The world is full of meteors and asteroids and screaming goats and poop-filled cruise ships and so I feel like nothing really interesting is going on over here. And yet… something really cool happened this week and I feel like it might make you just as shivery as it made me. I mean, it's no Siberian meteorite, but in the haikuoftheday-household-scheme-of-things it's nearly just as big.
A few weeks ago it was time for us to have our annual review for Ike-a-saurus' medicaid waiver. Every year, a case manager and a nurse come to the house and ask lots of questions, write down current medications, track nursing hours, etc. It's a little bit arduous, but nothing like it used to be. Now, I can answer "no, nope, uh-uh, overnight hospital stays in the last 30 days? No." when it used to be more like "Yes, yep, yes, hospitalizations? ER visits? Here's the list."
I was surprised last year when we still qualified for the waiver, but Ike was still in a "failure to thrive" situation, and still had some therapies he was going to, etc. We were approved, and we were grateful. The medicaid waiver supplements our private insurance and has saved us from probably hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years. You don't want to have a medically fragile child, but if you have one, having a medicaid safety net to keep you from losing your house is awfully nice. (Don't tell the state of Texas. I'm sure someone is lobbying to get rid of this as we speak.)
Well, we had our meeting, and that was that. I didn't think much about it after it was done, other than "whew, that's done." Then, a few days ago, I got a call from the nurse. Our waiver is pending denial.
My immediate reaction? Knee-buckling relief. Because even though we're still working on a lot of things (gaining weight, transitioning from the prescription formula, addressing a possible reccurance of reflux, avoiding respiratory illnesses, etc.) a denial means we are nearly in a place of… non-panic at every cough or sneeze. It means he's healthy. It is the pot of no-more-jumping-through-hoops-no-more-panic-attacks at the end of the rainbow.
So, yes, I felt relief. But then… my next reaction was shivery and emotional. I realized the phone call about the denial had come four years to the day that Ike was admitted to the PICU – in that mad dash/chest compressions/me chasing wildly after the doctors Night Of Horror.
Four years exactly.
That, my friends, is taking things full circle.