Dept. of Sometimes You Win
Oct. 28th, 2025 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaffy_rHey Guys, Guess What? C'mon Guess!
Nah, you don't have to guess.
Remember back when I was having fun with the American medical system, which appeared bound and determined to prevent me from having access to Brexpiprazole*, aka Rexulti for less than $400 per month. I told you about my favorite superhero-who-should-have-a-nobel-prize-for-awesomeness, Nicki who practically turned herself inside out to get me the meds without breaking my bank.
Back on Sept. 2, I told y'all about that. I haven't updated you about what's happened since then. And up until yesterday, any news I could have told you was simply "nothing has worked, and I'm too exhausted to die on this fucking hill." First because neither link that Nicki gave me resulted in any help. And then the original superhero in my life, Bob, found a better link for one of the organizations that Nicki hoped might help. And sure enough, both he and Nicki were right about that organization; I just might be eligible a program that would provide me Rexulti for zip, zilch, nada until the end of the year, and then could do the same for next year as long as I applied again.
So I put together the application, and marched it to Nicki; she filled in the shrink's part of the application and faxed it off (faxes! Modernity!) to the organization.
I had a little frisson of hope when the organization texted me to let me know indirectly that my application had been received. But when I saw the envelope in our post box Friday, I had a bad feeling. Sure enough, they rejected me, saying, "your diagnosis doesn't meet our requirements". I read it and said the whole not-dying-on-this-fucking-hill bit. But the look Bob gave me made me reluctantly (and irritably) decide I'd leave a message to Nicki in her voice mail very early Monday morning, basically to say that this had happened, and why, and should I set up an appointment with my shrink to figure something else to prescribe me. Part of me - a very small part of me, mind - remembered something else, something just enough to ensure I made the call; that Medicare had used the sameexcuse reason when it initially refused to cover it, so who knew, maybe the same thing could happen in this case.
Didn't hear from Nicki Monday, but was gearing up to call her and actually talk to her rather than leave a message today, when she called. She'd apparently called around 8:30 a.m. but I was fast asleep. She got my voice mail, and redid the application, using a different diagnosis code. She told me she sent it at 4 p.m. Monday, and at 2 a.m. Tuesday the organization left an email telling her that the decision had been reversed, and I had been accepted into the program.
Reversed.
Accepted.
She was so happy for me!
This evening, I got a text letting me know that my 2025 supply had been shipped. That fast.
I shouldn't have to be celebrating like a mad thing because Nicki the superhero who deserves a Nobel Prize for Awesomeness once again proved that she should wear the damn cape and is probably capable of flying if told that would help one of her boss's patients.
I shouldn't have to depend on the kindness of strangers to keep my sanity.
Fucking American "health" system.
And I'm still celebrating like the mad thing I would surely be without this med. And I'm going to be happy about it.
* Hey, I can now say and spell the generic name!
Nah, you don't have to guess.
Remember back when I was having fun with the American medical system, which appeared bound and determined to prevent me from having access to Brexpiprazole*, aka Rexulti for less than $400 per month. I told you about my favorite superhero-who-should-have-a-nobel-prize-for-awesomeness, Nicki who practically turned herself inside out to get me the meds without breaking my bank.
Back on Sept. 2, I told y'all about that. I haven't updated you about what's happened since then. And up until yesterday, any news I could have told you was simply "nothing has worked, and I'm too exhausted to die on this fucking hill." First because neither link that Nicki gave me resulted in any help. And then the original superhero in my life, Bob, found a better link for one of the organizations that Nicki hoped might help. And sure enough, both he and Nicki were right about that organization; I just might be eligible a program that would provide me Rexulti for zip, zilch, nada until the end of the year, and then could do the same for next year as long as I applied again.
So I put together the application, and marched it to Nicki; she filled in the shrink's part of the application and faxed it off (faxes! Modernity!) to the organization.
I had a little frisson of hope when the organization texted me to let me know indirectly that my application had been received. But when I saw the envelope in our post box Friday, I had a bad feeling. Sure enough, they rejected me, saying, "your diagnosis doesn't meet our requirements". I read it and said the whole not-dying-on-this-fucking-hill bit. But the look Bob gave me made me reluctantly (and irritably) decide I'd leave a message to Nicki in her voice mail very early Monday morning, basically to say that this had happened, and why, and should I set up an appointment with my shrink to figure something else to prescribe me. Part of me - a very small part of me, mind - remembered something else, something just enough to ensure I made the call; that Medicare had used the same
Didn't hear from Nicki Monday, but was gearing up to call her and actually talk to her rather than leave a message today, when she called. She'd apparently called around 8:30 a.m. but I was fast asleep. She got my voice mail, and redid the application, using a different diagnosis code. She told me she sent it at 4 p.m. Monday, and at 2 a.m. Tuesday the organization left an email telling her that the decision had been reversed, and I had been accepted into the program.
Reversed.
Accepted.
She was so happy for me!
This evening, I got a text letting me know that my 2025 supply had been shipped. That fast.
I shouldn't have to be celebrating like a mad thing because Nicki the superhero who deserves a Nobel Prize for Awesomeness once again proved that she should wear the damn cape and is probably capable of flying if told that would help one of her boss's patients.
I shouldn't have to depend on the kindness of strangers to keep my sanity.
Fucking American "health" system.
And I'm still celebrating like the mad thing I would surely be without this med. And I'm going to be happy about it.
* Hey, I can now say and spell the generic name!
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