Dec. 10th, 2010. A gain. A loss. Both miracles. A contract I'd have never signed, but one I'm sure my Momma would have. Silly girl! And now (pause for dramatic effect) - an explanation, not only of my LIBERATION, but of my mother's fight for survival. [cue cliffhanger music]
A two for one, heh? Now you can't say I never gave you anything. MERRY CHRISTMAS, late my friends. But a very MERRY CHRISTMAS just the same. My apologies for the wait. Please know I have written and re-written this first post-angio entry a bazillion times in my head.
Do I give the gritty details of the trip? Do I focus on the clinic? Do I write only of Jacob, my nurse? How's about skipping to the results? Soooo very much has happened since my last entry there is no way to truly catch you up. And tho my memory is among my many improvements, well, nobody's got that much time on their hands.
That said, this prose doubling as your Christmas gift, I shall condense it down (note the catchy title) and hit upon the more miraculous of events as best I can. And of course wrap it all up with a fancy bow. Deal? Deal.
Where'd I leave off? It was snowing. Mom had a wound. G'pa was in the hospital. And I was, by way of a 'Wizard of Oz' analogy, coming to the realization that the world did not revolve around me and me alone. The weather. The illnesses. My baby boy's begging. So many reasons to stay crossed thru my mind. But never a quitter I had to take one more swing.
May 2010. Strike 1. November 2010. Strike 2. Sooo, if and only if this third attempt was a strike would I officially be called, "OUT." You know what? I don't even follow baseball. Let's make this easier on all of us, shall we? It's fourth down. Seconds on the clock. With me?
No punting. No field goal attempts. And even as beautiful as they can be at times - no hail marys. If I'm runnin' the show we block like our lives depended on it and run it right up the middle. So. Down. Set. Hike. The 'ol 300 gassed and ready - we were off for the ATL.
Boys off to school and Ryan calls to see if he can take us out to breakfast before we leave. Well, of course! I loves me some breakfast. But alas, he took only Jason as I had made a last minute appointment with my hairdresser, and dear, dear friend. Thank you, JoAnna!
Thank you for just so happening to have a little extra time at the beginning of your day for me. And on such short notice. And get this readers, after working her magic on me, she wouldn't even let me pay! And I got a hug. Meanwhile in the Vern, Ryan bought Jason's breakfast. We are so blessed in the friends department.
9:30 a.m. Thursday December 9, 2010 and we were off. Whether or not I'd return successfully LIBERATED this time out -- I would come back with a new do and a new additude. Pinky swear. That was the deal. Christmas was coming and it had beenm a year I'd been wrapped up in all this business.
Hell or high water I was coming back refocused. Less me and more them. Them being my boys. My mom. My g'pa. My Jason. My Gooch. My sister. All my family. All my friends. You! Yes, you! So aside from not having received the call from my Mom that I'd been promised the night before . . . all was right with the world.
We were 'On the Road Again,' Mr. Nelson. But country wasn't among our listening repitoire. At least not at first anyways. Thru some of Tennessee it seems to be all we could pick up. (Truth be told, this 'ol country girl didn't mind.) Talk of Christmas and of Santa and of hopes for what the new year may hold set a cheery tone making this mountainous trek much smoother than the first. "Roll on 18-wheeler. Roll on!"
Almost too easy some might warn. Little did we know everyone at home seemed to be paying for it big time. Earlier in the afternoon I had called my sister to see if she would be able to get to the Christmas program and grab a video of Abe for me. "Sure. No problem," she replied.
There'd be plenty of time after taking Mom to the wound clinic to get back, retrieve the kiddos and the camera and be at school by 7. Again, with the easy peezy, right? Looking back I should have thought it odd her overly eager willingness to help. Anyways . . .
So Mom had a wound clini9c appt. the previous Thursday. If you ask me she should've seen somebody way before then, but stubborn does run rampant in the family. They 'treated' the wound and instructed her to return in a week. (Nothing new here, as that is always how they do there. Same 'ol, same 'ol).
But what with the unbearable pain? Did that not make this different than the other sores or wounds? Guess not. Well once home -- it worsened. So much so all I will say is KUDOS to my sister for being able to care for it - her weak stomach be damned. Or perhaps a better phrasing would be blessed. Alas her weak stomach had been blessed with the strength it needed to endure what lie ahead.
Back to the story. Something was wrong at the OK Corral. Mom called the wound clinic everyday reporting in to them with new foul findings practically begging to be seen again, yet they repeatedly answered, "That's normal. We'll see you next Thursday." Grrrrrrr!
I pushed for her to go see her general practitioner, dear 'ol Doc Lee even having offered to accompany her although we all know how our last attempt at that turned out. I even offered Jason to assist in the endeavor to no avail. And Amelia pushed for visiting the emergency room. I'd have been happy either way. WHAT HAD SHE BEEN WAITING ON? Me?
So Thursday gets here. Finally. I'm on my way and Mom will finally get to show the (forgive me Lord) idiots that have been putting her off all week just the horror she's been dealing with all week. I discover not until my return home post-angio that she was welcomed at the wound clinic with many, many dropped jaws. (Forgive me again Lord) Dumbasses! Grrrrr!
She is sent immediately to the hospital. Not by ambulance. Not by bed across the street. Nah. They instruct Amelia to take her to emergency. Great people, heh? Not an "I'm sorry" in the hole group. One lady I hear tell even followed them around with an aerosol can to mask the horrid odor.
