Thursday, January 2, 2014

Blizzard Coming

I survived my first day without cookies. I've deputized my children to intervene if they see me with chocolate. I've taught them the pep talk and J says that if I need a cookie he'll give me a hug instead, please, oh please don't let this child grow up. Except, asking that is asking for trouble, so okay, he can grow up, he should grow up, but his inner love bug should never diminish.

Despite blizzard on the way, disappointed boys had to go to school this morning after sleeping in for two weeks. Everyone made it, but mid-day, I succumbed to the tall one's texted pleas for rescue. So few people showed up they were just sitting around and I do enjoy our occasional hookie-lunches, so I took him to the Modern Diner. We had a very nice lunch and as I pulled out my wallet, he said "for once… I've got it, I'm flush with holiday money." And that boy bought me lunch. Of course it only means he'll run out of money sooner and be asking me for cash which we laughed about, but hell yeah, it's the thought that counts.

We are still waiting to hear about our appeal for more financial aid from the dream school. It's such an absurd amount of money we're talking about, the expectation of paying one bill that's more than you make in a year. Healthcare and college, the costs are criminal, that and the dreamy Rhode Island yearly excise tax on cars. It's hard to know how to play it -- demanding, offended, begging, pleading... I hope I'm doing the right thing. Phrasing things correctly, copying the right people.

We just learned that the offensive coordinator who recruited him, who we both adore, is leaving for a new job as head coach at a Division II school which is great for him, but sad for us. I say "us" but it seems just sad for me, G takes it all in stride, I don't like change. Knowing this guy gave me a level of comfort with the program and who would be his role model, now I don't have a mental image. I felt I could text this guy or call him up if I needed to, I don't feel that way about someone I've never met. Maybe it's for the best, I should really be staying out of things.

I have worn the compression sleeve for only a few hours each day, that thing is so tight it hurts. I know I've got the right size, I was measured and am right in the midst of size medium, but after a few hours my arm aches and finally, before I even know what I'm doing, I'm pulling it off. I'm really hoping that detoxing and losing weight will help the swelling so I don't need to wear it.

The sleeve I bought is made by a company called Lymphedivas. It was founded by a feisty cancer patient who needed a sleeve and like me, couldn't deal with the institutional look adding insult to her injury. So she started this company which is now run by her parents, as she succumbed at 37 years old. That's why I have trouble with the term "survivor" because everyone's a survivor... until they're not, it's meaningless at best, disingenuous at worst.

My insurance is supposed to cover the sleeve, it's a medical device and an Rx. Except that it doesn't. Even though the Lymphediva is made to medical specifications, because it comes in colors and patterns insurance calls it a "fashion accessory", say what? Even though I bought it through a medical supply company they won't pay even though it turns out to be the same cost as a beige one and a more breathable fabric.

I don't mind paying out of pocket, I wish that company all the best.

No comments:

Post a Comment