Irrational Support
Yesterday this bill came in the mail
Commentary about the US medical insurance system aside…I had a big complicated surgery, and this was the big complicated bill.
It terrified me.
Actually that’s not exactly true. That came later.
It made me significantly concerned.
It made me want to call my mom.
One of my mom’s greatest gifts was worrying “with” you. She was an incredible vessel for weird health concerns that would take months of lab tests before we had answers, general kid concerns that weren’t exactly problems and would likely be grown out of. She’d say, “okay, well keep me posted, and/or I’ll get the ladies on it”
The ladies — as you may already know (the LOL’s — league of old ladies as we referred to them at her funeral) are her Monday/Thursday church charity shop volunteers. Those ladies prayed like nobody’s business — and the best part was — they took requests. More than once, friends with no real faith background asked if we could send a bat signal to the LOL’s.
After my mom died, I came across an email she wrote requesting prayers for my youngest son who had a fever at the time. She got 27 replies.
It makes me cry just to write that now.
My mother was exceptional at caring, and she cared with the strength of 27 women.
This time, there was no one to call. Instantly I felt so exhausted, I had to go to bed.
At 1 am it woke me up with a level 11 panic attack. No breath, covered in sweat, Grand Prix of terrifying thoughts lapping themselves in my mind.
The thoughts I could catch sounded like this — “why didn’t you check with the insurance company? Did you even think to ask if the anesthesiologist was in-network? You should know hospitals can’t be trusted.”
My thoughts had the tone and tenor of the kind of scolding I’d get from my dad when I’d call home in my early 20’s with some adulting gone wrong.
My dad’s love and support usually showed up as anger first. You had to stick around to get the goods — compassion, and honest to goodness help, but his crotchety manner meant not everybody did.
But I also had these thoughts, “This is a mistake. It can’t be right. You just need to call someone. People can be reasonable. No one can expect you to pay THIS!”
That right there is my mom. It’s her actual voice. I can hear it right now. Complete and utter faith it will all work out.
(I once drove my daughter halfway to Richmond for a weekend in a kid-level fancy hotel, and a visit with a favorite aunt when I discovered I’d forgotten my wallet.
It was Friday. It was rush hour. I called my mom.
“Oh, Meg! That’s just terrible! You poor things! Oh, well this hardly your fault! Why don’t you just get to the hotel, and explain what happened…I bet they’ll let you call home for your credit card…”
I was traveling with a minor over state lines with no ID for either of us.
Bless her irrationally supportive heart.
My dad got on the phone, “um, yeah. No. You gotta turn around. They’ll call the police.”)
What I did last night was wake my husband. I told him my dad thoughts. I told him my mom thoughts. Then I cried for a while and we went back to sleep.
In the morning I called the insurance company.
$250.
We owe $250.
And I’ve already made the call to tell her the good news in my head…
And I’m telling you, too.
