I woke up yesterday at 9am. I worked, really worked, the whole day.
I watched my husband forget when he was, where he was, and parts of who he was.
I regularly stay awake for 20 hour shifts out of a 24 hour day.
I am watching my 27 year old husband die, and die from a disease that takes away who he is, what he loves, and his memories before it begins to take away his physical being. Which it has started.
So, you, Mr Debt Collector?
When you call at 8:23am, after I've been asleep for perhaps 3 hours?
No, I'm not compassionate this morning. I'm not kind. Cancer is not kind.
I'm going to honestly tell you, you will get nothing.
We have no money. We have no income.
Wash will never ever be able to work again in his life to pay off his medical debt.
We owe the State, the Hospital, and the Federal Government well over $1,000,000.00 already for his care. Really, we hit $750,000.00 before he was even discharged from the hospital. It might be close to 2 million dollars now from his years of care and treatment.
I'm 25. My credit is already trashed. I did not graduate before my husband became terminally ill.
I got to see that $1 million dollars of care cannot put a broken person back to "whole".
I saw a 8cm tumor take over my husband.
Mr Debt Collector? You don't scare me one little bit.
I can pay you in tears or perhaps blood.
But money? What's money to Cancer?
You are far, far, far less scary to look in the face than a diagnosis of Glioblastoma Multiforme.