For the last couple of years, my physical and mental health has become a huge priority for me.
My A1C levels were getting out of control, my energy was subpar, and sleep apnea was taking a toll on me. So, I started addressing all of it.
First, I tried hitting the gym a minimum of three times a week. While it was taking inches off, the scale hardly moved and my A1C was still atrocious. It also wasn’t sustainable while raising a family, working full time and being a full-time student.
Then came the doctor appointments. Multiple appointments, multiple copays and multiple blood draws.
One doctor ordered a full blood panel. Then the bill came: $1,200. Apparently, it wasn’t coded correctly for insurance, which has turned into a fight with the clinic. I’m not denying I received a service. I’m just questioning why a doctor-ordered test resulted in a four-figure bill—and why I’m the one who has to fight to get it corrected.
Next came the sleep apnea.
I finally bit the bullet and got a CPAP after a sleep study showed I stopped breathing an average of about five times an hour. No wonder I was exhausted and felt like garbage.
After the first full night of sleep, even though the mask was awkward, I felt a million times better. I felt like I actually slept.
Because I did.
And here’s something else I’ve learned: improving your physical health can have a huge impact on your mental health.
Now that my blood sugar is more controlled through diet and a GLP-1, and I’m finally sleeping at night, I feel more prepared to tackle my mental health, too. I’ve always been artistic, so taking art classes and making time for things I enjoy has helped tremendously.
But here’s the part no one talks about enough.
Getting healthy is expensive.
The copays add up. The tests add up. The medications add up. And hopefully you don’t need a specialist, because that’s another expense—and for those of us in rural America, another trip.
About 61 million Americans live in rural areas, where residents tend to be older and often have more limited access to healthcare than people living in urban areas.
In Kansas, nearly 30% of the population lives in nonmetro areas. Rural hospitals and clinics serve those communities, but access continues to be a nationwide concern. Between January 2010 and January 2025, 86 rural hospitals closed and another 64 converted to other types of healthcare facilities.
When rural hospitals close, patients travel farther. A Government Accountability Office study found the median distance for general inpatient care increased from 3.4 miles to 23.9 miles in areas where rural hospitals closed.
And that’s the hidden healthcare bill that never arrives in the mail: distance.
For many of us, even a regular appointment can mean driving 30 minutes to an hour. A specialist can easily mean two hours or more.
That’s gas. That’s wear and tear on a vehicle. That’s time off work. That’s childcare. That’s an entire afternoon—or day—for an appointment that might last 20 minutes.
So when we talk about making healthcare more affordable, especially in rural America, we can’t only talk about insurance premiums, deductibles and prescription prices.
We have to talk about access.
I’m fortunate that I’m getting healthier. I’m sleeping better. My blood sugar is improving. I’m taking care of my mental health and making time for things I enjoy.
But getting older has taught me that taking care of yourself requires more than deciding to be healthier.
It requires time, money, transportation, insurance knowledge and persistence.
Getting older is inevitable.
Getting the healthcare we need shouldn’t feel like a luxury.
PHOTO: Healthcare stats and reports on the table (Photo: Adobe Stock │#153157794 – ronstik)
