When we lost our health insurance at the end of last April, one of the things I was concerned about was the cost of prescription medicine. Imitrex is like a miracle drug for me, and I really can’t go without it when I get a migraine. Anyone who is familiar with this drug knows how expensive it is.
I managed to stockpile several months worth of pills while we still had insurance, and it was just this week that my supply was almost gone. It was time to find out what the retail numbers were going to be. I braced myself for the showdown at the pharmacy.
I’ve been getting my prescription filled at our local Rite Aid, but I decided it might be wise to do some price checking. Yesterday I consulted with the pharmacist at Costco about the cost of a package of 9 pills of Imitrex.
“That will be $168,” he said, “but would you like me to check the price on the generic version? It’s probably much cheaper.” I told him to go ahead and check, but I wasn’t hopeful, because when the generic version of Imitrex first became available, I didn’t get any price break. My insurance deductible remained the same, which was $50 for 4 pills. For a really bad migraine, I could easily use 2 pills. I continued to get the brand version because there was no incentive to change to the generic.
“The cost for a package of 9 generic pills will be $17,” the pharmacist said. “Are you sure that’s right?” I replied. I had to force myself to control my reaction, as I was getting quite excited and my voice was becoming louder. This sounded way too good to be true. “That’s the price I’m coming up with.” he reassured me.
So of course I got my prescription transferred to Costco. This morning I went to pick it up and I got another nice surprise at the checkout. Because I don’t have insurance, I’m eligible for an additional discount. Final price for my prescription was $14.38.
It’s definitely worth doing price comparisons for prescription drugs. I found a silver lining to our loss of insurance. But as far as understanding the ins and outs of pricing prescription medicine, well that’s a headache.
Several weeks ago I wrote part one of this blog, “Car Troubles.” In that entry I wrote about our ‘92 Corolla losing power on the highway. It turned out to be a dying transmission. We were faced with the decision of wether it would be worth it to repair the car or not. In the end we decided to have the transmission rebuilt at a local shop. It’s an expensive repair, but after weighing all the factors, including the prohibitive cost of buying a new car, we decided this was the right one for us. There’s risk involved in pouring money into an old vehicle, but Sparky’s Transmissions gives a one year warranty on their work.
My father gave us this car when we moved to San Diego in October 2007. It’s a no frills vehicle. I greatly appreciate my father’s generosity. Before my Dad owned it, it belonged to my cousin who lives in Orange County. I’m not sure how long Peggy had it, but I know she rode it hard, with long weekly trips to an Indian Reservation where she gave piano and organ lessons. It’s not a flashy or pretty car and for the most part I don’t mind. When I’m giving other people rides I wish it looked nicer. That’s the major drawback.
The first car I ever bought was a Corolla, back in 1988. At the time I was living in Washington D.C. in an apartment building behind the Supreme Court. I had managed my first six years in D.C. without a car, relying on Metro trains and the kindness of friends for my transportation needs.
I had some fear of driving to overcome before I bought a car. In 1975 I had totaled the family car in a head-on collision. I was an inexperienced driver and I had just received my license. The other driver sued me and I remember how young and overwhelmed I felt. I always kept my drivers license up-to-date. When I moved to D.C. in 1982, I got a D.C. license but didn’t do any driving. I took a few refresher driving lessons before buying my first car.
I did a lot of research before deciding on a Toyota. Dan, a friend from work, went with me to give me support and guidance. I was a single woman at the time. I bought it from a new car dealership, located in Alexandria, Virginia. It’s quite a thrill to buy your first car and I remember how elated I felt driving it home from Virginia to D.C. On week days I parked it on the street close to my apartment building and on the weekends I was allowed to park in an auxiliary lot the Supreme Court had that was next to my apartment building.
The first year I had the car I decided to go on a road trip by myself. I thought it would be an adventure and also a good way to build my confidence as a driver. I drove from Washington, D.C. to West Palm Beach, Florida, mostly on I-95. It must have been in October/November 1988 because I remember Halloween festivities along the way.
I did develop confidence from that road trip. Other then a few parking lot fender benders I haven’t had any accidents to speak of since the big one when I was 17.
Some day I hope we will have a nicer car, but for today, I’m happy with our old Toyota.
Earlier this week my daughter and I were driving on I-5 North, a major California interstate. Our destination was Solana Beach, where my daughter was going for her weekly Japanese lesson. We were going around 75 mph when our ‘92 Toyota Corolla lost power and slowed dramatically. In unison my daughter and I went “Oohhhhhh.” It’s a disturbing thing to lose power on the highway. We were just a few miles from our exit.
I was worried that the engine was completely dead, but we continued moving forward. When we reached the exit ramp for Solana Beach, the car started making knocking sounds and vibrating. We stopped at the red light at the end of the exit ramp and I wondered if the car would move forward when it turned green.
We did move forward, but continued to have the knocking problems and loss of power. I put on the emergency flashers and crawled along at about 10 mph. To make a long story short, we got within two blocks of our destination.
While my daughter had her tutoring session, I talked on the phone with my husband about what to do. I was feeling upset, because we had just had the car worked on earlier in the week, and I wasn’t expecting this turn of events.
