It was a dreary day today. The perfect way to end April. I remember the ride to school was a long one, despite it being just down the road. I sat through class in a partial daze. Time has gone by so quickly. Time has drudged by these past few weeks. I just want it to be over. It rained last night. The tiny gray pools of reflective water littered the ground as the gray clouds loomed overhead. The sun didn’t have a chance to peek out.

Amongst all of that, I was standing outside the school, waiting for my ride, when I was approached by a construction worker. He was part of the team of workers who are building the medical school up. He tapped me on the shoulder, then briskly brushed my bare arm, scratching me. I pulled out my ear buds and asked why he did that. “You had wasps on your arm,” he replied, and pointed to the ground where he had stomped the deadly bugs. I thanked him, making sure to tell him that he saved my life, since I was allergic to them.

On the ride home, I searched my messenger bag for my Epi Pen. It was nowhere to be found in the mess that is my school bag. I shrugged, thinking that it was at home in my purse. I never thought of taking it, especially since the honey bees and wasps don’t attack me until the winter months. I hadn’t seen all that many out recently. Getting home, I searched my purse, and the Epi Pen was not there. I searched my desk, my dresser, nothing. I then got a good idea where it might be, or have been, and I asked my husband where he had put the bag of things from my car when he cleaned it out. He told me, and I searched through that. No Epi Pen. Damn. When my car was junked, they must have taken off with my Epi Pen in the back seat. No problem. I called my doctor.

The receptionist at the Doctor’s Office put me on hold and he actually came to the phone. He questioned me why I needed a new Epi Pen–he’d just renewed mine in February. I told him that I had lost mine in my car accident. “Oh. Well I can see your records here, and it says that you still owe us six-thousand dollars in back pay for medical services.” “So? We’ve been paying you a thousand a week,” I replied. “So I can’t write you that prescription.” “It’s not a controlled substance! What am I going to do if I get stung?” “Are you going to pay us today?” “I can’t! I don’t have any money!” “Then I suggest that you not go anywhere where you can get stung.” *click*

He hung up on me.

My doctor hung up on me and refused to write me a prescription for something that I need because I still owe him $6000 for “medical services”. WTF?! Isn’t this some kind of abuse?