Bills
Today I decided to unbury myself from the mountains of medical bills on my desk.
We have insurance, yes. We do. It doesn't cover much. It doesn't help much. But it does help a little, and right now a little is better than nothing.
The thing is, we aren't seeing results in G's treatment the way we (feel that we) should be after all this time. June first, he's set for chemo again. And I don't want to take him this time. Crazy thoughts... perhaps.
So I sent records to Mayo Clinic in Rochester to get the ball rolling several months ago knowing that we'd need their expertise. We have referrals from his doctors, but insurance is denying that he's getting adequate care here in Utah. And the bills are rolling in from all directions. Bills for "reading" medical records. Yup, they can do that.
Mayo Clinic bills to the tune of nearly $2,000 today. Just for their doctors to look at two images.
Two.
Images.
And read them, apparently. Can I raise my hand and say, "I want that job!"
So here I sit, documenting another sleepless night of "where is the money going to come from this time?" And I realize, there's not much left. I have exactly $18.43 in my checking account right now. And I used to make a decent living. And I saved 10-15% of every paycheck for over 20 years. Nothing left.
Since I stopped working this year out of necessity to help care for Gerard full time, and make sure he leads somewhat of a normal lifestyle (through all the viruses, flus and hand, foot and mouth disease running through his very expensive private school)...I realize. The private school won't be an option next year. And maybe that's not such a bad thing, anyway. Maybe he'll see more compassion and understanding and feel less judgement and isolation in a public school. Maybe that's wishful thinking? Maybe...
Maybe it will relieve my household from that monthly tuition bill that I'm not sure is a good expense right now, given the circumstances. I don't want charity. I don't want a handout. I want a job and I want to support my family!
We live in a small home (a townhome). By choice. It's a very nice home, in our opinion. Small, cozy and simple, but super-filled with love and character. "Good energy" is what I hear from friends about our little space. Can't have big parties like I used to have, but heck...when was the last time we attended a big party at someone's palatial estate, anyway? Um...it's been since before moving here, I can tell you that. The mansions we see look like empty shells of bland in comparison to us.
I've listened to comments made by folks wondering why a two-income household with two over-educated folks live in such a modest townhome? Well, we did it in case something like this (might) would happen. Because we're practical. Because we watched friends lose everything in the 80's and again in the 90's with the oil bust in the Southeast. Why be house-poor? Why be a slave to your house? I never understood that logic. I'd rather do things than have things is what I always told Michael. Yes, those big east bench homes look great...until you hit a crisis of epic proportions. Like this one. Will your kid live? Will your kid die? Will you have to sell your house? Will insurance pay? Why no...they will not pay. Not for what you really need.
Maybe. Maybe you will lose everything. And maybe you will deal with it.
You see, insurance won't pay for these bills, and we haven't stepped foot onto the Mayo Clinic's property yet, they haven't met Gerard, and here I sit staring at a bill that's more than we get to live on in a month. Because, "they won't go off of what your doctors say it says." Yet I know they will run new tests and give us new results based on the current pathology. Not the pathology from January. But hey, I'm not a doctor, so...
Sigh... I'm embarassed. Horribly embarassed because I cannot for the life of me make sense of it.
We live modestly. We don't even have cable. We pay our bills, on time and in full. We own our cars, by paying cash when we buy (used). We don't have expensive habits (well, except the occasional Pilates class that I use instead of PT). And I don't get my nails done, have a dog to groom, no pets to feed, no housekeeper or cleaner or assistant or personal chef. I don't own designer handbags or shop at Whole Foods or get to go on fancy vacations. We took one trip to Disney World with money my mom gave me when she died. We celebrated G's 7th birthday. And stayed on base. And he's been sick ever since, basically. I grow a lot of our produce. When I cook, I cook extras to freeze and some to give to those who cannot cook for themselves. I try to be a good neighbor and a good friend. I used to host fun parties for Mardi Gras and Christmas Eve, keeping those Cajun traditions alive. We haven't been able to do those things since G's illness took over. Why am I saying this?
I've sent out over 30 resumes since January, and had a few interviews for part time work. Some were jobs I'd really have enjoyed. I don't care what they are. Work is work. If they pay at least $10/hour, I'll consider it. I need to be able to pay these medical bills. I can't pay anything when I'm not making anything, however. And when folks find out I haven't been working because my son is sick, they pry and ask and I tell them the truth. Well, that's the kiss of death. I hear "Shit, Rebecca!" And then...
Nothing.
Like a bad audition. "We'll be in touch..." Of course,
Nothing.
Have you seen Miracles from Heaven yet?
It's our lives, basically. Except it's a different disease in the same class of diseases. Mom in movie = me as mom to G. Too close to home. Going a bit nutty after all the "passing us around" bits.
Yes, I've read "wheat belly" and all the paleo blogs and autoimmune blogs and I could write a dissertation on all the information I've consumed since 2001 when I started reading all about it as a graduate student. Explain to me how a 7-year-old or even younger child gets it? I dunno. And it's not something I can understand given our super-clean lifestyle. We eat a mostly plant-based diet. No wheat, no gluten, no sugar, no dairy, NO soda, no processed foods, no junk, no fast food. Only natural, earth-derived food. He ate a handful of pretzels last week at after care at school because I was running late. He was sick for 2 days.
We eat out at 2 restaurants now. That's right...2. And one is in Salt Lake.
I've never had to ask for help before. But I'll ask for help when it comes to my son. I'm not too proud to ask for help for him. Because...
Bills. Medical bills. Bills for things that haven't helped. Bills for things in the future that might or might not help.
