Frustration

The insurance claim that was supposed to be paid for Bubba, never was. After months of saying they would pay it, reprocessing it, and then denying it, they now tell me I have to file an appeal. So I am gathering letters from the doctor and dentist, records from the hospital, and all of my notes so that I can file an appeal and a complaint with the state insurance commissioner.

I also have to file an appeal because they have told me they will not cover Moosie having more extensive dental work done, even though he is required to go under anesthesia because of his disability and the inability to do the procedure in a dental office. Meanwhile the insurance company also denied a request for a gap extension. We have no in-network pediatric occupational therapists in our area, so we filed for a gap extension. They denied it saying that there are pediatric OTs knowing full well that there is not. They gave me a number, which of course I called, and they said they are an adult provider and have been forever. But the case is closed I am told and my only recourse is to appeal. Meanwhile...we pay out of pocket for both boys.

It really does get tiring advocating for things that you just shouldn't have to fight for. I'm so tired of being part of so many systems where I have to know all of the rules and not let them beat me down and make me too tired to care. I have part two of Bubba's IEP meeting next week. Some days I just want to crawl into a hole. Some days I do.

And what's even more frustrating? I spent over an hour calling number to misleading number trying to figure out what our mental health benefits are so that I can talk to someone as my anxiety spikes. I've gotten everything from "you're not in the system so call THIS number" to "our system is down, so call back." It's a good thing I still have some wits about me. I still haven't found anyone to help.

So forgive me as I don't write as I jump and fall from one broken system to the next.

The good news is that I finished our taxes and we already have our refund. And I finished applying for a grant (to help with the dental costs). Let's hope it pans out.

Mom

For the past year or so, I have been extremely fearful of my dead mother. I have dreams where an object symbolizes her and she speaks to me. I wake up with a low guttural scream, which wakes Hubby up. He shushes me back to sleep, but the image lingers. Once it was a ceiling fan spinning in a slow distorted speed yearning in my dead mother's voice: "I love you."

I walk around in darkness on my way to bed. I carefully step over toys and navigate around chairs. I expect to see her fleeting image at any moment. I never do, but I am still afraid. Then I convince myself that even if there was such a thing as ghosts, she would know how deathly afraid I am of her, and as my mother, she wouldn't choose to scare me.

It doesn't help that Moosie often talks to "ma-ma Pat" late at night. He chatters sometimes until midnight, "Hi ma-ma Pat. Good bye. Hi. I poopy pants. Good bye. Like my new bone [phone]!" I lay awake waiting for her to talk back.

I lost my mom when I was 10. And sometime between then and now, she has become my "mother." My dead mother. I was feeling really guilty about this, which is why I started this post. But I realize now, that it is not her that I fear, but my own mortality. I am in my young thirties, which is around how old she was when she died from breast cancer. I have two young children, which is exactly what she left behind. As a mother struggling with my own identity, trying to find my purpose, my direction in life, I see my mother through adult eyes. But she is my age. And it doesn't make sense.

It just doesn't make sense. And it truly frightens me.

Breaking in...

...for this important story...

We have big big news in the urination department. More of it is ending up in the bathroom! (Note: I did not say "toilet." I do have boys!)

Moosie has decided to potty train himself. All on his own. With Bubba, we tried fighting that battle and lost. He eventually potty trained himself when he was four and a half, during an overnight hospital stay while hooked up to an IV. We decided it wasn't worth the fight with Mooser. We changed his pants, didn't talk about it much, and just went about our business. Last week or so, Moosie woke up dry and exclaimed he had to pee. Today he is wearing big boy underwear (that took a little convincing). And that's that.

Bubba also learned today what the slot in his underwear is for. THANK GOD, he now gets the concept of not dropping his drawers to pee. Unfortunately, he needs a little more practice, and his face scrunches up intently and hand disappears like he is performing a search and rescue when it's time to do his business... I know this because he was very proud when I came home and, much to me bewilderment, had to show me what daddy taught him.

How do you feel?

Bubba's cheeks were flushed, and he looked ill, so I asked: Do you feel sick?

Bubba started to frantically feel his face, head, and arms like he was searching for something: "I don't know... do I?!?!?!? Here mom. Touch me. What do I feel like? Sick?"

Seclusion Room Update

I haven't been writing much (obviously), and I have been reading the blogs I have on queue, but not taking the time to comment much (sorry!). I am focusing more energy on the seclusion room issue. I have been researching, gathering information, preparing to meet with my legislators, etc. I met with the special education administrator and some of the coordinators, and it was a good discussion. I was disheartened that all of the schools in the district except for one has a seclusion room in it. Apparently foster kids are scary? I am going to set up a separate blog regarding my efforts about seclusion room/time out/restraint policies in my district, and eventually the state. I am in this for the long haul, and I hear it can be a long, long haul.

Little Ol' Me?

Oooooh....I am so excited!!!! Hotbitch25 wants to talk to me. To me! And in case that wasn't exciting enough, Senator Sam Brownback wants to talk to me about John McCain. Uh, no thanks. I'd rather talk to Hotbitch.

Why do I get these e-mails? OK, I know why. But why?!?!?!??!