Pop Quiz: Did you know wet gangrene travels fast and is accompanied by an odor? I didn't. But you'd think that a wound care clinic would, right? Geesh. I feel so horrible I didn't drag my self-centered crippled butt down there and take a look at it myself. Why hadn't I? And why hadn't I taken the time to consult my handy dandy internet about it? I'm so sorry Mom.
Just as it's starting to get dark we arrive at our destination. Drury Inn just outside of Atlanta. We even got the same room right next to the back door that we had last time. As little walking as possible makes this gimp a happy girl. Yay, me! Awww, the king-sized bed. Hello, lovely!
And Jason left for Taco Bell. I loves me some Jason and some tacos. Then a call to my sister. Or did she call me? Either way . . . I did not get the news of my mother being admitted to the hospital until I had confirmed my arrival to Atlanta. And with that all I was told was that they were admitting her to administer IV antibiotics.
Fine, I had thought. Nothing out of the ordinary. We had suspected as much. Was it odd that Grandma was with them? Nah. Not at all 'cause g'pa was still at the hospital himself so she would have already been there when they arrived. Weird I still hadn't talked to my Mom tho. Just plain weird, I tell ya.
Weirder still Amelia calls back as I'm finishing up my taco feast to ask me why my in-laws couldn't get a video of the Christmas program. Simple answer: Welllll, 'cause they don't have a video camera. And there's plenty of time to make it home and to the program. Mom's already admitted. "Mom's a big girl," I said.
(Such a smart ass, I had been. Please Lord, forgive me.) "Why can't you leave her? I think she can handle a night at the hospital all by herself." Such horrible words. Had I only known the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Yikes. Unbeknownst to me at the time thy were considering removing her leg right then and there.
Of course, Amelia should have been there. Guess who else woulda been there too had she known what her baby sis knew. Damn right I would have come home. Damn right, I'd never have left to begin with. WHAT HAD SHE BEEN WAITING ON, INDEED? "I dunno," Amelia replies to my taunting. "I just don't think I can make it home in time," she says.
A bit put out, even aggravated, I go to Facebook and commence to begging anyone attending the program to getting some video of it for me. The only thing I should have been begging for is prayers for my Momma. And for my sister. God she was gonna need strength for the upcoming days. 'Cause her big sister - 'The Wheel', as our Dad had come to call me - would not be there to take charge of things.
Boys skyped goodnight, alarm set and prayers said Amelia calls to say she's on her way home. (About time I had thought.) Whatever. Glad to hear Mom was all settled in, Amelia was nearly home, boys safe and sound -- I could drift safely off to dream land. No limits to what tomorrow may hold. Thank you God for everything! Amen.
Bright and early Friday morning Jason went down to the lobby for that meal he dare not speak of since I couldn't partake before my procedure. Tacos don't fail me now! And yeh, I'd eaten extra knowing I'd be without for so long the next day. A bear preparing for hibernation, if you will. It makes no sense. I know. But I've never advertised as making sense now, have I?
With minutes to spare I must, must, must talk to my Mom before I do this. It had been waaay too long since I'd talked to her last. Somethin' just wasn't right people. I tried everything. I called the switchboard. I called her room twice. Then her nursing unit. Then her room again.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. 'Cept sitting just outside the front door of the clinic I was about to make us late. Jason reasoned we'd better go on in and we could try her again before I went back. Had he somehow known something I had not?
Enter the clinic. Familiar smiles welcoming me. Hands reaching out for payment. Ha! We got this. As if we'd come all that way again empty handed. Then just as I was feeling sour about the whole ordeal. Beginning to see nothing but $$$ signs dressed in scrubs in comes the x-ray tech.
Was his smile forced too? Had his out stretched hand been searching for the $10,000 cashier's check that I'd already surrendered? As my dad always used to say, "If you snooze, ya lose." If I was a bettin' man I'd say the girl I gave the check to already had it cashed and deposited, maybe even spent.
Paranoid. Yeh. Glass half empty, girl? Hell yeh. Bitter much? I know, right? God help me. I needed my Momma. But maybe my x-ray tech would just have to do. Hand outstretched he introduced himself to both my gorgeous husband and myself. Great sincere eye contact. I love me some eye contact.
Then he asked me if I was nervous. Wow! What a loaded question. I could have unloaded on this poor unsuspecting soul. But prolly having asked this a few times before, he quickly followed his own question with further nurturing reassurance that all would be okay. "Even better than that," he'd said.
Tricky sort I had thought at the time. How dare he not allow me time to answer. Then he went for my hand again and eye contact locked in he continued, "Just know that if my mother needed this done, I'd be sure Dr. Sullivan was the one doing it." Jason says he wenton about the good doctor's caring and compassionate ways, but alas HE HAD ME AT "MOTHER."
Exit the x-ray tech. Teary eyed eye contact with the hubs, a couple breaths in and out and enter Jacob. Not the werewolf - the nurse. And a very good one at that. All this time later and I'm still considering having a Team Jacob t-shirt made although I am not a fan in any way shape or form of the Twilight saga. (Sorry dear sister!)
Soon I was dressed (or undressed rather) and ready to go. Vitals checked and rechecked and a little somethin' to relax me. Hmmmm. When was that little somethin' to relax me ever gonna kick in? And more importantly when was I gonna be given an IV? Time was a wastin' people and I was not gonna be an easy stick. Just sayin'.
