The Cost of Chronic Illness: Heather's Story

Hi friends, thank you for taking the time to read this and consider giving.

Being chronically ill is hard. Really hard. The physical health obstacles the past 15 years have had on my body are all-consuming. Twenty-one major surgeries, countless procedures, endless appointments, and an entirely new way of having bowel movements.

At 21, when I had my first surgery, it was emergent and came on the heels of an out-of-country trip to Central America. I, of course, and the doctors, thought I perhaps had an infection of sorts, possibly malaria, even though I took preventative medications and vaccinations. I had surgery a few days after initially seeking help at the ER in Pullman. This was my very first trip to an emergency room ever. It was also my first mistreatment and dismissal by a doctor. The ER doctor dismissed my high fever and high blood counts that indicated infection and neglected to do any imaging despite severe pain and inability to eat and drink and keep it down, all clear-cut signs of infection. Oh, and my personal favorite, he asked me if I was a Mormon since I had just returned from a mission trip, and I said no, and he then told me that, oh well, you’re all the same anyway. Keep your bullshit to yourself, doc; I’m just here to figure out what’s going on.

A few days later, I went to student health on campus and was quickly advised by the physician there that I needed to go to the hospital. While there, I was delirious and only remembered bits and pieces of that visit. I remember my roommate and her friend walking me in, holding me on either side. I also tried drinking water upon the doctor’s request and immediately threw it up. High fevers make me so out of it. When we reached the ER, it was about 5 or 6 in the evening, and in a small area like Pullman, there were very few surgeons, but at least the on-call surgeon wasn’t far away. I was admitted to the ER and given medications to prepare and for symptom control. I don’t remember much about my first IV pain medication doses, but apparently, my roommate said I kept saying goodbye to her and telling her I loved her. My subconscious was scared for my first surgery ever. Up until this point, I had never had any health issues. No broken bones, no cavities, and not even so much as a bee sting.

Fast forward fifteen years, and a night in the ER is just another day, and hospital admission is another week. My life has become entrenched with my chronic illness. Physically in so many ways, of course. Living with a colostomy. Dealing with chronic pain. It has also taken its toll mentally and emotionally. I have endured a lot of trauma and have to work through that with therapists and complex post-traumatic stress treatments from all the medical trauma I have suffered and continue to endure.

And lastly, financially. My illness has cost at least 4x the out-of-pocket cost of my college education. In 2020, Washington finally had a paid medical leave option put on the books for up to 12 weeks of paid leave for a medical issue or paternity leave, and even up to 16 weeks for pregnancy and maternity leave. That help has been excellent in comparison to my 20 surgery recoveries prior. Still, the truth is, after 15 years of continually dwindling my savings for medical costs, unpaid leave from work, and out-of-pocket expenses, I am always living on the edge of my next emergency wiping me out.

So many people ask me how they can help me. This campaign is tangible and, frankly, one of the most effective ways to do so. It is draining to deal with all the extra worries accompanying chronic illness. The physical parts are enough to drive you crazy alone but toppled with mental, emotional, and financial concerns, it's entirely too heavy, nearly at all times. Funds will be used for medical bills, my out-of-pocket costs for medical equipment, out-of-network copays, and missed income from unpaid sick days. This is a hard ask for me because I pride myself on being the giver and serving others. I often feel helpless when I see others struggling and am unsure how to help. So I keep telling myself that this is a way others can help to lift chronic illness financial burdens.

I am eternally grateful to anyone who donates, sends encouragement, and shares this campaign. Keep reaching out, sending love, telling me how I’ve been an encouragement to you, and keep on going. Life is hard. Life is messy. But life is good, and life is worth it.

Heather Grinde