Now, you may not know this, but today is actually a special day! It’s my anniversary!
The one month anniversary, in fact, of the day that I got rear-ended by a middle-aged soccer mom in her huge-ass van! What do I have to show for it, you might ask? Well, mainly a bigger butt (I’ve put on 5lbs because of inactivity and meds…), a dwindling bank account, oodles of doctor’s bills, and a bigger headache than ever before! I also have a busted up car, neck, arm, and back, but hey, those are the kinda gifts you get when a complete stranger gives your derriere that oh so special “getting to know you” love tap.
In the last month, I have done little to nothing of any major value, unless, of course, you count sitting on your ass, laying about, taking medicine and then sleeping too much as ‘something’.
(If you count that as something, then we need to talk because you might have a problem, and/or also be my new best friend.)
At any rate, I wasn’t at fault for the accident, but that didn’t stop it from putting a hold on literally EVERYTHING in my life. For those of you who don’t know, I recently turned 27 had a birthday and I spent it zonked out on meds and marathoning Netflix shows from my bed. I think I left the room maybe three times, and it was mostly because I had to pee.
The song of the porcelain throne is a siren’s call.
In this interim of inaction, I’ve had the unfortunate position of having to speak with the insurance company for a length of time, which led to them trying to get me to sign my life over for little more than they probably make in 30 seconds. They also tried to avoid paying the medical bills that occurred as a result of their client’s negligence. They attempted to do all of this days after the accident before I even had knowledge of how bad my injuries really were.
“Then I told her that we’d pay for the medical bills… for the first week!”
I’m going to let you in on a less than secret “secret”: Insurance companies are evil. I think they might work for Hitler, who is actually subcontracting for the Devil from the innermost circle of Hell in the office next to every serial murderer and across the hall from the room reserved for the Westboro Baptist Church.
Take everything you know about empathy, shred it, throw the bits in the air, have an orgy in the pile, and then shit all over whatever’s left, and you basically have what amounts to the insurance agency’s desire to help you solve your problems.
I’m not posting a picture for that. Use your imaginations. Sickos.
What I’m saying is that they genuinely don’t care one iota about you, your pain, or your problems.
I couldn’t give less of a shit. I really, truly mean it.
I went into this with the attitude that hey, as long as my medical bills are paid, I’ll be okay and work with them… which promptly had to go straight out the window when they showed their hand. It was about a week after my accident when I realized that I might actually have to get an attorney to handle the travesty, because they were seriously, seriously uninterested in trying to help me.
In the meantime, while I’m waiting for all of this to get sorted, I haven’t been able to work, and my car still hasn’t been repaired because not only is the insurance company trying to wiggle out of it, but I also have the estimate writer at their repair place being downright nasty to me.
(Rodney… what a perfect name for you.)
Add on to this that I’m basically spending 3-5 days a week in a doctor’s office, and it’s literally the most Sisyphean task I’ve ever had to endure.
Now remember, the only reason that I’m in this endless cycle is because someone else was careless, and they have people on their side who are paid to make my road to recovery as difficult as humanly possible. They are paid to make us miserable and to make us accept less than we need to survive, and that, my friends, is not okay.
There are, of course, people in the world who whine a bit too loudly when something like this happens, and I totally get that. But then, there are also people who are just trying to get themselves back to status quo. The many will always suffer for the few, but it just really makes you hate the process that much more when you realize that someone literally has a job where they are told to screw you over as much as possible.
And to those people, I would gladly offer you this lovely double fingered salute, but you’ve seen it so much you’d probably just think of it as a term of endearment by now.