I'm not one to tell anybody their business. Well, okay, maybe I am - but, I knew there were patients scheduled after me and I didn't want my lousy veins to hold anyone up. You sittin' down readers? NEWSFLASH: They do not feel having IV access in the arm is neccessary when they will already have access once in the vein in my leg. BRILLIANT!!! Absolutely, positively brilliant. Makes perfect sense to me. You?
Guess what else? I didn't hurt like hell during the procedure. I didn't beg for pain medicine. I didn't cry. I felt pressure at times, but mostly I slept. Now there's a concept. Why cause a patient excruciating pain when you don't have to? Again with the brilliance. Yay, Atlanta! And more important - yay, me!
And then there was the after I had sooo been dreading. Coming home from my failed attempt in May I remember breaking out in whelps and itching and just being plain miserable. Commence with the high dose of Benadryl. Yikes! I don't wanna have to go back to the blind Maverick. He might not see my rash. (Mean. I know. Forgive me Lord.)
Anyways, back to recovery. Woke right up. Not groggy in the least bit. Kinda cool. Should at least be groggy from the meds, right? Wrong. Hungry then? Nope. Plenty of tacos I suppose. Itchy. Had to be itchy. Nearly two hours of dye vs. the maybe 15 minutes of it in May - in my pea brain that meant I'd prolly had enuff of it in me to kill me this time around.
Or worse yet maybe I'd just change colors and swell up like poor little Violet did in 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.' Surely my husband and Jacob could fight off the Oompa Loompas when they came to roll me away. Fear not movie-goers. I always fancied myself more of a Veruca Salt anyways. Singing, "Don't care how - I want it now!!!!!"
And whilst I'm on a movie tangent I must pay homage to 'TRON.' Not the original. The Legacy. For seeing it last night is what has spurred me back in to blogging. How easy it was for the creator to heal Cora. I cried. It seemed as equally easy for me to be healed. Tragedy not everyone is having this done. Grrrrr. But more on that later. Promise.
Where was I? Comin' round, heh? Feelin' good, heh? Then why the long face gorgeous husband 'o mine? Can't be there wasn't anything wrong with me. Dare I shout it out that something is different already. Dare I climb upon my bed and shout? Nah, I was suppose to lay still for awhile. And so I would try. Didn't wanna jinx this new feeling.
But still, "What up, Buttercup?" Hello? Husband? What's the haps? (To Be Continued)
Monday, January 3, 2011
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Chain e-mails aren't always bad
Please read this forwarded e-mail I got today from my in-laws. But be warned: it's a doozy.
AND GO OUT AND DO SOMETHING NICE FOR SOMEBODY WHY DON'T CHA?
In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket.
Their father was gone.
The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.
Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.
Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.
He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.
Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.
If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job..
The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck.
The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.
Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop.
It was called the Big Wheel.
An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.
She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning.
She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could st art that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.
I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.
She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep
This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.. And so I st art ed at the Big Wheel..
When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night.
As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.
The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home..
One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!
There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.
Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.
I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.
I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.
Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids .
I found a can of red paint and st art ed repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.
Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, ana state trooper named Joe.
A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine.
The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.
I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat..
Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.
Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!
I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.
Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.
There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.
As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.
And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.
Their father was gone.
The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.
Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.
Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.
He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.
Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.
If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job..
The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck.
The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.
Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop.
It was called the Big Wheel.
An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.
She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning.
She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could st art that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.
I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.
She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep
This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.. And so I st art ed at the Big Wheel..
When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night.
As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.
The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home..
One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!
There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.
Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.
I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.
I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.
Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids .
I found a can of red paint and st art ed repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.
Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, ana state trooper named Joe.
A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine.
The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.
I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat..
Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.
Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!
I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.
Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.
There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.
As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.
And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.
THE POWER OF PRAYER.
I believe that God only gives three answers to prayer:
1. 'Yes!'
2. 'Not yet.'
3. 'I have something better in mind.'
You may be going through a tough time right now but God is getting ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.
1. 'Yes!'
2. 'Not yet.'
3. 'I have something better in mind.'
You may be going through a tough time right now but God is getting ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.
Monday, December 6, 2010
What A World
"What a world. What a world," she cried just before her untimely demise. Do you know of what poor, misunderstood soul I speak of? Any guesses? No? Anyone still reading? No? Mom? You there? Amelia? I know my little sister knows.
As the wretched ruby slipper snatching Dorothy sloshes the gorgeous green one with water she begins melting away in steaming agony. "What a world . . . " were sadly, among some of her very last words ever spoken - at least this side of the rainbow.
Such a tragedy when all the old gal had been after were the shoes her recently senselessly murdered sister had been wearing at the time of her death. I mean, really?! What gave that bubble riding fairy the right? Who was she to bestow anything upon that undeserving, self-centered, gingham wearing brat?
Should anything ever happen to my sister -- YOU BEST NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT MESSING WITH HER SHOES! I'm just sayin'. Those Nikes my friends, wellll, they'd be mine. End of tangent.
And now back to my admittedly overly lengthy explanation of this installment's title. 'What a World' is named so because since my last entry I have felt just as the unjustly named Wicked Witch of the West felt that horrific evening at her castle.
For those not as well-versed on 'The Wizard of Oz' as my sister and myself, please allow me to explain. First and foremost when one is in her own castle and surrounded by hoards of her own faithful flying monkeys - one should feel loved and safe - nearly indestructible, if you will. And as a bonus, she even had the punk that took her shoes locked up. All was soon to be right with the world.
