Loopis Lindsey

Did I mention that the apartments Lindsey and I will be moving into are having a deal on rent? We can lease a 1200 square foot, two bed, two bath apartment for $755 per month. How ridiculously cheap is that for this area (take my word, it is)?

I caught myself watching Sex and the City again. I think I fulfill my womanly craving for drama by watching other women enact their own and reassuring myself that I will never be like that.

Today when I got to the restaurant, I saw Lindsey's car but not Lindsey. I looked around in the kitchen, and in the to-go area, but didn't see her.

Then I found her in the back room, near my section, sitting around an uneaten order of avocado eggrolls and an unsipped glass of water, crying.

Among some of her other health issues, Lindsey has been diagnosed with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis, her personal manifestations of the autoimmune diseases that run in her family. The Enbrel prescribed to Lindsey to treat (or rather help prevent to some degree) her R.A. flare-ups runs about $1,600 per month. However, because she qualifies as low-income, she can received government aid and get the Enbrel for free.

She was crying because she currently does not have health insurance, and the rheumologist (a specialist) that she has been seeing for seven years will not refill her prescription unless Lindsey schedules an appointment to see her, which is quite a costly visit.

It wasn't so much the money involved that bothers Lindsey, but that her chronic lupus and R.A. flare-ups prevent her from leading a more normal life. It wasn't that she was crying that made my heart feel heavy, but the pain that I could read in her face from all the red tape and loopholes she has to jump through just to get the medication she needs to function on a daily basis, because without it her excruciating joint and muscle pain would force her to become nearly immobile.

Of course, the Enbrel is not the only prescription drug she has to struggle to attain at an affordable price.

Talking with her today, sharing in her anger and frustration has made me tacitly accept that things have been relatively shitty lately, and aren't improving as quickly as I would like.

Regardless, my worries are only superficial.

Lindsey, on the other hand, has had a death sentence hanging over her head since she was fifteen years old.

I would cry a lot more than she does if I knew that the likelihood of my having a normal life span was decreasing significantly every couple years.