First: A thank you, which feels inadequate, but is necessary, because y’all are nice and I love you, man! And I don’t even want your Bud Light. You are all lovely and I appreciate you so much.
Second: Please know that my intention in indulging in a bit of woe-is-me “Why do people DO THAT??” whining is just… venting. Wallowing. Many of you were quick to jump on the SCREW THE BASTARDS train in response—and I get that comes from protectiveness and caring and kindness—but in my logical non-hurty-emotional mind parts I know that in general people do not hurt us on purpose. In specific for the situations I mentioned I know this even more; the people in question are not evil or bad or even (most of the time) inconsiderate. Things happen by accident, sometimes, and people end up wounded. It doesn’t make the folks doing the wounding villains—it makes them human. I get that. Thank you for letting me vent. Now let’s please stop bagging on people for being human.
Third: Here at Casa Mir we have been on a complete spending freeze for months while slogging through getting Chickadee approved for Medicaid on account of that whole “oh God we are going to end up broke and homeless” thing that wasn’t hanging over our heads. And that’s fine and all—it’s not like we got her Medicaid card and then ran out to party or anything—but of course we didn’t realize that wasn’t the end of the story.
To be fair, once she got approved, poor Otto DID go out and buy himself a new (used) car. Ever since his car died at the beginning of August we’d been just kind of vehicle-juggling and putting it off, “just in case.” (And here you understand “just in case” to mean “because we might end up owing the hospital more than our house is worth.”) To Otto, cars are kind of a big deal. He didn’t want anything fancy, but he did want to have a car that was HIS, and he didn’t want to get something that we’d have to worry about, say, blowing up on a random day in Atlanta (whoops), and I suspect it was a lot more aggravating than he let on that we had to wait so long for him to go ahead.
To me, the fact that he went without a car for a couple of months and never once complained about it even though the reason was the never-ending clusterfuck of complications I brought into his previously calm, comfortable life is just another reason that this man is an utter rock star. It was also a source of guilt, for me. I feel like I signed on for all of this, and he didn’t. I mean, he did, but… you know. Anyway: I was relieved when he was able to go out and find himself a suitable vehicle.
The other WILD AND CRAZY expenditure we’ve been discussing seemingly forever is replacing our bed. A quick search reveals that our mattress has been being an utter asshole since 2009. That’s… kind of a long time to sleep on a surface that has begun to resemble camel roadkill. (You know, mostly flat, but with some bumps? It makes perfect sense in my head.) We’ve been making do, obviously, but for some TOTALLY CRAZY reason, neither of us are sleeping well lately. I’m sure it’s just the bed. HAHAHAHA.
I dunno, it’s like we used to just go to sleep on our crappy bed and wake up kind of stiff in the morning, and maybe complain about it now and then, but that was it. Now we lie in bed at night whispering about everything that’s going on, and then I try to snuggle up to Otto and feel like I have to roll five inches down Crappy Mattress Hill to get there, and then suddenly the conversation is no longer about the kids and life but about how THIS IS THE WORST MATTRESS EVER.
At this point I pretty much believe there is nothing that’s going to help me sleep unless it comes with a WARNING: DO NOT OPERATE HEAVY MACHINERY label, but there’s no denying that the bed is in bad shape.
So we started looking at beds once Chickie was approved for Medicaid. And debating the various pros and cons of different options.
And then the hospital called to explain that the way Medicaid decides to pay for stuff like this is that they send out a third-party agency to do an assessment and blah blah blah blah (other stuff that I didn’t quite catch or care about) and P.S. it’s not retroactive so they’ll try to get them out there ASAP.
Cue the sound of a record screeching to a halt.
But but BUT BUT BUT. Medicaid is supposed to be retroactive! It takes forever to get approval, and it says in all the stuff they send you when you finally get it that they’ll cover back to the effective date, which is, you know, EARLIER.
Well, it turns out that this whole assessment process thing generally isn’t retroactive. Even though the services it’s supposed to then authorize ARE. The gentleman from billing explained to me that he just wanted me to know that it was “extremely unlikely” we’d be able to get Medicaid to pay for the earlier services because of how this process works. He almost sounded like he felt bad for us, even, or maybe he was just feeling bad about the fact that we’re obviously not all that clear on how, exactly, we’re supposed to come up with this money, then.
We stopped looking at beds. Instead, I spent a goodly amount of time lamenting the fact that I’d spent all of this time and energy and aggravation on securing Medicaid coverage when it’s apparently not going to cover anything. (Don’t worry; we can spend MORE time and and energy and money fighting them for that coverage! I CAN’T WAIT!)
And then at some point I did that mental math where I realized that the cost of a bed was going to be a drop in the bucket compared to the hospital bill, and if we were going to end up on the hook for a ginormous debt, we should at least have a shot at a decent night’s sleep. I’m not sure this is logical, but that’s where I ended up. I am generally very reluctant to spend money even under the best of circumstances, so this is testament to the fact that either 1) I really haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in forever or 2) I’ve finally well and truly lost it.
Otto greeted the news of my declaration that we should just go ahead with a wary, “… really?” He knows me pretty well. Heh. Nevertheless, yesterday we drove over to our local Big Bed Store, flopped down on a couple of different options we’d been considering, and walked out of there fifteen minutes later with a promise of sweet dreams to be delivered in 5-7 business days. I feel confident that our new magical bed will be just as comfy in a van down by the river, should it come to that, as it will be here in the house.
I went to sleep last night feeling guilty about spending the money, which was actually a nice change of pace from going to sleep worrying about my sweet girl and what her future holds. This morning I woke up from an vivid dream wherein I was back in the town where I went to college, and I was still writing and Otto was still teaching, but I was also working as a lab assistant for a professor I haven’t seen (or thought of) in a couple of decades, PLUS I was waitressing at the diner where I worked as an undergrad, PLUS I was going back to school to get another degree. And in my dream, I couldn’t WAIT to come and tell you about all of the exciting things I was doing! I was so relieved to have blog fodder that wasn’t depressing, and it never once occurred to me in my dream how odd it was that this was supposedly my real life, yet I somehow had neglected to mention any of it to you before. Dreams are weird.
I was so confused when I woke up this morning. I have to conclude it’s my brain totally messing with me. Hopefully the new mattress comes with dreamless sleep.