Accepting the Whoosh

A few weeks ago, I took a look at my medical bills, took a deep breath, and decided in an instant to not do anything about my ear whoosh. Even though I have a deductible, I guess I didn't really understand how it worked. I still pay a percentage of my bills after I reach it. Back when I worked for my big publishing house, I had excellent health care. I was paid for 100% because I was single with no kids. My bills were extremely small. I was extremely lucky.

Flash forward to now. I don't need to remind us all of the economy or the health care crisis or the fact that I pay for my own insurance because I'm a freelancer, right? OK, good. I won't.

A few weeks ago I got really, really, really sick. When I get sick my ear whoosh gets louder. I spent my days wondering how much damage I would do if I ripped my jugular out of my own neck. It was SO LOUD. And because I kept waking up in the night unable to sleep, I also spent my nights concentrating on the sound of my own heartbeat: WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH. I spent a few nights sleeping in the T-shirt my dear whooshEr sent me that says Do You Whoosh? on the front and www.whooshers.com on the back. At least whooshEr was with me, and her T-shirt was extremely soft and comforting.

When my head cleared, I had my Coming to Jesus moment about tightening the financial belt. I can't pay for things I don't need right now, and sadly, I don't need to cure my whoosh. My parents were skeptical. They wanted to know for sure that I wasn't going to have a stroke or die from this if I let it go for a while longer. It's been almost 5 years. I knew I wasn't going anywhere, but they needed to know it from Dr. Whooshsaver.

So Ma and I drove up to the hospital together. I needed to talk to the hospital about a more realistic payment plan for what I owed them. I shot too high when I agreed to large payments each month. So we went and talked to a very nice woman who took my payments waaaay down. Then we went to Dr. Whooshsaver's office to talk to his assistant.

I love this woman. She is so kind and wonderful. She has been right from the start. She gave me her direct line, so we have talked a few times about the tests, procedures, and costs. I would LOVE to go to cocktails with her and just talk about all kinds of things. She's that awesome. So we had her paged and met up in a courtyard to have a little chat.

I looked at her, started to speak, and promptly started bawling. I told her I was in a financial problem with all of the medical bills. That I had misunderstood the portion I would have to pay. And that I couldn't go through with our planned procedure this year because it would cost more than I have. It would cripple me. But I needed her to tell my mother that I would be OK because she wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth.

She explained to Ma that I was fine. That if something was wrong, Dr. Whooshsaver would have been all over us by now to get this taken care of. That they would not let me out of it. Ma started leaking some tears. She was overwhelmed with relief that my whoosh wasn't life-threatening. There we were--both crying for separate reasons.

For me, it was the sadness of living with the whoosh when I had gotten SO CLOSE to a cure. For Ma, she was happy her baby wasn't going to croak. So we both sniffled all over the sweet woman who told us it would be OK, we could wait, and Dr. Whooshsaver would still be here when we were ready. She said we could work on a payment plan, but I declined due to my payment plans I already have with the hospital and the IRS. And then we left, and a dark cloud followed me home.

I get a ton of email from those of you out there who whoosh. I love being able to help and offer support. I was so excited to offer a story of hope--of a cure. I also was thrilled at the thought that I could wake up one morning without this horrible f*cking sound in my head already. I just want SILENCE. PEACE. I may have to wait for the grave. Or perhaps I will win the lottery next year and randomly be able to pay for anything I want, including expensive medical procedures. A girl can dream.

But since I'm working on my mental health, I'm trying to remind myself that it's not that bad. It could be much worse. There are a whole host of medical conditions that I don't have.

• I have all my limbs.
  
• I have control of my mind and bodily functions.
  
• I'm able to live a productive life.
  
• Because of my extensive testing, I know that I don't have any brain tumors, aneurysms, or other wonky things that go on in the brain.
  
• I am able to hear out of that ear as well, so I can hear the birdies and the sound of my niece's voice and the music that I can turn WAY UP to block out the sound of the whoosh.
• I have a whole slew of new friends from all over the world that whoosh, too. I am not alone.

So despite the disappointment, I will keep my chin up. I will be OK in my own unique whooshing way.