Feeding Recovery.
Donation protected
Okay. For those of you who don't know me, here's a little bit of the story.
My name is Jake Hughes. I'm 21 years old and for the past five years, I have been battling an eating disorder. It began in my junior year of high school in response to what I'll simply label as "personal tragedy"; I began to exercise compulsively and eat restrictively. Over the next two years, it slowly progressed and my illness became more and more unmanageable. Despite being accepted into programs for theater and filmmaking in three different universities, I declined all offers, worried that it would be a waste of my family's limited finances to move away for college only to let my eating disorder grow out of control.
My family sought out information on treatment programs within Saint Loui, but had no luck. At that time, none of the truly viable options for treatment accepted my family's insurance company. It was impossible to utilize any of those resources for my recovery; eating disorder treatment is unbelievably expensive, and without the aid of insurance, it's simply unaffordable for my family. Instead, I began pursuing treatment for my eating disorder in what I now realize was quite possibly the shittiest, most unprofessional out-patient program in Saint Louis (which has since dissolved). I worked with that program for close to two years, making minimal progress and receiving less than optimal support. Even when my diet stabilized slightly, my compulsive behaviors with exercise grew unmanageable. I was diagnosed with an accute exercise addiction.
"I had no idea things were that bad."
In August of 2014, after a summer of mounting injuries and bizarre physical symptoms, I finally broke down from sheer frustration and consulted a physician at McCallum Place, one of the premiere eating disorder treatment facilities in the Midwest. I found out that my health was in a more precarious place than I could've imagined. The doctor told me my LDL was so unbelievably elevated it was amazing I could function whatsoever; my body had literally turned toxic and was cannibalizing itself internally. My liver was damaged. My heart could potentially stop in my sleep if I slept lying down.
I was devastated. And I was ashamed.
Two days later, I quit my job, dropped out of college, and gave up every part of my old life to enter treatment full time. September 17, 2014. And until late October, it looked like things might just be okay. But by November, my insurance dropped me down to an intensive out-patient program. Instead of receiving the level of care and support I needed to recover, I was going to the treatment center three times a week for dinner.
Due to extenuating personal circumstances and lack of available support and resources, I fought a serious lapse through December and January. I broke down and petitioned both the treatment center and the insurance company to authorize full time coverage. They complied very, very briefly, but as soon as my vital signs began to stabilize, they dropped me. Ultimately, this led to being denied coverage all together and having to discharge from McCallum Place very suddenly. All because the insurance company wouldn't authorize any sort of coverage. I wasn't dying anymore; by their standards, I was fine.
I spent most of February and early March with no support system or official treatment options available to me, doing my best not to relapse entirely. I spent nearly six weeks on my own, trying desperately to keep it together for my family. But I hadn't been prepared. Not only had there been no formal discharge plan laid out for me-- the insurance company had blindsided my treatment team with it--, I was far from healthy enough mentally or physically to be managing recovery on my own. Symptomology reminscient of August began to slowly resurface for me. I once again went to see the same physician I saw in August. My health, while not in as dramatically awful of a place, was not stable. With the physician's help petitioning the insurance company and the assistance of my old treatment team, the insurance company agreed to readmit me. I took that as a good sign.
My first case review occurred three days after readmitting. That was alarmingly quick, to say the least... But at this point, nothing awful our insurance does surprises me.
My treatment team, at that review, asked for authorization of coverage for two weeks of coverage. They authorized four days.
Those four days ran out today, and another review occurred. My team-- a clinical MD, a psychiatrist, a dietician, and a professional therapist-- asked for one week of coverage. They authorized two days.
My next insurance review is on Friday. My family is terrified. I'm unbelievably stressed. I don't know what to do. I need more help. I'm painfully clear on that. My health is not yet stable. I am not within my goal weight range. I have not been declared healthy enough to begin physical exercise, which means I can't even begin to address the fundamental issue of my exercise addiction. I'm at a loss. So I'm asking for help.
I come from a middle-middle-class family. My father is a teacher at a private school. My mother is the director of a non-profit organization for the arts. I'm not bemoaning this. I'm stating a fact: my family doesn't have much money. And the insurance company doesn't want to help us.
My family, even with assistance and a covered deductible from the insurance company, already owes $5100 for my treatment.
At McCallum Place, a week of full-time, ten-hour partial hospitalization treatment amounts to roughly $6200 dollars. It is $880 a day for that level.
A week of part-time, six-hour partial hospitalization treatment shakes out to $680 per day-- a total of $4670 dollars.
Right now, all I'm asking for is... whatever you can give. I was hesitant to choose an amount for the campaign, because I don't have a set goal. Anything anyone can offer is so much more than appreciated. It is cherished. If you want to talk about treatment, or about eating disorders-- my journey, my personal case, or just a fairly comprehensive explanation of eating disorders as genetically passed mental illnesses--, I am more than willing to do that. My family needs help. I need help. I want to get better.
Right now, all I'm asking for is whatever anyone can give. No amount is too little. But for the campaign's goal, I have chosen $6500 dollars, to be used either to attain at least one week of treatment, or to be used by my parents to pay off the debt they have already accrued. But everything, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant to you, is an incredible blessing to me and to my family.
This is just me asking. Please.