In case you hadn't noticed, that my loyal monkies, is a parallel to what I was feeling back in early November. The stars were lining up. My family and friends were all behind me. Prayers and well wishes brought with them a love I hadn't realized in quite some time. My LIBERATION date approached. There was no stoppin' this momentum of hope and love. All was soon to be right with the world - my world - ME - again.
I felt good just as the witch should have that horrid night. God forgive us, we may have even - amongst the high of it all, felt a bit arrogant. (No worries of that happening again as the witch done met her maker and I, wellllll . . . I just somehow now know better. Lesson learned, okay? More on that later.)
Anyways, as you know, my insurance said, "NO!" And as for the witch, in lieu of the slippers she received a bucket of water to the face. And, buh-bye! Lucky for me denial of insurance coverage didn't mean instant death my melting. What it did mean however was another trip home UNLIBERATED. And more waiting. So basically the next couple of weeks could be akin to the witch's slo mo spiral to oblivion. "What a world!"
As you know, if you know me at all, this being told, "NO!" business never sits well with me. So immediately all fired up I dive in to an appeal. A solid week after returning home I do nothing but focus on this as if my life depended on it. I tweeked and re-tweeked the first draft I posted for you 'til I thought my head would explode. And finally I settled on and sent a version as heart wrenching, fact packed, and mind blowing as I could muster.
So thanks to God first, my husband second, and my family and friends third, I now sit here this beautiful Monday morning anxiously awaiting this week's appointment. I sit looking out my sliding glass doors - snow falling - the lights from the Christmas tree glowing - my pitbull snuggled to my right - a cold Coke to my left and a warm Dell on my lap. All should be right with the world, then, right?
Wrong. My mom's got a sore on her foot. A wound rather. An open wound. And she's diabetic, remember? So healing isn't all that easy a thing for her to do. She's in horrible, horrible pain. Please pray for her.
My g'pa. He's sick too. May be pneumonia. May not. Please pray for him. My g'ma whose foot is in a boot and whose just been released to walk is having quite a time trying to take care of g'pa. Please pray for her. All this kinda makes my problems seem trivial, heh? I know. But while you're praying it wouldn't hurt to go on ahead and mention me too. Pleeeeaaaase.
But you've already been so blessed, Angela. And yes, I have. I've been given hope of a cure. I've been given a husband whose willing and able to borrow money needed to obtain it. I've been given family and friends who have generously given to help us out. I mean it's Christmas time people! Money is always tight at Christmas and there's always plenty of charities needing help, right? It's been astonishing, really!
Many fellow MSer friends of mind have even begun having fundraisers. Not me tho. Nope. I haven't asked for a dime. That's not to say should I need additional procedures and the insurance still hasn't come around, that I won't be heading a bake sale, a bowl-a-thon or dare I say even a pitbull raffle in the future. (Only kidding Gooch!) Seriously nothing wrong with fundraisers -- I'm just flabbergasted at the response to my need without ever having asked. So, yes. Yes, I am very blessed.
An Aunt, unbeknownst to me, at Thanksgiving writes out a check and forcefully gives it to Jason. She makes him promise not to give it to me 'til we've left. And he begrudgingly obeys. Barely out of the driveway that evening he hands me a small folded piece of paper and says, "Here, your Aunt _ _ _ _ y gave me this to give to you." And there it was. A check all signed and dated with generosity and love. I cried like a baby on the way home amidst "Mommy, what's wrong?" coming from the back of the truck.
I don't know why it had gotten me all shook up. I'd been given money before. My Mom had just given me some as a matter a fact before we'd left the first time. And G'ma and G'pa had given me enuff to pay for the pre-testing. And my sister wanted to pay for a night's worth of the hotel and dinner and, wellll, okay, I cried then too. I've actually become quite the ball bag lately. But they're family, right? Family takes care of family, right?
But it's not just family y'all. One lady (you know who you are) even after warnings that the house was a wreck and I was couch ridden in my pajamas, insisted she wanted to just drop by and see me. Odd, I'd thought at the time. We'd been talking back and forth on Facebook and a bit on the phone. Wonderfully kind lady. Used to go to my church. Has children all older than me. Recently was told she might have MS. Yikes! So we'd gotten closer thru this but close enuff to just drop by?
I hadn't even brushed my teeth. And I told her it would take me eons to get to the door. "No problem," she'd said. If the door was unlocked she'd come on in. I knew her well enuff. Sure. Come ahead. And she had. Gift in hand. She said, "It's not much but we wanted to help out." How awesome is that?
Allergic to cats, she sat and stayed a bit anyways. We talked about her last hospital stay, her son, my mom - a little bit of everything. When she got up to leave I stood too in an attempt to see her to the door and she just wouldn't have it. She said, "No. Now you sit back down." And with that I hugged her. And she hugged me. It was a loving, tight motherly hug. (The best kind if you ask me.)
The call, the visit, the gift, the hug. So outta nowhere. Friends you think are friends, well they might just be there for their own benefit. Or not even there at all. And then there are those you prolly wouldn't think of as 'close' who swoop in and do something like this. So thoughtful. So selfless. There are truly angels among us.
I hadn't even opened the card until she had left and realized just how generous she'd been. When my husband came home from work that night I told him I'd had a visitor. His first reaction was to look around at the house in disgust and roll his eyes. I told him that hadn't mattered at all to her and that she'd brought us a card.
