Itâs through Aetna and similar to most other group plans available. Membership to Fractured Atlas does cost something, but itâs still much more reasonable than independent insurance. Itâs not available in all states, so check out their website, www.fracturedatlas.org , to see if it is available where you live. There are also similar programs for other groups/states, so ask around to see whatâs out there.
If you want to check out clinical trials, they usually pay for all your procedures, etc. Check out the NIHâs site to search whatâs being tested. ( http://clinicaltrials.gov ) HOWEVER, ONLY DO TRIALS THAT ARE IN PHASE 3 OR 4. In those phases they know the side effects and are usually honing in on the proper dosages, i.e., they are fairly sure it wonât accidentally kill you.
Get in touch with a foundation focusing on your illness. The people there may be able to help find you money to pay for expensive treatments.
Talk with the social worker at your hospital. They can help connect you with resources.
CUT ACROSS THE DOTTED LINE
TESSA PETROCCO
Around one in the afternoon, the chalky aftertaste of codeine erupts in my mouthâ¦except thereâs no pill in sight. My body still craves it fifteen years later.
Every downpour is a reminder of my past. âItâs just the aches that come along with getting older, Tessa,â my parents said.
âIâve been old since I was eight years old,â I respond.
Silence.
Most kids who are eight years old are learning their times tables, having their first slumber parties and playing flashlight tag until late hours of the night. I wasnât like most kids.
I started out just like them. I joined a soccer team, which quickly became my entire reason for being. I had an entire neighborhood of friends and even had boys who liked me.
Then it happened.
During a particularly exciting soccer game the summer going into third grade, we were tied with the undefeated team. I had the ball at my feet, quickly approaching the goal, when all of a sudden I felt a pop. I fell to my knees in agony. I donât think I stopped crying until my parents rolled me out of the hospital after my surgery a few days before Christmas.
I was diagnosed with a rare degenerative disease known as Legg-Calvé-Perthes where the hip joint suffers a loss of bone mass that leads to the collapse of the joint itself. In my case, the femoral artery in my hip had stopped delivering blood to the ball of my femur and caused it to shatter.
I was given two options: to operate on the hip joint, which would entail reconstructing the hip, placing it for 8-to-10 months using metal rods and later on removing said rods, or to wear a semi-permanent leg brace for two years.
The leg brace meant transferring to a school for kids with special needs, and I didnât want that, so I told them to cut me open.
I told my mom I wanted her there with me in the operating room, should anything happen to me. Even at such a young age, I knew there were always complications with surgeries, and tearfully, she agreed.
As I was going under anesthesia, my momâs hand in one of my hands and a white, stuffed cat, named Harley after my real cat, in the other, I suddenly became fearful of what was going to happen. The coming months hit me all at once and the fact I was medically delirious didnât help matters. For all I knew, my last moments on Earth would be filled with fearful tears. I clutched onto my momâs hand for dear life and as I passed out, prayed sheâd be there when I woke up.
If
I woke up.
But I did wake up, and she was there alongside my dad. At that moment, I knew what unconditional love truly felt like and it hasnât left since.
Like most people who go through massive reconstructive surgery, I gained weight. Itâs human nature to have it get to you after a while, feeling hopeless and helpless, but when you have hundreds of students reminding you on a daily
If you want to check out clinical trials, they usually pay for all your procedures, etc. Check out the NIHâs site to search whatâs being tested. ( http://clinicaltrials.gov ) HOWEVER, ONLY DO TRIALS THAT ARE IN PHASE 3 OR 4. In those phases they know the side effects and are usually honing in on the proper dosages, i.e., they are fairly sure it wonât accidentally kill you.
Get in touch with a foundation focusing on your illness. The people there may be able to help find you money to pay for expensive treatments.
Talk with the social worker at your hospital. They can help connect you with resources.
CUT ACROSS THE DOTTED LINE
TESSA PETROCCO
Around one in the afternoon, the chalky aftertaste of codeine erupts in my mouthâ¦except thereâs no pill in sight. My body still craves it fifteen years later.
Every downpour is a reminder of my past. âItâs just the aches that come along with getting older, Tessa,â my parents said.
âIâve been old since I was eight years old,â I respond.
Silence.
Most kids who are eight years old are learning their times tables, having their first slumber parties and playing flashlight tag until late hours of the night. I wasnât like most kids.
I started out just like them. I joined a soccer team, which quickly became my entire reason for being. I had an entire neighborhood of friends and even had boys who liked me.
Then it happened.
During a particularly exciting soccer game the summer going into third grade, we were tied with the undefeated team. I had the ball at my feet, quickly approaching the goal, when all of a sudden I felt a pop. I fell to my knees in agony. I donât think I stopped crying until my parents rolled me out of the hospital after my surgery a few days before Christmas.
I was diagnosed with a rare degenerative disease known as Legg-Calvé-Perthes where the hip joint suffers a loss of bone mass that leads to the collapse of the joint itself. In my case, the femoral artery in my hip had stopped delivering blood to the ball of my femur and caused it to shatter.
I was given two options: to operate on the hip joint, which would entail reconstructing the hip, placing it for 8-to-10 months using metal rods and later on removing said rods, or to wear a semi-permanent leg brace for two years.
The leg brace meant transferring to a school for kids with special needs, and I didnât want that, so I told them to cut me open.
I told my mom I wanted her there with me in the operating room, should anything happen to me. Even at such a young age, I knew there were always complications with surgeries, and tearfully, she agreed.
As I was going under anesthesia, my momâs hand in one of my hands and a white, stuffed cat, named Harley after my real cat, in the other, I suddenly became fearful of what was going to happen. The coming months hit me all at once and the fact I was medically delirious didnât help matters. For all I knew, my last moments on Earth would be filled with fearful tears. I clutched onto my momâs hand for dear life and as I passed out, prayed sheâd be there when I woke up.
If
I woke up.
But I did wake up, and she was there alongside my dad. At that moment, I knew what unconditional love truly felt like and it hasnât left since.
Like most people who go through massive reconstructive surgery, I gained weight. Itâs human nature to have it get to you after a while, feeling hopeless and helpless, but when you have hundreds of students reminding you on a daily
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