breast cancer, life, Uncategorized

Why is my life dispensable?

In a press conference today, Mitch McConnell discussed how Republicans plan to repeal the ACA, and it was clear in the press conference, the plan is to repeal, not replace. Not now.

Repeal. No replacement.

20 million Americans.

No replacement.

I’ve been told to get a job, to pay for my own insurance, to stop living off the government.

These people refuse to understand I have a job, I pay for my own insurance, and I’ve never lived off the government. I rely on the ACA to protect me from predatory insurance practices. I rely on the ACA so that my insurance company does not drop me from coverage because I had breast cancer. I rely on the ACA so that my insurance company cannot enforce annual and lifetime maximums. I rely on the ACA so that my insurance covers the medication I need to (hopefully) keep my cancer at bay.

The press conference made it clear I will lose those protections from the insurance practices…from annual and lifetime maximums and not having to worry about the insurance company kicking me off my policy because I developed cancer.

How nice it must be to live in a world where no one gets sick. How nice it must be to feel that kind of superiority.

I was once that arrogant…thought I’d never need my health insurance, but I paid for it every month just in case.

2015. Just in case happened.

Breast cancer.

Age 37.

Some have insinuated to me that it’s my fault, which I guess is why those same people see my life as less, as dispensable.

Worthless.

When illness comes knocking on your door, I hope you never find out how it feels when someone blames you for your illness. You did something wrong. You weren’t good enough. This was in the plan for your life. Something good will come of it. Have faith. Just believe.

The ACA helped save my life.

You voted for a man and a party that see people like me as less, as other, as dispensable.

You voted against my life.

Don’t tell me to get over it. Don’t tell me not to worry about it. Don’t tell me this won’t happen.

It’s happening.

I did something I rarely do: I called my senators’ offices this afternoon and talked to an aide in their offices. I told them my story. I doubt very seriously it’ll matter, but I cannot stay silent anymore. These men, Senator Cornyn and Senator Cruz, are my elected senators. I may not have voted for them, but they represent me nonetheless. So, someone in their offices can listen to my story. They may forget, it may go nowhere, but at least I tried.

I just wish my voice mattered, that my experiences mattered.

 

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