I thought that I was getting better, but I'm not. The stuff that I'm coughing up is scaring me. I need serious medicine. Hot tea and good wishes are not enough. I know from experience what dying feels like and I'm getting very close. I do not want to die yet.
So I called my doctor and was told that he was no longer able to extend credit. If I didn't have insurance, I would have to pay on arrival. I won't have any money until next Thursday but I'm pretty sure I'll be dead by then, so I needed another option.
Free Clinic? Call back on Monday to make an appointment for the following week. Again, that is outside the time-frame of plausible survivability.
I would almost rather die than ask my brother or my friends for any more money- it's a source of shame for me, but it is better than death-I resigned myself to making some after-work calls.
A 42-year old man with a full-time job should be able to pay for a doctor, but I can't. I bring home less than $7.50 an hour after taxes and am perpetually broke despite eating all my meals at home and almost never buying anything except food and gasoline. I'm hardly the only one in America who lives like this and I really shouldn't feel sorry for myself, but I've been sick as hell for almost two weeks and it's weighing me down emotionally. I feel like worthless, helpless crap.
Unbeknownest to me, one of my co-workers, 'G', had been making some calls on my behalf. He found a charity clinic that travels to different parts of town, setting up temporary clinics for the uninsured...they will be near my workplace on Friday and my boss has given me the OK to take the morning off. Friday seems pretty far-off but it's better than waiting two weeks for the Free Clinic.
I was going to follow this tale of woe with a scathing essay on the state of American healthcare but I'm not feeling well enough to finish writing it.