She gave me the big shot this morning, with the big needle, right into the joint (ow); also a bottle of pain drugs. (Yay!) Which this post is not about, how much I love Vicodin. Y'all know that already.
Nope, it's about this guy standing in front of me while I'm waiting to pick up the Vicodin. His kid has a drug-resistant staph infection. The meds to handle that cost, and I kid you not, two thousand dollars for eight pills. His insurance covers eight hundred of it.
Luckily the guy is rich as shit, and only blinks a little before whipping out his AmX. My kid would have had to die, frankly.
Nor am I joking. Last week that was mr delagar, who is borderline diabetic, -- the doctor, the same one who gave me the big shot, after trying other things for a month, wanted to put him on a drug which is meant to coax his pancreas back into action. Biata, I think it's called? Only our insurance won't cover it, and it's $270/month, which, as broke as we are, that might as well be two thousand dollars.
So we had to do without the meds. The doctor is currently arguing with our insurance over whether they should pay for the medication or let his pancreas die (and then they can pay for all the really expensive care that will come from him being a diabetic, which, hey, that makes plenty of sense) and meanwhile he's on meds that don't work, but are really really cheap.
Someone tell me again why socialized medicine is a bad idea. I keep forgetting.