Well. All good things must come to an end, I guess.

Last Thursday I got notice that my insurance provider, Cigna, will not be participating in the Virginia Healthcare Marketplace program for 2027. (See this previous post about why this is how I have to get my insurance.)

What does this mean for me?

It means I need to find a new insurance provider for next year—while I’ll still be in active treatment—and I can’t even sign up for one, or know who will be participating in the Marketplace, until November of this year.

I was already having a tough morning when I got the news, and I absolutely lost my shit for two main reasons:

Number one: FEAR.

The thing that is literally keeping me alive at a relatively affordable cost is being taken away. My body experiences that as a threat to survival because, in a way, it is.

I love my care team. They are in charge of keeping me alive. And because I trust them so much, I fully intend to keep them as my team for the next five years—through active treatment, remission, and surveillance.

Now I have to figure out how to keep that team while changing insurance plans, while also securing coverage that hopefully remains affordable enough that I don’t go bankrupt in the process.

And also:
We live in a country where this is even a thing.

Why does someone with two cancers have to spend a single second worrying about health insurance? Or securing health insurance? It’s infuriating.

And, let’s be honest: I am a woman with a tremendous amount of privilege, so this navigation is easier for me than it will be for many others. I’m educated. I’m white. I’m middle class. I know how to find support. I speak the language.

This could be—and I’m sure is—so much worse for so many people.

So what do we do?

We do what I told My Unlikely Friend I’d do the next time I spiraled this hard [insert link]. I:

1. Feel my feelings.
2. Remind myself “one day at a time” (or, as my not-therapist ChatGPT advised: “you do not need to solve 2027 today”).
3. Call My Unlikely Friend, who in my heightened emotional states usually lets me feel my feelings for about 45 seconds before defaulting straight to action—but who did spend a few solid minutes sitting in the “this is fucking bullshit” with me and assuring me there had to be legal protections around this before pivoting into problem-solving mode.

So what did I do?

The above. Then, on infusion day (Tuesday), I told my oncologist (Dr. Cannon) what was going on and said, “You all certainly must have a resource for this, right?”

And of course they do.

Less than two minutes after voicing my concern, I was introduced to a social worker who can help me navigate the process—specifically, understanding what questions to ask insurance brokers and companies about coverage, and who at Inova to talk to about which providers and treatments are accepted under which plans.

So.
That’s happening.

And now for the little extra cherry on top.

When I met with Dr. Cannon this week, one of the things I asked for was more clarity around my colorectal surgery timeline: how we get it on the books, how I mentally prepare for it, how I manage my mindset around the timing of everything, etc. (More on that in the longer diagnosis/treatment update once I survive this chemo week.)

And because he is the absolute best—and because of everything I said above about not wanting to lose this team—he said:
“Oh, I’ll just text your surgeon and get a date on the calendar if that’ll make you feel better.”

Uh. Sure.
Please. Text away.

The level of support I feel from this team is honestly extraordinary.

But apparently not quite as extraordinary as your oncologist personally calling you later that same day to follow up—not an aide, not a nurse, not a scheduler, but him directly.

Too bad the news he shared was:
My colorectal surgeon is no longer practicing.

What the fuck?

Bro. It’s like a member of my team just quietly dipped with no goodbye. And, uh, he had a pretty significant role on my team.

So now I need to find a new surgeon.

Except… I don’t, really. Because my team is so fucking good, Dr. Cannon immediately said he’d help find someone for me.

And yes, of course I can vet whoever I want. But do I want my current #1 teammate finding me the best surgeon he can?

You bet your ass I do.

So I guess that’s this week’s installment of Healthcare Bullshit.

And we just keep slogging through. One day at a time. Finding the tiny specks of gratitude and “what’s working” along the way so we don’t completely lose our minds on a daily basis.

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To listen to an audio version of this on Spotify, click here. To listen on Apple Podcasts, click here.

The previous post about insurance can be found in the archives here.