Decisions, Decisions

With money we had been saving up and with the overly generous offer of help from my mother we could have gone ahead and paid for the procedure right then and there. So now I have aggravated readers, right? Disappointed? Please let me explain why I made the decision I made. It sure was a tough one – maybe the toughest I'd ever made.

Shall I begin at the beginning? I was born May 13^th, 1976. Huh? Nooooooo? Not that beginning? The beginning of our Atlanta journey? Ahhhh, yes. I remember it well. We left out later than we'd planned Tuesday afternoon. It was nasty out. Sloppy, pooring. We had to deposit some money at the bank and go by CVS for some meds before leaving town.

So anyone who knows my husband knows then that during this little jaunt he had checked his phone about a bazillion times. Albeit a small time frame, you never know what might be waiting for you in a missed call or e-mail. He had checked it one too many times if you ask me. “I got a voicemail from the doctor's office,” he says. “Prolly about the insurance.” Silence. “You want me to call them back?” he asked.

And in my not so infinite wisdom, I eagerly reply, “Yes! Absolutely, yes!” Drum rolllll, please. Even only having heard one side of the following convo, I could tell it wasn't going my way. “Uh-huh.” “Yes.” “Well . . .” “Ummm.” “Really?” “Uh-huh.” “We'll let you know.” Short, sweet, and sobering. Pale faced, Jason turned to me and said, “They said no.”

We continued with our errands in silence. Then in the CVS parking lot, as the rain strengthened, Jason dialed our insurance company. Luckily (for parties on both ends of the phone) he received a very nice lady who at least seemed sincerely sympathetic to our situation. She even went so far as to suggest we launch an appeal of their decision.

As their convo ended I remember the rain pounding on the roof of the truck grow louder in the silence. It was in that moment that of all things I thought back to being in our gooseneck horsetrailer listening to the rain. It used to be a melodic, soothing noise to fall asleep with, BUT as it grew louder and closer to morning it had always been unsettling to wake up to.

None of us ever wanted to have to show in the mud. Even in the indoor arenas it was never any fun trying to get ready in the rain. Funny where your mind takes you some times. Anyways, I snap back to reality to find my husband staring at my blank,distant face with tears welling in his eyes. I don't speak. I don't wanna make anything worse.

Then when he's just about to get a full blown cry on, in hopes of lightening the mood, I interject, “Well, Honey, let's just get some lunch and get you back to work.” Again with my infinite wisdom, right? Honestly, I had thought that would get his mind off of this and somehow make things better. “Ya think long. Ya think wrong,” my Dad used to say.

“Abel's not feelin' well,” I went on pleading my case to stay home. “It's prolly best we just stay home.” This brought with it less crying but more tears - if that makes any sense. Then, gripping the steering wheel, he said, “I shouldn't have listened to you. We should be on our way by now.” Pause. Silence. “We should still have the test done. We should at least talk to the doctor.”

What seemed like eons passed. Later, I agreed. Not because I really DID agree, but because my not going seemed to be breaking my Baby's heart. I needed to back track. And back track fast. Perhaps moonwalking would be in order. Smooooooth Criminal,right? What to say? What to say?

I reasoned, we were packed. All of our boys had been left in capable hands. What would our going on a little mini vacation hurt? So finally, I say, “What the Hell, Baby, let's just go! You deserve some time off work.” Skeptical about how or why I'd come to that I was met with a shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the head.

Sure, I had made a 180. My Baby had dried his face and was putting the truck in gear. A 180 well worth it. Now my eyes began to tear. Had I just made the first of a long line of wrong decisions for the week? Geesh! Hormonal much? Sure would have been a waaaay funner road trip had we not received that little nugget of information.

Next decision to make was when to call our parents and break the bad news to them. Or should we call them at all? Best not to. Why pull loved ones in to the bog in which you are trapped and sinking? Nice responsible adult decision, right? Wrong! I wanted my Mommy! *sniff, sniff* I am such a baby. Whatever! Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words'll never hurt me!

