An American horror story.

I finally got the bill for my first infusion. Okay, that’s not entirely accurate. I’ve had the bill, but Husband finally went through the mail and opened it. Now, I knew the medication would be stupid expensive – estimates were in the $1500-3000 range (ugh, per monthly dose). Those estimates were a tad off.

The line item cost for the drug alone (not the infusion or its related costs, just the drug) was twenty fucking thousand dollars. If your jaw isn’t on the floor, you’re numb to the absurdity of this system.

I mean, I could buy a Jetta for the cost of this stuff. That’s a not-shitty car, every. single. month. For eternity. Add in the cost of actually getting the drug administered, rather than having an expensive liquid paperweight, and we’re talking a monthly Passat. The insurance company getting their knickers in a twist makes a lot more sense now.

Oy vey. This post was supposed to be an amusing commentary about all this, but I can’t stay on this subject without spiraling into an rabid political rant. One that’s too fucking serious to be funny. And I really can’t risk popping a vessel over this; goodness knows how much the resulting surgery would cost.