Trigger Warning: this post may contain content that can trigger a shift in mood, comfort, or mental status. Proceed at your own risk.
Christmas had been a little rough for me. The fact that everyone had to come visit us instead of the other way around really bothered me and I felt like I’d let everyone down. The final trigger that sent me to the hospital the second time was a telephone conversation with my disability insurance case agent. They like to call every six weeks or so to see how things are going. Unfortunately, I was (and still am) unable to answer the phone, so J spoke with them and set up an appointment for them to call when she’d be home to help me.
Up to this point I was feeling not too badly – maybe around a five or six. The thought of talking to the insurance company made my stomach churn a bit but I thought that with J there things would be okay.
When the call came, J answered the phone and then put it on speaker so we could both participate in the conversation. I was immediately nervous and could feel panic building in my chest. The case agent was pleasant enough, but the questions she asked were very difficult for me to answer. J stepped in quite a few times to help, but as the interview continued, it felt more like a grilling than a conversation to see how I was doing.
After a while, I began to shut down and answered fewer and fewer questions. All I could think about was how the insurance company was going to cancel my insurance and the financial hardships that would surely follow. At the time, J wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with her job and the idea of losing the house felt very real to me. I could feel myself beginning to fall apart.
After what seemed like hours, the conversation ended. I was in very rough shape and J was concerned about me. A few days later at my Dr C appointment, I broke down and wanted to kill myself. Thankfully, Dr C could see what was going on and wouldn’t let me leave her office by myself. J was on the phone with Dr W, telling him what was going on and came to pick me up. Fortunately, there was a bed available in the hospital so I was able to get in.
As I said earlier, the insurance company wanted to call around every six weeks to interview me. Dr W called them, told them what had happened, and that they were a trigger and weren’t to call until he told them they could. He told me that I didn’t need to worry about the calls and that helped me quite a bit. There was still a lot of fixing to be done, though, and five weeks later, I was home.