Bills.
What would you do?
We have insurance, yes. We do. It doesn't cover much. It doesn't help much. But it does help a little, and right now a little is better than nothing.
The thing is, we aren't seeing results in G's treatment the way we (feel that we) should be after all this time. June first, he's set for chemo again. And I don't want to take him this time. Crazy thoughts... perhaps.
So I sent records to Mayo Clinic in Rochester to get the ball rolling several months ago knowing that we'd need their expertise. We have referrals from his doctors, but insurance is denying that he's getting adequate care here in Utah. And the bills are rolling in from all directions. Bills for "reading" medical records. Yup, they can do that.
Mayo Clinic bills to the tune of nearly $2,000 today. Just for their doctors to look at two images.
Two.
Images.
And read them, apparently. Can I raise my hand and say, "I want that job!"
So here I sit, documenting another sleepless night of "where is the money going to come from this time?" And I realize, there's not much left. I have exactly $18.43 in my checking account right now. And I used to make a decent living. And I saved 10-15% of every paycheck for over 20 years. Nothing left.
Since I stopped working this year out of necessity to help care for Gerard full time, and make sure he leads somewhat of a normal lifestyle (through all the viruses, flus and hand, foot and mouth disease running through his very expensive private school)...I realize. The private school won't be an option next year. And maybe that's not such a bad thing, anyway. Maybe he'll see more compassion and understanding and feel less judgement and isolation in a public school. Maybe that's wishful thinking? Maybe...
Maybe it will relieve my household from that monthly tuition bill that I'm not sure is a good expense right now, given the circumstances. I don't want charity. I don't want a handout. I want a job and I want to support my family!
We live in a small home (a townhome). By choice. It's a very nice home, in our opinion. Small, cozy and simple, but super-filled with love and character. "Good energy" is what I hear from friends about our little space. Can't have big parties like I used to have, but heck...when was the last time we attended a big party at someone's palatial estate, anyway? Um...it's been since before moving here, I can tell you that. The mansions we see look like empty shells of bland in comparison to us.
I've listened to comments made by folks wondering why a two-income household with two over-educated folks live in such a modest townhome? Well, we did it in case something like this (might) would happen. Because we're practical. Because we watched friends lose everything in the 80's and again in the 90's with the oil bust in the Southeast. Why be house-poor? Why be a slave to your house? I never understood that logic. I'd rather do things than have things is what I always told Michael. Yes, those big east bench homes look great...until you hit a crisis of epic proportions. Like this one. Will your kid live? Will your kid die? Will you have to sell your house? Will insurance pay? Why no...they will not pay. Not for what you really need.
Maybe. Maybe you will lose everything. And maybe you will deal with it.
You see, insurance won't pay for these bills, and we haven't stepped foot onto the Mayo Clinic's property yet, they haven't met Gerard, and here I sit staring at a bill that's more than we get to live on in a month. Because, "they won't go off of what your doctors say it says." Yet I know they will run new tests and give us new results based on the current pathology. Not the pathology from January. But hey, I'm not a doctor, so...
Sigh... I'm embarassed. Horribly embarassed because I cannot for the life of me make sense of it.
We live modestly. We don't even have cable. We pay our bills, on time and in full. We own our cars, by paying cash when we buy (used). We don't have expensive habits (well, except the occasional Pilates class that I use instead of PT). And I don't get my nails done, have a dog to groom, no pets to feed, no housekeeper or cleaner or assistant or personal chef. I don't own designer handbags or shop at Whole Foods or get to go on fancy vacations. We took one trip to Disney World with money my mom gave me when she died. We celebrated G's 7th birthday. And stayed on base. And he's been sick ever since, basically. I grow a lot of our produce. When I cook, I cook extras to freeze and some to give to those who cannot cook for themselves. I try to be a good neighbor and a good friend. I used to host fun parties for Mardi Gras and Christmas Eve, keeping those Cajun traditions alive. We haven't been able to do those things since G's illness took over. Why am I saying this?
I've sent out over 30 resumes since January, and had a few interviews for part time work. Some were jobs I'd really have enjoyed. I don't care what they are. Work is work. If they pay at least $10/hour, I'll consider it. I need to be able to pay these medical bills. I can't pay anything when I'm not making anything, however. And when folks find out I haven't been working because my son is sick, they pry and ask and I tell them the truth. Well, that's the kiss of death. I hear "Shit, Rebecca!" And then...
Nothing.
Like a bad audition. "We'll be in touch..." Of course,
Nothing.
Have you seen Miracles from Heaven yet?
It's our lives, basically. Except it's a different disease in the same class of diseases. Mom in movie = me as mom to G. Too close to home. Going a bit nutty after all the "passing us around" bits.
Yes, I've read "wheat belly" and all the paleo blogs and autoimmune blogs and I could write a dissertation on all the information I've consumed since 2001 when I started reading all about it as a graduate student. Explain to me how a 7-year-old or even younger child gets it? I dunno. And it's not something I can understand given our super-clean lifestyle. We eat a mostly plant-based diet. No wheat, no gluten, no sugar, no dairy, NO soda, no processed foods, no junk, no fast food. Only natural, earth-derived food. He ate a handful of pretzels last week at after care at school because I was running late. He was sick for 2 days.
We eat out at 2 restaurants now. That's right...2. And one is in Salt Lake.
I've never had to ask for help before. But I'll ask for help when it comes to my son. I'm not too proud to ask for help for him. Because...
Bills. Medical bills. Bills for things that haven't helped. Bills for things in the future that might or might not help.
Bills.
What would you do?
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