No Hope for Medical Care! Depressed to Suicidal Thoughts Again!

I’ve pretty much exhausted all avenues for medical assistance.  The Financial Advisor sends me to Clark County Social Services.  The Clark County Social Services sends me to Welfare.  Welfare tells me I am not eligible for Medicaid because I am not eligible for Social Security Income.  Welfare sends me back to Clark County Social Services.  After days and many hours of running back and forth, standing and sitting in line, while puking into an emesis bag – all I gained was $61 in food stamps.  If Clark County is able to approve me for a County Medical Card, which is a long shot, then I can obtain some cancer treatment at the local Kevorkian hospital - UMC.  This is where they make you wait in the waiting room for ten hours or more, and then evaluate you and let you wait more hours, and then slap you in a bed overnight, ignore all your button pushing for a nurse or treatment, and then kick you to the street after they have done nothing except let an on-call intern look you over and release you.  I know, because I’ve been there with my mother while she was dying.  UMC drugged her out of her head and then released her to the street, while I was at home gathering some overnight clothes for her.  After several trips to both UMC and Valley Hospital, it was not long until she died.  I guess that’s what I have to look forward to.  After being promised by Comprehensive Cancer Center that they would not refuse treatment even when I had no ability to pay, I am so depressed and sickened by all the lies.  I called today to tell them where I was at with all the applications for medical care payments, and they told me I would probably end up using UMC on the County Card.   I cried.  I don’t want to change doctors.  I don’t want to go to a hospital where I will receive only “palliative care.”  Palliative means they will give me minimal care to make me comfortable while I die.  That means they will drug me out of my head and send me back to the street.  I hate my life.  Cashing in is looking so good right now.  The counselor keeps asking me if I “have a plan.”  This means have I made a distinct plan for suicide.  Of course, I have.  I have terminal cancer.  I believe anyone with a terminal disease has a plan.  If our brain is not completely gone, of course we have a plan.  DUH!  You know what pushes you closer to suicide in a circumstance like mine?  It’s the damn doctors, financial advisors, and county aid offices that offer you a glimmer of hope then slap you in the face with “No, no, no.”  Why don’t they just say, “Here, let us torment until you die, or at the very least, let us push that gun a little closer for you.”  The Cancer Center was so nice while I was on insurance and they were milking my insurance company for all that money – but now, they don’t give a crap.  If I have no money, they are anxious to push me out the door and get rid of my burden on society.  Well, they didn’t need to push me.  I was more than willing to jump off that ledge when all else fails.  But they tormented me in order to milk the last of the insurance.  I hate them and I hate life!  What happened to being able to die with dignity?