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Apparently, we’re moving again.

May 17th, 2017

Edited at 9:15pm: Landlord just called. WE DON’T HAVE TO MOVE!

We were recently told we’re probably going to have to move. It probably serves me right for being so braggadocios about the location, but I’m not even sorry.

What I am is pissed. And sad. And stressed the fuck out.

The landlord told us two days before I went in for breast cancer screening, and a few days after we found out that M has gum disease so severe that the dentist is extremely concerned about his health, and needs $10,000 in oral surgery (our insurance covers $1,000). And the next day, our car broke.

Three or four months ago, I found a lump in my breast, and I ignored it because I’ve had lumps before, and they went away. This one didn’t go away. In fact, it got larger. Eventually, I told M, and tried to get an appointment to be seen, and that day was so fucking frustrating that I pretty much cried and screamed all day.

I lost count of how many doctors I called.

My primary care physician refused to see me for the lump until I had a physical done because my last one was in 2015, and she didn’t have any physical appointments open until May. I called her around the end of March. Because catching breast cancer early is so important, I really wanted to punch her in the face. Like, seriously. Like, I’ve never wanted to punch someone so bad in my life. I won’t be seeing that doctor again. Not even if she’s the only doctor left on the planet.

I guess I should have made that decision when she tried to convince me that all of my mental health and food issues are due to prior street drug use…even after I told her that all of my mental health and food issues started when I was four years old. My bad. At least it’s made now.

Other doctors required patient screenings, and more things that I felt like I didn’t have time to wait for, and I ended up going to a doctor who is out of network because her practice was labeled wrong on the internet. She scheduled a mammogram and ultrasound for the breast with the lump, and then two days before I was scheduled to go, I found a new lump in the other breast.

Weird thing about that is I found out later in the day that the doctor’s office and radiology were making arrangements to screen both breasts about the same time I found the new lump.

That’s another fiasco in and of itself. I called my health insurance to find out if I needed to go back to the doctor who prescribed the screening for it to be covered, and the rep refused to answer my question. Just kept saying, “Call your doctor.” Having worked in medical billing, and having a mother and sister who work for an insurance company, I know that’s not standard procedure, and I probably should have filed a complaint, but I hate doing that, so I didn’t.

I really can’t believe this is how medical professionals treat women who are in fear for their life. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. This country is going to hell in a hand basket.

ANYway, the same day that I found the second lump (I found a third on the day of the screening), the landlord (who knew about both lumps, the screening, and M’s oral health) told M that we’re probably going to have to move because his sister-in-law got fired from her job, which means she no longer has a place to live because she and her family were living in the motel she managed. She begged and cried and screamed until the LL’s wife started begging and crying for him to throw us out so her sister could live here. Which is just all sorts of levels of gross, but people keep expecting us to be understanding. “It’s family.”

Fuck that.

This is the first place I’ve lived in my entire life where I’ve felt 100% safe. It’s not my dream house, but it is my dream location, and I was finally starting to see some improvement in my mental health.

Before we moved in here, we asked him at least 20 times if this was ever going to be something we needed to worry about, and every single time, he said, “No way.” And yet, here we are.

So I fell apart. Like, I haven’t fallen apart like that since the court decided my abuser would be a better parent to my children.

I’m scared. Terrified, really. I’m afraid we won’t be able to find another place like this, and we’ll have to go back to the city, and I’ll end up back in a situation where I have to be afraid to leave my house by myself. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give up my cats. We don’t have any savings because of medical bills, and moving here, so we’re living paycheck to paycheck. And we have 4 months to find a place and save for the security deposit.

I’m pretty much losing my mind.

But so is M. While all of this is going on, he’s trying to handle some pretty major work emergencies, and working from the moment we get up until the moment we go to bed literally every day. So I have to maintain a strong front and be supportive of him. It’s not like he doesn’t know that I’m losing my mind. He does. But he needs me to be the strong one right now, and so I’m giving it the old college try.

But hey, at least I don’t have cancer. Most likely. That’s a story for another post.

What the fuck are we going to do? Sigh.

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