I handed it too him. As the gift was still inside he stood there shaking his head in disbelief as he is not a very good gift receiver (he's a much better giver). Anyways, he continued head shakin' whilst he read her kind words that accompanied the gift and this time his eyes began to tear. Then he wrinkled his forehead and asked, "Who is _ _ _ _ _ ?" Crazy, heh? That the hubs wasn't even sure who I'd been talking about. "Ohhhh," he'd said, "my. How nice is that?"
And then at church on Sunday. Another gift. Unexpected. Gracious. Kind. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And a special prayer from Beverly to boot. Everything she'd said - perfect. And that's not all. That was all before service had even actually got started.
I received yet again another special prayer. This time I had already made my way up to the alter (thanks to my Uncle Scott who'd been preaching directly to me the past two Sundays, maybe more), I was also anointed. Emotional, much? You betcha. Jason to my left. Aunt Ann to my right. Uncle Scott across the alter. Robin close by with kleenexes. Amelia and G'ma just behind me. Cheryl with a hug. And many, many more. Have I mentioned I love my church family? Welllll, I do!
Soooo self-centered. I know, right? I'm sure everyone who had gone so out of their way for me had surely had problems of their very own. Maybe I was more like Dorothy than the Wicked Witch after all. It always kinda rubbed me wrong it was alllll about her getting home. Nevermind the Scarecrow wanting a brain, the Tinman longing for a heart or the Lion searching for courage.
And while we're on the subject did it never don on anyone that the Scarecrow was always the smartest? The Tinman the most loving and the Lion the most courageous? Just sayin'. Maybe the Emerald City we're all searching so hard to find isn't at all what we need. Too cryptic?
Maybe we ask the Wizard for the wrong stuff. He was smart enuff, right? So being sooo brilliant and wise the Scarecrow surely should've asked for about a blue million other things. And the Tinman. Why not ask for a rust free exterior? So my point? Ahh yes, my point. Get's lost pretty easy, don't it?
My point is maybe this whole ordeal hasn't been for me to realize and obtain this procedure, but to realize and receive the unwavering support and encouragement I have from soooo many loved ones out there. Loved ones I didn't even know I had for Pete's sake.
Perhaps this has been a lesson in being selfless. Pay better attention to what others are going thru. The world does not revolve around you Ms. Spindler. It's a hard pill to swallow, I know, right? Gulp! There. I did it. Now, mind if I pray for you?
As the wretched ruby slipper snatching Dorothy sloshes the gorgeous green one with water she begins melting away in steaming agony. "What a world . . . " were sadly, among some of her very last words ever spoken - at least this side of the rainbow.
Such a tragedy when all the old gal had been after were the shoes her recently senselessly murdered sister had been wearing at the time of her death. I mean, really?! What gave that bubble riding fairy the right? Who was she to bestow anything upon that undeserving, self-centered, gingham wearing brat?
Should anything ever happen to my sister -- YOU BEST NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT MESSING WITH HER SHOES! I'm just sayin'. Those Nikes my friends, wellll, they'd be mine. End of tangent.
And now back to my admittedly overly lengthy explanation of this installment's title. 'What a World' is named so because since my last entry I have felt just as the unjustly named Wicked Witch of the West felt that horrific evening at her castle.
For those not as well-versed on 'The Wizard of Oz' as my sister and myself, please allow me to explain. First and foremost when one is in her own castle and surrounded by hoards of her own faithful flying monkeys - one should feel loved and safe - nearly indestructible, if you will. And as a bonus, she even had the punk that took her shoes locked up. All was soon to be right with the world.
In case you hadn't noticed, that my loyal monkies, is a parallel to what I was feeling back in early November. The stars were lining up. My family and friends were all behind me. Prayers and well wishes brought with them a love I hadn't realized in quite some time. My LIBERATION date approached. There was no stoppin' this momentum of hope and love. All was soon to be right with the world - my world - ME - again.
I felt good just as the witch should have that horrid night. God forgive us, we may have even - amongst the high of it all, felt a bit arrogant. (No worries of that happening again as the witch done met her maker and I, wellllll . . . I just somehow now know better. Lesson learned, okay? More on that later.)
Anyways, as you know, my insurance said, "NO!" And as for the witch, in lieu of the slippers she received a bucket of water to the face. And, buh-bye! Lucky for me denial of insurance coverage didn't mean instant death my melting. What it did mean however was another trip home UNLIBERATED. And more waiting. So basically the next couple of weeks could be akin to the witch's slo mo spiral to oblivion. "What a world!"
As you know, if you know me at all, this being told, "NO!" business never sits well with me. So immediately all fired up I dive in to an appeal. A solid week after returning home I do nothing but focus on this as if my life depended on it. I tweeked and re-tweeked the first draft I posted for you 'til I thought my head would explode. And finally I settled on and sent a version as heart wrenching, fact packed, and mind blowing as I could muster.
So thanks to God first, my husband second, and my family and friends third, I now sit here this beautiful Monday morning anxiously awaiting this week's appointment. I sit looking out my sliding glass doors - snow falling - the lights from the Christmas tree glowing - my pitbull snuggled to my right - a cold Coke to my left and a warm Dell on my lap. All should be right with the world, then, right?
Wrong. My mom's got a sore on her foot. A wound rather. An open wound. And she's diabetic, remember? So healing isn't all that easy a thing for her to do. She's in horrible, horrible pain. Please pray for her.
My g'pa. He's sick too. May be pneumonia. May not. Please pray for him. My g'ma whose foot is in a boot and whose just been released to walk is having quite a time trying to take care of g'pa. Please pray for her. All this kinda makes my problems seem trivial, heh? I know. But while you're praying it wouldn't hurt to go on ahead and mention me too. Pleeeeaaaase.