My husband was great, he listened patiently to my ranting on the phone. The AAA truck got there in a timely fashion and towed our car 20 miles back to San Diego. My friend, Solange, without a moments hesitation, came and got my daughter and me and drove us home. I was grateful that nobody got injured in what potentially could have been a bad accident on the highway.
This reminded me of something that happened when I was pregnant with my daughter back in the summer of 1994. I was driving on the Beltway that surrounds Washington, D.C. I was on my way to the Maternity Center in Bethesda, MD for a prenatal checkup. I was just weeks from my due date and was hugely pregnant.
The car engine completely died while I was still on the beltway. I didn’t have time to panic, I quickly maneuvered the car over several lanes of traffic moving forward just with the momentum that the car had built up. I was able to get to my exit and still roll forward. But the car stopped about half way down the ramp. I got out of the car and pushed it as best I could over to the right side of the road. I remember thinking, “I can’t believe I’m doing this when I’m so pregnant. I hope I don’t go into labor.”
Within moments of pushing my car out of the road, a kind samaritan pulled over and asked me what he could do to help. He ended up driving me to the Exxon station that was just down the road, where I made arrangements for them to retrieve my car. The repairman in the shop was helpful, but I remember that he was nervous because I was so pregnant, as if I were going to have the baby right there. There was a second repairman that I had to ignore, because he kept saying, “You can’t leave your car on the exit ramp off of the beltway, someone’s going to hit it.” I could tell he was trying to get a reaction from me.
After I made arrangements for the repair, the Exxon employee that had towed my car drove me to the Maternity Center and dropped me off for my checkup. And then my friend, Michaela, came and picked me up and brought me home after my appointment. I remember that when we got on the Beltway there was a horrific thunder storm with a torrential downpour and visibility was almost nonexistent. I was quite relieved to get home.
In both of these incidents, one long ago and one this week, there was the potential for an accident and great harm, but none happened. There were kind samaritans and friends who helped me each step of the way. Clearly, someone was watching out for me.
We’re still waiting to hear from the repair shop about our car. I’ll call that “Car Troubles Part 2-the transmission”
This morning I went for a routine physical. I chose a practice located close to the ocean that had been highly recommended by someone I met at a picnic. The thought of going to a doctor that was just a few blocks from the beach was appealing to me. Somehow I thought this would be a different experience, and I was right.
As I drove down Sunset Cliffs Boulevard I turned my head to the right each time I passed through an intersection so I could see the ocean in the distance. I could smell the salt in the air. This was going to fun, I thought to myself, and I had a big silly smile on my face. I found a parking place on the street and walked around the corner to the entrance of the family practice.
The first thing I was struck by was how small the waiting/reception area was. It was about half the size of most waiting rooms. The furniture was made of a thick wicker, like something you’d see at Pier One Import. It took up almost all the space in the room. I figured that space is at a premium so close to the ocean and people get by with smaller spaces.
I wrote my name on the patient log and told the receptionist that this was my first visit there. She looked at my name and then asked me how long ago I had scheduled my appointment. “About six weeks ago,” I said. I started to get a funny feeling in my stomache. “Well,” she said, “we don’t have any record of your appointment. Maybe we can squeeze you in somehow, but you might have to wait for awhile.”
I sat down and filled out my new patient paper work. I didn’t feel quite so happy now, and I became concerned that I might get a parking ticket if the appointment took too long. “How could this happen?” I thought to myself. “I’m sure I wrote down my appointment accurately.”
The other patients in the waiting area were friendly and sympathetic. “Dr. B. is worth the wait, you’ll see, she’s a real top rate doctor.” And then another woman said to me, “You can go before me if you want, I don’t mind.”
”It’s o.k.,” I said, “I’ll just go in whatever order they call me.” I was trying to act cool and chilled like everyone around me but it’s not easy because I’m not from California.
And then, out of the examining area a cute little dog came into the waiting room and sat down in front of me. I don’t really know dogs, but it was some kind of pug, or bull dog, the kind with a squished face. “Awwwwwwww, you are so cute,” I said as I petted him on the head. “Oh, you are a good doggie.” He was very happy to receive my attention. “Who does he belong to?” I said. But none of the other patients knew.
Surprisingly, my appointment was almost on schedule. The examining room was also extremely small, with very little room to navigate around. When Dr. B came in the room, the first thing she did was explain about the scheduling problem. “We switched over to a new computer system and lost a lot of the patient appointments in the process. Because of this mix up I have four complete physical exams I have to do this morning.”
I appreciated that she explained to me what happened, though I did wonder why the receptionist hadn’t been more forthcoming about the screwup. Everything went well with the exam. Dr. B had a reassuring and authoritative manner, and I found myself being more candid than I usually am with doctors.
After the appointment, I drove down to the beach so I could look at the ocean. It was a beautiful day, around 70 degrees. There was a lot of people walking around and hanging out. A skateboarder flew by. I was hungry because I had fasted for the doctors appointment, but I just wanted to be close to the ocean for awhile and take it in.
