaparin, while the nurse called around to check on the cheapest and best option. So while I would have a $40 copay, today I found out it’s $785 because of my new insurance deductable. My prescription deductible is $1,250, so it’s going to catch up with me at some point. I might as well get a big chunk of this inevitable cost out of the way quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. (Something, incidentally, they don’t do at the hospital.)
But, still in sticker shock, I found myself leaving a confused, halting message. Maybe I don’t need blood thinners? When the doctor had suggested my blood needed thinning, truthfully, I was hoping she would suggest a more organic method. Like cocktails. Would this troublesome vein be cleared up with, say, a week’s worth of happy hours? I didn’t ask though, especially since she’d so patiently entertained and answered my boyfriend’s query about administering IVs in places outside of the arm, like junkies in movies.
Before I go on the blood thinners, I have to take care of some orders of business. I’m going to re-shave my now-fuzzy head, because I don’t want to get my scalp nicked while I’m prone to bleeding. (Also, once my hair grows in a bit, it looks thin.) I also have an appointment with the dentist tomorrow so before the blood thinners turn a routine exam into a horror movie.
Incidentally, my left arm, ever the contrarian, has now stopped hurting.