Dear Medical Field: DO BETTER.

I’m going to say this at the risk of sounding like a spoiled 4-year-old who’s not getting her way…

It’s not fair. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, IT’S NOT FAIR.

I’m writing this with tears streaming down my face. My lip is quivering, my eyes burning, my chest on fire.

I am weary. And I’m angry.

A typical outpatient treatment team for someone with an eating disorder consists of: a therapist, a dietitian, a psychiatrist, a primary care physician – all of whom preferably specialize in eating disorders. And this is the minimum.

75% of my income each month pays for services my insurance does not cover. Services that are necessary to manage a legitimate, diagnosed illness that I’ve been fighting for nearly 20 years.

You read that right. 75 PERCENT OF MY INCOME.

I’ve spent the last several hours on the phone with my insurance company, trying to advocate for myself and negotiate the medical care I need to manage my eating disorder.

Often, the provers who are covered by insurance are unhelpful at best…and incredibly harmful and problematic, even detrimental to the recovery process, at worst – simply because most medical providers are not experienced, or even trained, to treat eating disorders.

That has been my experience with my current psychiatrist, who spent a single minute on the phone with me, wrote a prescription, and promptly collected a $70 co-pay.

My morning was derailed by a doctor appointment that left me feeling defeated, hurt, and unseen. (That’s a story for another post.)

I’ve spent the afternoon calling and emailing psychiatrists’ offices. I’ve called dietitians, in hopes of finding one who offers reduced rates or sliding scale. I am diligently seeking quality-yet-affordable care. I am careful (and anxious and stressed and fearful and painfully-aware) with my money.

I am so incredibly grateful for a therapist who is 1) amazingly gifted and has been such a beautiful blessing in my life the last few months, 2) willing to work with me financially by giving me a significantly-reduced rate (read: I pay her 40% of her normal rate), and 3) encouraging me in my search for other qualified-yet-affordable professionals to add to my treatment team.

As I cried to my mom earlier, after this day that has felt so full of defeat, she held my hand while the pups licked my tears. All I could think was, “It’s not fair.”

• It’s not fair that quality medical care is so inaccessible for people with eating disorders.
• It’s not fair that that care is outrageously expensive.
• It’s not fair that eating disorders are not seen as legitimate illnesses in the medical field.
• It’s not fair that I work so hard and put my heart into everything I do, but it wouldn’t be enough to live on, even if I wasn’t spending 75% of it on medical care.
• It’s not fair that I have an eating disorder, or anxiety, or depression, or PTSD.
• It’s not fair that it’s this hard to get medical care.
• It’s not fair that everything is this hard.

Don’t get me wrong…

I’m not normally an “it’s not fair” kind of girl. I’m typically a suck-it-up, solution-oriented, find-a-way and get-shit-done kind of girl. I know things aren’t always fair. I know life is sometimes hard. I know life is often hard. I know you’ve got to work hard to get where you want to go in life. I’m no stranger to picking myself up back up and putting one foot in front of the other, mile after metaphorical mile.

This isn’t a “poor me” post. This isn’t a plea for pity.

This is a cry for the medical field to do better. For insurance companies to do better.

Because I think I can pretty confidently speak for the majority of those of us who struggle with eating disorders and are seeking treatment when I say, we’re tired. We’re weary. We’re angry. We’re overwhelmed.

And we deserve better. I deserve better. (Wow, my therapist would be proud.)

I deserve better. And you, my fellow warrior sisters & brothers, deserve better, too.