On the second Monday of each month, my father plays his flute at the Cloisters of the Valley nursing home in San Diego. The residents, who are mostly elderly women, are always gathered and waiting for him when he arrives around 10:30 a.m. Marilyn, the activities director, is usually reading items from the newspaper out loud to them. I accompany him on these visits because I like spending time with him and I enjoy hearing him play.
When we arrived today, Marilyn was reading an item about the wildfires in Australia. Then she started walking around the room asking the residents a question. She taped their responses on a small tape recorder. She was asking them to tell about something very naughty they had done when they were children. She was going to write up an article for the monthly nursing home newsletter.
My mind went blank when she unexpectantly came over to me to get my recollection. “Oh, she was a good kid,” my father said from across the room as he set up his music stand. I think he was sensing that I felt put on the spot.
“I need to think about this,” I told Marilyn, “please come back to me.” At first my mind really was blank. And then I started to recall some incidents that weren’t appropriate to share in the newsletter. Instead, I came up with a very tame and completely true childhood story about going into the pantry to steal brown sugar. I would open the Domino’s box and stick my fingers in and scoop it out and then lick it off my fingers. She recorded my story along with my name.
My father played his flute for about 40 minutes. He did a lot of older tunes, music that is familiar to his audience. Today they had a fire going in the fireplace because it was rainy and cool. As far as nursing homes go, this is a good quality one. After my father finished playing, we drove around and did some errands and then I dropped him off at his apartment.
I hope I’ll be able to get a copy of the nursing home newsletter next month. I’d like to read about the naughty things the residents have done. And Marilyn said she also had some very good (naughty) stories from the doctors that work there.
The refrigerator is one of those appliances that I neglect cleaning. We’ve been living in this apartment for almost a year and a half, and I have managed to turn a blind eye to the steady accumulation of grime. Other chores are always taking precedence in the pecking order of cleaning.
Last week I bantered on Facebook about cleaning the fridge, and it finally got me moving. “I can do this,” I thought. The vegetable bins on the bottom were the worst, so I started there. It was actually pretty easy to take them out, sort through what to keep and what to toss. Then I sprinkled baking soda in them and gave them a good scrub. Triumph. That was day one.
The next day I did the inside of the door, cleaning the sticky grime off of each of the shelves. My husband was impressed by my effort. He works at home and appreciates a clean environment, especially in the kitchen.
It only took one more day to clean the remaining shelves in the main part of the fridge. It felt good to toss all the outdated foods and get the remaining stuff organized. And I even found a bag of Lindt Truffles that had been lanquishing in the back of the middle shelf.
Today I took my daughter to get braces fitted on her teeth. This was a long awaited day. As we pulled into the orthodontist’s parking lot the car lurched on the uneven road surface. I intuitively felt I needed to check the tires. I was shocked when I saw that the tread was starting to peel away on the front left tire and the edge was bald.
Once I got my daughter settled in the office I called my husband and said, “I don’t want to get on the highway with the tire peeling apart.” He advised me to go to the Sears Auto Center in El Cajon after first calling ahead to see how busy they were. Fortunately I had my book of San Diego maps in the car, and with the help of the receptionist I mapped a route that avoided the highway.
Abdul, the man who helped us at Sears, said it would take an hour and a half to put on two front tires and do an alignment. My daughter and I walked the short distance to the Parkway Plaza Mall to entertain ourselves. It’s one of the few malls in the San Diego area that’s all enclosed. Most of the malls here are open because of the year round mild weather.
Her favorite store for browsing was a clothing store called C28. She was excited by their spring line of graphic t-shirts. While she was trying them on, I amused myself by looking at pewter rings that were on a rack next to the dressing room. That’s when I realized that the store had a Christian theme. The only ring that fit my finger was one that was inscribed with the words, Faith, Hope and Love. I needed a ring to wear because I could no longer fit into my wedding rings, and it only cost $7.99. I bought a shirt for my daughter and the ring for myself and I put it on with “Love” facing outward.
When I got home, I saw that the ring also had an inscription on the inside, 1 Cor. 13:13. I looked it up in our NRSV Harper Study Bible, and it said “And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
Today had it’s share of curve balls, including the news that we have an additional $400 of work that needs to be done on the car. My daughter suffered a lot of discomfort from her newly fitted braces and I’m hoping she will be able to be compliant with all the new rules that come with having braces. But now it is evening and we are safe at home. I’m not complaining.
Even though we live in an apartment and do our wash in the laundry room (one washer and dryer for nine units), it’s not hard to do laundry in San Diego. In the middle of January it’s sunny and warm. The picture above is of my supplemental dryer, also known as a balcony. I use my solar dryer for the more delicate items that would get roasted in the electric dryer. I was a little concerned that I might rile the neighbors by hanging out my laundry, but I haven’t gotten any complaints. I don’t put any boxer shorts or other intimate items on display.
In the background of the picture you can see the alley. Our neighborhood in University Heights was designed with alleys that divide every block in half. It’s clean and safe and I got used to it very quickly. There are very few backyards here. Almost every bit of space is used for either apartments or single home dwellings. Because our apartment isn’t facing the street it’s mostly very quiet here (except when the garbage trucks come rolling around.)
