NO!
One costs more than I budget for food, toilet paper, OTC pain killers, pens, dish and hand soap, light bulbs, and treats to take to my Class of 1966 luncheons. That is to say it is stinking pricey. The other is affordable, an old drug that requires close monitoring.
It turns out that the delay in doing surgery on my breast cancer wasn’t naughty surgeons playing golf, but the surgeons waiting for my genetic testing results, which finally came back. It seems I am genetically predisposed to develop pancreatic cancer (kiss your butt goodbye) and prostate cancer (there seems to be a butt theme here…)
Knowing these genetic predispositions, the insurance companies are more likely to pay for regular testing. That’s my understanding. If one can understand insurance companies.
I will spare you my diatribe against big pharma and how degrading it is to have to prove to a mega-billion profit-making phamaceutical company you are poor enough to get the OVERPRICED FOR AMERICANS blood thinner at an affordable price, but it would reveal my true political bent as a closet Bernie Sanders supporter who didn’t vote for him because third party candidates for president just suck votes away from one of the two actual candidates likely to end up in the White House. So there!
Speaking of “butts”, I am butt tired of sharing financial data with these companies. Wasn’t the DOGE business and Musk all about sucking out all of our personal financial information held by the IRS (among other illegal, un-American, unconstitutional things)? Hey big pharma! You want to know if I’m poor enough to get a price break on your OVERPRICED FOR AMERICANS pills, send Musk an e-mail.
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Take that!
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On a more pleasant note, I get to see the breast cancer surgeon today at noon. After the consultation, a surgery date will be established, one hopes before prostate or pancreatic cancer might occur. One at a time, boys.
I will ask the breast cancer doctor about the blood thinner medication so I am clear if it is Okay to swallow that yet. For Nurse Diane’s sake, I hope it’s “Okey doke, Doug! Your cardiologist, his nurse, my nurse, and I are all on the same team! And we want you dealing with the ‘Afib’, as the cute, expensive commercials you keep seeing on television abbreviate the condition so a non-medical, as we call you, can remember the condition and ask for the expensive pill, not the one poor people have to take.”
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I’m happy to announce that someone had to cancel their 9:00 am appointment tomorrow with Vic, the lady who cuts my hair. I get to have my hair and beard cut then instead.
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Damn cat!