But you've already been so blessed, Angela. And yes, I have. I've been given hope of a cure. I've been given a husband whose willing and able to borrow money needed to obtain it. I've been given family and friends who have generously given to help us out. I mean it's Christmas time people! Money is always tight at Christmas and there's always plenty of charities needing help, right? It's been astonishing, really!
Many fellow MSer friends of mind have even begun having fundraisers. Not me tho. Nope. I haven't asked for a dime. That's not to say should I need additional procedures and the insurance still hasn't come around, that I won't be heading a bake sale, a bowl-a-thon or dare I say even a pitbull raffle in the future. (Only kidding Gooch!) Seriously nothing wrong with fundraisers -- I'm just flabbergasted at the response to my need without ever having asked. So, yes. Yes, I am very blessed.
An Aunt, unbeknownst to me, at Thanksgiving writes out a check and forcefully gives it to Jason. She makes him promise not to give it to me 'til we've left. And he begrudgingly obeys. Barely out of the driveway that evening he hands me a small folded piece of paper and says, "Here, your Aunt _ _ _ _ y gave me this to give to you." And there it was. A check all signed and dated with generosity and love. I cried like a baby on the way home amidst "Mommy, what's wrong?" coming from the back of the truck.
I don't know why it had gotten me all shook up. I'd been given money before. My Mom had just given me some as a matter a fact before we'd left the first time. And G'ma and G'pa had given me enuff to pay for the pre-testing. And my sister wanted to pay for a night's worth of the hotel and dinner and, wellll, okay, I cried then too. I've actually become quite the ball bag lately. But they're family, right? Family takes care of family, right?
But it's not just family y'all. One lady (you know who you are) even after warnings that the house was a wreck and I was couch ridden in my pajamas, insisted she wanted to just drop by and see me. Odd, I'd thought at the time. We'd been talking back and forth on Facebook and a bit on the phone. Wonderfully kind lady. Used to go to my church. Has children all older than me. Recently was told she might have MS. Yikes! So we'd gotten closer thru this but close enuff to just drop by?
I hadn't even brushed my teeth. And I told her it would take me eons to get to the door. "No problem," she'd said. If the door was unlocked she'd come on in. I knew her well enuff. Sure. Come ahead. And she had. Gift in hand. She said, "It's not much but we wanted to help out." How awesome is that?
Allergic to cats, she sat and stayed a bit anyways. We talked about her last hospital stay, her son, my mom - a little bit of everything. When she got up to leave I stood too in an attempt to see her to the door and she just wouldn't have it. She said, "No. Now you sit back down." And with that I hugged her. And she hugged me. It was a loving, tight motherly hug. (The best kind if you ask me.)
The call, the visit, the gift, the hug. So outta nowhere. Friends you think are friends, well they might just be there for their own benefit. Or not even there at all. And then there are those you prolly wouldn't think of as 'close' who swoop in and do something like this. So thoughtful. So selfless. There are truly angels among us.
I hadn't even opened the card until she had left and realized just how generous she'd been. When my husband came home from work that night I told him I'd had a visitor. His first reaction was to look around at the house in disgust and roll his eyes. I told him that hadn't mattered at all to her and that she'd brought us a card.
I handed it too him. As the gift was still inside he stood there shaking his head in disbelief as he is not a very good gift receiver (he's a much better giver). Anyways, he continued head shakin' whilst he read her kind words that accompanied the gift and this time his eyes began to tear. Then he wrinkled his forehead and asked, "Who is _ _ _ _ _ ?" Crazy, heh? That the hubs wasn't even sure who I'd been talking about. "Ohhhh," he'd said, "my. How nice is that?"
And then at church on Sunday. Another gift. Unexpected. Gracious. Kind. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And a special prayer from Beverly to boot. Everything she'd said - perfect. And that's not all. That was all before service had even actually got started.
I received yet again another special prayer. This time I had already made my way up to the alter (thanks to my Uncle Scott who'd been preaching directly to me the past two Sundays, maybe more), I was also anointed. Emotional, much? You betcha. Jason to my left. Aunt Ann to my right. Uncle Scott across the alter. Robin close by with kleenexes. Amelia and G'ma just behind me. Cheryl with a hug. And many, many more. Have I mentioned I love my church family? Welllll, I do!
Soooo self-centered. I know, right? I'm sure everyone who had gone so out of their way for me had surely had problems of their very own. Maybe I was more like Dorothy than the Wicked Witch after all. It always kinda rubbed me wrong it was alllll about her getting home. Nevermind the Scarecrow wanting a brain, the Tinman longing for a heart or the Lion searching for courage.
And while we're on the subject did it never don on anyone that the Scarecrow was always the smartest? The Tinman the most loving and the Lion the most courageous? Just sayin'. Maybe the Emerald City we're all searching so hard to find isn't at all what we need. Too cryptic?
Maybe we ask the Wizard for the wrong stuff. He was smart enuff, right? So being sooo brilliant and wise the Scarecrow surely should've asked for about a blue million other things. And the Tinman. Why not ask for a rust free exterior? So my point? Ahh yes, my point. Get's lost pretty easy, don't it?
My point is maybe this whole ordeal hasn't been for me to realize and obtain this procedure, but to realize and receive the unwavering support and encouragement I have from soooo many loved ones out there. Loved ones I didn't even know I had for Pete's sake.
