We headed to Aiden’s ENT
appointment this afternoon after a morning of gathering uniforms and prepping
for the baby shower.
We walked into the huge
complex and signed in. The receptionist asked for my insurance card and a huge
lump developed in my throat. I felt as if I was cheating by giving them a card
that would only be good for four more days. Crazy right? Hopefully, she didn’t
notice my hesitation. The whole wearing my heart on my sleeve is exhausting.
As I sat with Aiden filling
out the new patient paper work, I scanned the room. I watched in awe as people
checked in, handed over their insurance information, and paid without a second thought.
The people sitting around us were gazing at the TV screens, perusing the
magazines, and checking their phones without a care in the world.
I, on the other hand, held
back tears and tried to steady my hand as I wrote. I told myself that I needed
to hold it together for Aiden who would have been befuddled with the waterfalls
at that point. I gave myself a little pep talk, “Hey, seriously, the emotions
are a little over the top don’t you think? Not having an income or insurance is
not the end of the world, nor is it a permanent situation. You’re going to get
through this. You’re going to be fine.”
I gave myself a pat on the
back for returning the papers and collecting my card with out any tears. I was
proud that when I sat down, I had a nice conversation with Aiden that included
nothing about sacrifice or money.
I’m focusing on the little
Aiden got called back for the
hearing test first. I sat in the little hallway outside of the testing room
praying like crazy that nothing would be wrong. What if he’s going deaf? What
if something is really wrong and he needs therapy? What are we going to do? “Excuse
me self! Did you not hear me the first time? Things are going to work out.
You’re going to be fine. Aiden is going to be fine. If something is wrong,
we’ll deal with it, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Okay? Get
it together girl.”
He came out and told me about
what happened as we waited to be put in an exam room. “She made me repeat some
words and listen to some sounds.”
“Did you hear all of them?”
“I guess, but how do I know
if I didn’t hear them?” he wondered.
“That’s an excellent point
bud. We’ll just have to wait and see what the doctor says.”
His doctor came in and told
us that the hearing test did show that he was missing those upper decibels.
“You know, it doesn’t seem to be bothering him. I’m not sure the test was
entirely accurate. A lot of factors can play into those things. Is he under any
stress? Anything out of the ordinary going on at home or at school?”
Sheesh. Here we go again, I
thought. “My husband just lost his job,” I managed to get out holding my
“I’m so sorry,” he said with sympathy.
“That can certainly have an effect. Look, I’m not worried about it. Let’s
recheck him in six months and see what happens.”
I mentioned all the symptoms
he was experiencing and asked him what the x-rays showed. He hadn’t seen them
and they couldn’t get them when they tried. “It sounds like his adenoids to me.
Mind if I numb him up and go ahead and take a look while you’re here?”
“That would be great,” I said
as Aiden shook his head and widened his eyes.
“How do you look at them?” he
wanted to know.
After the doctor told him, he
was especially hesitant. I gave him the whole take one for the team speech and
“They do look enlarged,” was
the doctor’s analysis.
“Okay. What do we need to
do?” I asked.
“Well,” he explained,
“there’s the surgery route, but I like to start with a few months of steroids
to see if we can shrink them. The surgery is routine but it’s still nice to see
if we can avoid it. Of course, there’s no guarantee the steroids will work. We
just have to wait and see.”
As calmly and rationally as I
could, I explained the urgency of our situation. After Sunday, there will be no
more insurance. Chances are that when my husband starts working again, it will
be for himself so that part won’t change. We’re at our out of pocket and money
is going to be very tight for a season.
Unfortunately, as calmly and
rationally as I could did not prevent the floodgates from opening. There I sat
in front of this new young doctor, his young assistant, and my 11-year-old son
trying my hardest to keep it together but no matter how hard I tried, I
It’s like I have this gaping
wound and every time I have to revisit the story, it’s like tearing the bandage
off with bits of flesh attached. I’m a counselor and I know I’m going through
mourning. Knowing that doesn’t stop it from happening though.
After I told my story, I
apologized for this emotional display and assured him I was not trying to
manipulate him, I just hadn’t wrapped my mind around all of it yet. Still, I
managed to ask the impossible. “I know this is asking a lot, but do you think
there’s any way we can get a surgery scheduled before the end of the week?”
He was so empathetic. He’d
been there, he explained, before getting this job. He had children and he got
it. “I have clinic hours the rest of the week, but let me go talk to my
partners and see what we can do.”
He was back within minutes
with the news that they could get him in. “What would you like to do? I’d hate
to see you rush into something like a surgery because of your circumstances.
Waiting on the surgery won’t hurt him.”
I was composed by this time
and offered, “Why don’t we run it through insurance? I know it’s a long shot.
If they give approval in time, let’s do it.”
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll get
them started and someone will call you.”
I thanked him profusely. The
impossibility of what I was asking did not escape me.
In the car on the way home, I
interceded to the Holy Spirit. Honestly he’s not my go to guy, but when I don’t
have the answer or the words, I call on him. “Holy Spirit, I know I’m asking
for a miracle, but if Aiden needs this surgery, please let the insurance
approve it so we can get it done before our insurance runs out. If it’s not
your will, show me in no uncertain terms.”
I’ve been given the run
around by our insurance on numerous occasions. They rarely approve something
like a surgery without some kind of a waiting period.
We arrived home about 25
minutes after leaving the office. Five minutes later the phone rang. “Mrs.
Parris, this is Augusta ENT. I’m calling to let you know we have Aiden
scheduled for surgery this Thursday. No prior approval was needed. Someone will
call you with the time and surgical instructions later.”
We often look for miracles to
be burning bushes, parting seas, or physical healings. However, I believe God
works miracles every day, all the time. Today I got one. What it showed me was
that God cares about my family. He loves my kids more than I do. He will
provide for all of our needs.
I am grateful, and shaking,
and crying – not because of fear, or worry but because of the reminder of God’s
abundant blessings poured out on me.