I sit there, looking at the box. The box sits there, looking back at me. I know that’s not how medicine works, but here we are. As far as I can go.

Inside is the latest greatest thing that’s going to make me all better. It’s sliced bread. The microwave. Electricity. My hopes and dreams. I’ve been here before. All my faith into the snake oil they’re peddling, only to find it doesn’t work.

“I don’t even know why you’re on that (fill in the blank with the treatment du jour). It doesn’t even help.” I usually don’t need a doctor to tell me this; I’ve already figured it out on my own.

So, forgive me box, if I don’t do cartwheels and roll out the red carpet. I’ve had the rug pulled out too often. I usually give up for years then, returning to my alternative avenues to heal and manage. And if it does work, what of the side effects? Not fun, and some are the same as what the drug is meant to treat.

“Do you have any abdominal pain, weight changes or diarrhea?” the screener for the specialty pharmacy vets me.

“Yeah–those are all symptoms of Crohn’s disease.”

A brief pause. We move on.

“Are you comfortable giving yourself injections?”

Comfortable may be a strong word. I’m not comfortable going into the emergency room on an annual basis, and I’m really uncomfortable talking about surgery. But being the lesser of the evils, is still evil…

Let me not think of it like that. Let’s give it a chance and go into it with our head held high. It might really be as great as they say. Everyone else is doin it!

At least it gets shipped to me, so that makes it less limiting than I initially thought it would be. Prescriptions usually can’t cross state borders and I was wondering how I was going to move to a new state, get new insurance and find a new doctor all while my month’s supply of medicine was dwindling. This hopefully cuts through that. As long as I see a doctor once a year, it can be prescribed.

That means I need to be in either Wisconsin or Florida, where my body has already established a bond.