I never do well with watching my language this time of year. I actually do try, sometimes. The week of Sam’s birthday it gets out of control. Don’t like swearing, don’t read past this paragraph. I even put in a picture before I start.
For the last 25 years I have dreaded this week. It fucking sucks to be reminded that this supposed to be get together with family holiday is partly to blame for the healthcare I got when I wound up in the hospital. Every year it hits me hard. This year is no different and Friday was a fucking shit show.
Started Thursday night when Darren was looking at next years open enrollment. I was sitting next to him enjoying my wine when I noticed Sam wasn’t listed as a dependent for next year. What the fuck was the nicest thing I said. I should note, Darren works for an amazing company that provides excellent benefits. It’s one of the reasons he took the job many years ago when he was able to change jobs without Sam losing her insurance. This company also stated if you had a disabled dependent, they would always be covered. Poured more wine, said fuck a 100 more times and Darren scheduled a call for the next morning with benefits.
Friday morning before the call I got out her conservator papers and her huge binder of medical papers. Darren was very optimistic that it would be a simple fix. I chuckled. I’ve been dealing with Sam and her insurance for a quarter of a CENTURY (fuck I’m old) I knew it wouldn’t be a simple call.
Summation of call – benefits says company discontinued the forever covered clause recently. No notice given. Now it’s up to the insurance company to decide if they want to continue to cover Sam. Get insurance guy on the phone call. Yes, it is documented that she is permanently disabled. No shit sherlock, insurance company makes me prove this to let me have access to her records. Insurance guy tells benefit gal that it’s documented. Benefits says good, send over the paperwork so she can be added. Insurance guy starts looking for form and not finding the correct one, even though there are others documenting her permanent disabled status. Eventually finds form and says it’s never been filed. What form I ask? Insurance sends form, I have never seen this form before. This form is fucking hilarious. It’s asking if Sam will get better, why doesn’t she work, is she in college. The same shit we had to answer with lawyers when we had to become her conservators 8 years ago. Insurance has her conservator papers. This new form also has to be documented by her doctor. What’s one more trip to a doctor office during a fucking pandemic? This goes on for almost 2 hours. So much for a quick fix phone call. And why have this issue this year and not all the other years….
Sam turns 26 on Wednesday. She ages out of the ACA provision. According to insurance a fucking miracle is going to happen and she will magically wake up that day and be 100% typical. Forget all the documentation they have about her right now. On November 25, the miracle of all miracles is going to happen! Oh I can’t wait!! No more feeding, dressing, bathing, toileting or making her medical decisions. Shit, we can go to Vegas whenever we want. Not deal with the insurance Monday. HA HA!
For some more fucking Friday fun, we drove to UCLA for more comprehensive genetic testing. Insurance did authorize the $12000 test. All three of us were tested this time, past genetic tests have only been on Sam. Sam dictated what color bandages we got, I think she very much enjoyed being the boss. The results will take months.
Darren knows I deal with this insurance and medical shit all the time. He got a full dose of my Sam life on Friday. He says he wants to keep his day job. Can’t blame him.
Cheers.
Nancy
25 years of raising and caring for a perpetual 2 year old 