And thank you.
My name is Jake Hughes. I'm 21 years old and for the past five years, I have been battling an eating disorder. It began in my junior year of high school in response to what I'll simply label as "personal tragedy"; I began to exercise compulsively and eat restrictively. Over the next two years, it slowly progressed and my illness became more and more unmanageable. Despite being accepted into programs for theater and filmmaking in three different universities, I declined all offers, worried that it would be a waste of my family's limited finances to move away for college only to let my eating disorder grow out of control.
My family sought out information on treatment programs within Saint Loui, but had no luck. At that time, none of the truly viable options for treatment accepted my family's insurance company. It was impossible to utilize any of those resources for my recovery; eating disorder treatment is unbelievably expensive, and without the aid of insurance, it's simply unaffordable for my family. Instead, I began pursuing treatment for my eating disorder in what I now realize was quite possibly the shittiest, most unprofessional out-patient program in Saint Louis (which has since dissolved). I worked with that program for close to two years, making minimal progress and receiving less than optimal support. Even when my diet stabilized slightly, my compulsive behaviors with exercise grew unmanageable. I was diagnosed with an accute exercise addiction.
"I had no idea things were that bad."
In August of 2014, after a summer of mounting injuries and bizarre physical symptoms, I finally broke down from sheer frustration and consulted a physician at McCallum Place, one of the premiere eating disorder treatment facilities in the Midwest. I found out that my health was in a more precarious place than I could've imagined. The doctor told me my LDL was so unbelievably elevated it was amazing I could function whatsoever; my body had literally turned toxic and was cannibalizing itself internally. My liver was damaged. My heart could potentially stop in my sleep if I slept lying down.
I was devastated. And I was ashamed.
Two days later, I quit my job, dropped out of college, and gave up every part of my old life to enter treatment full time. September 17, 2014. And until late October, it looked like things might just be okay. But by November, my insurance dropped me down to an intensive out-patient program. Instead of receiving the level of care and support I needed to recover, I was going to the treatment center three times a week for dinner.
Due to extenuating personal circumstances and lack of available support and resources, I fought a serious lapse through December and January. I broke down and petitioned both the treatment center and the insurance company to authorize full time coverage. They complied very, very briefly, but as soon as my vital signs began to stabilize, they dropped me. Ultimately, this led to being denied coverage all together and having to discharge from McCallum Place very suddenly. All because the insurance company wouldn't authorize any sort of coverage. I wasn't dying anymore; by their standards, I was fine.
I spent most of February and early March with no support system or official treatment options available to me, doing my best not to relapse entirely. I spent nearly six weeks on my own, trying desperately to keep it together for my family. But I hadn't been prepared. Not only had there been no formal discharge plan laid out for me-- the insurance company had blindsided my treatment team with it--, I was far from healthy enough mentally or physically to be managing recovery on my own. Symptomology reminscient of August began to slowly resurface for me. I once again went to see the same physician I saw in August. My health, while not in as dramatically awful of a place, was not stable. With the physician's help petitioning the insurance company and the assistance of my old treatment team, the insurance company agreed to readmit me. I took that as a good sign.
My first case review occurred three days after readmitting. That was alarmingly quick, to say the least... But at this point, nothing awful our insurance does surprises me.
My treatment team, at that review, asked for authorization of coverage for two weeks of coverage. They authorized four days.
Those four days ran out today, and another review occurred. My team-- a clinical MD, a psychiatrist, a dietician, and a professional therapist-- asked for one week of coverage. They authorized two days.
My next insurance review is on Friday. My family is terrified. I'm unbelievably stressed. I don't know what to do. I need more help. I'm painfully clear on that. My health is not yet stable. I am not within my goal weight range. I have not been declared healthy enough to begin physical exercise, which means I can't even begin to address the fundamental issue of my exercise addiction. I'm at a loss. So I'm asking for help.
I come from a middle-middle-class family. My father is a teacher at a private school. My mother is the director of a non-profit organization for the arts. I'm not bemoaning this. I'm stating a fact: my family doesn't have much money. And the insurance company doesn't want to help us.
My family, even with assistance and a covered deductible from the insurance company, already owes $5100 for my treatment.
At McCallum Place, a week of full-time, ten-hour partial hospitalization treatment amounts to roughly $6200 dollars. It is $880 a day for that level.
A week of part-time, six-hour partial hospitalization treatment shakes out to $680 per day-- a total of $4670 dollars.
Right now, all I'm asking for is... whatever you can give. I was hesitant to choose an amount for the campaign, because I don't have a set goal. Anything anyone can offer is so much more than appreciated. It is cherished. If you want to talk about treatment, or about eating disorders-- my journey, my personal case, or just a fairly comprehensive explanation of eating disorders as genetically passed mental illnesses--, I am more than willing to do that. My family needs help. I need help. I want to get better.
Right now, all I'm asking for is whatever anyone can give. No amount is too little. But for the campaign's goal, I have chosen $6500 dollars, to be used either to attain at least one week of treatment, or to be used by my parents to pay off the debt they have already accrued. But everything, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant to you, is an incredible blessing to me and to my family.
This is just me asking. Please.
And thank you.
Organizer
Jake Hughes
Organizer
Maplewood, MO