Perhaps this has been a lesson in being selfless. Pay better attention to what others are going thru. The world does not revolve around you Ms. Spindler. It's a hard pill to swallow, I know, right? Gulp! There. I did it. Now, mind if I pray for you?
Friday, November 19, 2010
Wednesday (Pt. 1)
Wednesday morning. Test to take. Doc to meet. But first things first. Put on some clothes. Brush your teeth. Splurge and brush your hair too. Geesh! Eager much? Ha! Eager was an understatement. Four trips to the potty later I was ready to go. Nervous much? Uhhhh, yeh!
Although we'd planned on raiding the free hot breakfast offering at the hotel we found ourselves short on time an opted for a Mickey D's drive-thru instead. I should clarify it was Jason that did the opting, whereas I partook of nothing but a nibble of hash brown and a forced slug or two of Coke.
In my aforementioned precarious condition I would have passed on even that had I not needed to take my morning med and be adequately hydrated for my approaching test. Nerves wrestling nerves I prayed for composure - of stomach and of self. Amen.
CCSVI Atlanta was awesome. We had arrived a bit too early. So much so that the door to the suite was still locked. Eager, remember? Back to the lobby. This MS riddled body needed a place to sit. 15 -20 minutes later the building began to fill. Everyone very friendly. "Hi." "Good morning." "How are you?"
So far so good. And then we met Finesse. Sweet, gorgeous girl. She asks, "You guys here for CCSVI Atlanta?" Why, yes. Yes we are. She introduces herself and says she's on her way up there now. She hoped we hadn't been there long. Even if we had it was still well before opening time. Our bad. Silly out of towners.
Jason told her we'd give her time to get settled in before we came up. A couple more smiling, polite people thru and we got another kind soul involved with CCSVI Atlanta, this one insisting we accompany her upstairs. She reasoned that the chairs in their waiting room were more comfy and they had magazines. Very sweet. And we were sold. Up, up, and away.
Once there, we were again greeted by Finesse. We had a very small questionnaire to fill out. A trip to the potty. The one just past the reception desk in the office vs. the one way down on the other end of the hall - thanks for that! And a tiny wait for the sonographer to arrive. I was to be her first for the day.
And what's this? She's nice too? Yep. Phenomenal experience I tell ya. The hardest part of the whole ordeal was walking down the hall and trying to stay still for nearly two hours. Free to go? Yeh. Cool. So off we went. Back to the hotel to rest up before meeting the doc.
What a joke. Rest? I was too excited to rest. Anxious much? And away we went. Time to kill we stopped for a sit down lunch. I was stoked as we'd been dining inside the truck for some time now. Lookout IHOP - we're comin' in. And it was delicious! I had a breakfast sampler. Eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, hash browns and pancakes. And I cleaned my plates ladies and gentlemen.
"On the road again . . ." Sing it Willie! And off we were to see the Wizard. I mean doctor. Of course I mean doctor. And what a quaint little area his office was located in. Just outside of Atlanta this place was like a cross between New Harmony and downtown Evansville but with more hustle and bustle.
Just past the hospital we took a left at a historic looking, yet very well maintained government building complete with columns out front. Down a couple of blocks of cute little window front shops and one more left before our destination.
Anyways, I was dropped at the curb with 30 minutes to spare and Jason headed for the nearby parking garage shared by local businesses and the adjacent medical center. And just so you know, yes, they validate parking. So they may have cost us $200, but they saved us $8 in parking fees. Whoopity doo, right? I'm not bitter.
Really I'm not. Disappointed, yes. But bitter, no. Everyone inside the doc's office was super nice. And that is a monumental feat considering they were having to be the bearers of crappy news. Ahhhh, yes - a silver lining. See it?
Has she gone mad? Nah. I'm just choosing to look at this as a learning experience for their office in case future patients' insurance fail them too. Perhaps having an appeal letter at the ready would help expedite such proceedings. Or maybe using alternate coding would be beneficial as many MSer friends have suggested.
Genuinely as taken back by all of this as I was, seemingly distraught even, everyone involved was willing to do whatever they could to help me out. One dove into steps needed to launch an appeal. Another looked into applying for medical credit. Even the doc admitted, "Your insurance has been the first to deny coverage."
I've always thrived on being a trend-setter. But, Lord please don't let this be a trend. Please, please, please this needs to me more widespread and acceptable. People are feeling better. Doing better. But You know that already as You're behind all that is good. And for that I am truly grateful. Amen.
So get to it already! What did I think of the doctor? And why didn't I go ahead and have 'er done? That is, afterall why you're reading, right? Get on with it then! I will. I will. But, maybe next installment as I have a few Christmas trees that need some attention. Priorities! I know.
Until next time . . . oxox
Although we'd planned on raiding the free hot breakfast offering at the hotel we found ourselves short on time an opted for a Mickey D's drive-thru instead. I should clarify it was Jason that did the opting, whereas I partook of nothing but a nibble of hash brown and a forced slug or two of Coke.
In my aforementioned precarious condition I would have passed on even that had I not needed to take my morning med and be adequately hydrated for my approaching test. Nerves wrestling nerves I prayed for composure - of stomach and of self. Amen.
CCSVI Atlanta was awesome. We had arrived a bit too early. So much so that the door to the suite was still locked. Eager, remember? Back to the lobby. This MS riddled body needed a place to sit. 15 -20 minutes later the building began to fill. Everyone very friendly. "Hi." "Good morning." "How are you?"