I called my Momma. Unshaken, she responds, “No biggie, right? Didn't you expect them to turn you down?” Hmmmm. Uh-huh. I guess so. Expect, yes. But I had hoped they wouldn't. OK then. Mom put it all into perspective for me again. Paraphrasing of course: Suck it up buttercup! We knew this would happen. Go down there and if he's the 'right' doc . . . get 'er done!

Can I get an “Amen?” How's about a “YAY, Mom!” A sidenote: I love my Momma soooo much. I honestly don't know what in the world I would do without her. Please, please, please if you still have your Momma with you today give her a big hug and tell her how much you love and appreciate her!

Alas, maybe it wasn't bad news. A game changer, sure. But at least the game wasn't over. Quite the contrary, it was actually just beginning. The next seven or so hours there we discussed what we planned to do. First order of business, we were gonna get the ultrasound at CCSVI Atlanta. Period.

No insurance involvement whatsoever with this. We knew this going in. They'd help us file with insurance but would not wait for insurance reimbursement. Fine. $550. Paid. Once and for all we needed to know if I did indeed have this vascular disease. Please God, I really wanna have this disease. But it's His will, not mine. Remember the sermon, Angela. Got it. But I can still want it, right?

Now we would also pay an extra $200 just to talk to the doc. The consult was to be free, but due to insurance denial of procedure we were advised our first appointment would run $200. A bit aggravated, but whatever. It would be nice to talk to a doctor that actually understood CCSVI. As many nay-sayers as I'd dealt with the past year, actually meeting and conversing with an actual believer might just be worth it.

If and only if he turned out to be a match made in heaven, the absolute perfect doc, would we go ahead with the costly procedure. We had a few thousand with us. And surely, I had reasoned (although wrongly yet again), he wouldn't expect people to just come bebopping in his office with $10,000 cash in hand. So what we had would suffice, so I'd thought. Hoped. Prayed.

Next, how would we know if he was 'the one?' What would constitute the perfect doc? With this we flipped the Yahoo! Maps print out over and commenced to writing out questions we wanted answered. #1. Why are you a believer?

And now you are thinkin' she can't be serious, right? Oh, I am! I'm as serious as a heart attack! That poor guy had no idea what was barrelling his way at over 70 miles per hour. This little 'ol country girl was gonna get her money's worth. Booyah!

And finally we'd decided that whether or not we were able to have it done we were gonna return home to the boys and drop all these shenanigans. No more CCSVI or MS nonsense! The holidays were gonna be all about them. I say 'we,' but I mean, 'I.'

I feel I had been neglecting them. And I was gonna focus on them. Feeling better or not I was gonna come home smiling. Not lying. No. If I hadn't got the procedure I wouldn't lie and say I had. I would simply say I hadn't had anything done YET but that I was feeling better. And so it was a plan. The plan. My plan.

Finally then, well into the Tennessee mountains we turned on the radio. Yeehaw. We had some singing to do. “Whoa, baby! You better get outta this turn lane!” It was nearly 9 when we'd made it to our hotel. Late sure, but we'd made good time. Just two potty stops.

Anyways, it was a very nice room with a king bed located on the very end of the hall. Quite the haul had my Drury Inn saavy hubs not known about the back entrance. We parked by this secret door and our room was the very first upon entering. Sweeeeet! (Spoiler alert: Before we left, I had Jason reserve the same room for our next visit.)

Next order of business we call the parents. The boys and the pup are doing fine. Bummer about the insurance but as I said before my Mom had suspected as much. She encouraged me to go on with it. Pleaded, even. She assured me the money would be there. Remember – me and Amelia are to her what Asa and Abel are to me. I assured her I would do it if he was the one. God's will! Remember?

Caught up with Harry Potter on the lap top and fell asleep in no time. Had Harry made a good Seeker? I dunno. Talk about brain dead . . . I had alot on my mind. My poor little mind. Never mind that it is damaged by iron deposits due to lack of blood flow out and back to the heart. CCSVI? Huh? Anyone? Sound familiar? Grrrr . . .

Wednesday morning. This is gettin' kinda long ain't it? I sure can ramble. I know, I know. So how's about another continuation? OK with you? Good. I'll cover the rest of the trip later today. Or try to anyways. Pinky swear!