Yesterday when I found out that the cost of Humira had gone up by 50% over last year, I said, no.  I called my insurance company, another pharmacy, and then—because it was after 5 pm and offices were closed— began to gather my facts for other calls to be placed today.  Meanwhile, I googled organizations that might have grant money.  Then I found that the price of Humira, which is a vulgarly expensive specialty drug, had been raised by the manufacturer.  Chances of the price going down  (without legislation that forces them to do so) are slim.

Before I started taking Humira, I thought giving myself a shot in the stomach would be hard. Ha! At first, when I had no insurance, the pharmaceutical  company gave me the drug free.  When I turned 65, things changed.  For the first two years, I got grants that covered all costs that insurance did not, but then the grant money lessened. There has been little money for psoriatic arthritis patients the past three  years.  My guess is, people earmark gifts for other diseases., which is certainly their right.

And certainly others are more needy than I am.  At this time, we have the money to pay for the drug, which I need to keep manual dexterity.  Without it, my hands would soon become deformed, making simple tasks difficult or impossible.

Yesterday, all of this futile research left me distraught.  I was home alone, and I felt abandoned.  That’s when I asked for prayer.  I was afraid my faith wasn’t enough.

How silly of me! While I was crying and posting a prayer request on FaceBook, I was also calling out to Jesus and playing YouTube versions of beloved hymns of the faith to lift my spirit and make me whole again.   What I experienced was a figurative “moment of human weakness” that quickly passed.  Before Bill got home, I was fine.  I will admit, I was very glad to see him. We had a nice late dinner and watched part of a basketball game.  I prayed my usual rosary before I went to sleep a bit later than usual. I woke up strong., determined to follow Jesus more closely today than I have ever done before.

I thank God for faithful priests like Father Cook, who told me that sin occurs not when our thoughts (or volatile emotions) are out line but when we act on the thoughts in a  way that violates the will of God.

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