So far so good. And then we met Finesse. Sweet, gorgeous girl. She asks, "You guys here for CCSVI Atlanta?" Why, yes. Yes we are. She introduces herself and says she's on her way up there now. She hoped we hadn't been there long. Even if we had it was still well before opening time. Our bad. Silly out of towners.
Jason told her we'd give her time to get settled in before we came up. A couple more smiling, polite people thru and we got another kind soul involved with CCSVI Atlanta, this one insisting we accompany her upstairs. She reasoned that the chairs in their waiting room were more comfy and they had magazines. Very sweet. And we were sold. Up, up, and away.
Once there, we were again greeted by Finesse. We had a very small questionnaire to fill out. A trip to the potty. The one just past the reception desk in the office vs. the one way down on the other end of the hall - thanks for that! And a tiny wait for the sonographer to arrive. I was to be her first for the day.
And what's this? She's nice too? Yep. Phenomenal experience I tell ya. The hardest part of the whole ordeal was walking down the hall and trying to stay still for nearly two hours. Free to go? Yeh. Cool. So off we went. Back to the hotel to rest up before meeting the doc.
What a joke. Rest? I was too excited to rest. Anxious much? And away we went. Time to kill we stopped for a sit down lunch. I was stoked as we'd been dining inside the truck for some time now. Lookout IHOP - we're comin' in. And it was delicious! I had a breakfast sampler. Eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, hash browns and pancakes. And I cleaned my plates ladies and gentlemen.
"On the road again . . ." Sing it Willie! And off we were to see the Wizard. I mean doctor. Of course I mean doctor. And what a quaint little area his office was located in. Just outside of Atlanta this place was like a cross between New Harmony and downtown Evansville but with more hustle and bustle.
Just past the hospital we took a left at a historic looking, yet very well maintained government building complete with columns out front. Down a couple of blocks of cute little window front shops and one more left before our destination.
Anyways, I was dropped at the curb with 30 minutes to spare and Jason headed for the nearby parking garage shared by local businesses and the adjacent medical center. And just so you know, yes, they validate parking. So they may have cost us $200, but they saved us $8 in parking fees. Whoopity doo, right? I'm not bitter.
Really I'm not. Disappointed, yes. But bitter, no. Everyone inside the doc's office was super nice. And that is a monumental feat considering they were having to be the bearers of crappy news. Ahhhh, yes - a silver lining. See it?
Has she gone mad? Nah. I'm just choosing to look at this as a learning experience for their office in case future patients' insurance fail them too. Perhaps having an appeal letter at the ready would help expedite such proceedings. Or maybe using alternate coding would be beneficial as many MSer friends have suggested.
Genuinely as taken back by all of this as I was, seemingly distraught even, everyone involved was willing to do whatever they could to help me out. One dove into steps needed to launch an appeal. Another looked into applying for medical credit. Even the doc admitted, "Your insurance has been the first to deny coverage."
I've always thrived on being a trend-setter. But, Lord please don't let this be a trend. Please, please, please this needs to me more widespread and acceptable. People are feeling better. Doing better. But You know that already as You're behind all that is good. And for that I am truly grateful. Amen.
So get to it already! What did I think of the doctor? And why didn't I go ahead and have 'er done? That is, afterall why you're reading, right? Get on with it then! I will. I will. But, maybe next installment as I have a few Christmas trees that need some attention. Priorities! I know.
Until next time . . . oxox
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 13th, 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!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
LIBERATION Day or not
Good morning world! We are on our way home this bright, beautiful, crisp Thursday morning. Why so chipper, you ask? How is it even possible, you ask? How when I was supposed to be LIBERATED - possibly given my life back? “HOW?” she screams, raising and shaking her fist in the air. I got three words for ya: God IS good!
My wonderful husband waited for me to wake up this morning before bestowing upon me the words of wisdom he'd been given in the night. He says, “You awake?” I say, “Yeh, I guess.” And then I sigh and flop over to face this conversation eager entity. What words of wisdom could he have? After an evening of near silence . . . what?
Waking, I remember a dim glow from behind the bathroom door being the only source of light in the room; however, when I had come face to face with this man that must love me more than even I can understand, I noticed the room had not been dark at all. The sun peaking thru the curtains from behind Jason reflected off the white bed linens illuminating the entire room.
He was on his right side with his head propped on his fist – his elbow bent just so. When our eyes met he smiled his gorgeous smile. Who does that, really? This guy rocks, I tell ya! Had that goober been watching me sleep? Anyways back to the story. He says, “Remember your Uncle Scott's sermon Sunday?” Well, of course I did. I was supposed to have even written about it but hadn't gotten around to it. Remember?
Before I could answer he continued, “Everything happens for a reason. And the way I got it figured is this doctor will only be three weeks more experienced by the time we come back.” Uh-huh, I'd thought. He went on, “We learned that he is booked solid thru 'til January meaning he'll see several more patients before you and maybe – just maybe – learn something that will help in treating you that he wouldn't have otherwise.”
Brilliant guy, heh? I knew I hadn't married him just for his looks. So just as I'm about to get a bit teary eyed he really lays it on thick. He says, “I think we made the right decision to try to appeal the insurance company because it is important that they recognize this procedure as necessary.” He pauses and swallows hard. Was he fighting back tears too?
He continues, “I understand completely and will fight that fight with you . . . (warning: here comes the mushy part – get out your kleenex) . . . BUT, we are coming back in December and you ARE getting this procedure!” O.K. Take a tear wiping break here. Don't need one? Well, I do.
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.
[To Be Continued . . .]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
