Buying Healthcare in Bulk

"Welcome to Holy Moly Children's Medical Center, can I take your order, please?"
"Yes; I would like a knee immobilizer, lidocaine gel, lycra sutures, ummmm... solumedrol with a 22-gauge IV, supplemental oxygen, and a dose of IM Rocephin."
"Would you like that Holy Moly-sized?"
"Errrr... sure; why not."
"OK, your co-pay will be $100; please pull around to the first window."

OK, so that's not exactly how it goes, but that's how I feel lately with the various calamities involving my four rugrats (OK, three, really; Diva reminds me that she has done nothing in her life to contribute to our health plan's two million dollar lifetime maximum). I'm just waiting for Child Protective Services to come bang on my door and start questioning the children individually. "Does your mommy ever hit you?" "No, sir! Wait - do wire hangers count?"

Let's backtrack, shall we? Waaaay back in October of 2007, Finn was jumping on the trampoline (which I vehemently resisted letting the outlaws buy my kids for Christmas, yet was informed that I was being hysterical and over-protective), and broke his tibia. It was a buckle fracture, commonly known as - guess - a trampoline fracture. He was our first to break a bone; not bad for being baby #4. We made a tidy profit on the trampoline when Scott dismantled it. Father out-law asked if he was going to get the money from the sale, since they bought it. I informed them that, sure, they could have the money, but we were planning on using it to pay his grandchild's medical bills. I never heard a word about it after that. But I digress...

In October 2008, Finn had to have his tonsils and adenoids removed and his turbinates done. That was not an accident, but it connects to the next injury. The tonsillectomy recovery was quite an ordeal, and was capped by an injury sustained while rough-housing with his sisters at church a few weeks later. Shattered nasal bridge. Reconstructive surgery two days before Christmas. Finn was given Versed. Mommy took Xanax.

March. Jack showing off his newborn baby giraffe-like mad skills in the skating rink at a friend's birthday party. Took a spill. Braced himself with his arms. Broke his radius. Cast for six weeks. He got Motrin as needed. Mommy upped her Zoloft dose.

May. Finn rebreaks aforementioned post-tonsillectomy, post-reconstruction proboscis at the hands of an evil little girl a classmate at school. Not serious enough to require surgery. Whew - that was a close one. Had his fifteen minutes of fame on Facebook, describing on camera the dastardly deed blow-by-blow. "Ms. Pam tell her, 'Say you're sowwy'... but her didn't."

Yesterday. I'm looking forward to chillaxin' in a t-shirt and shorts before I go to work a night shift. I'm standing in the kitchen, making a sandwich, when a muffled, approaching wail emanates from the front of the house. The front door opens and the wails get more desperate, and you get that chill where you know something's really wrong.

In walks Fifi, looking like Sissy Spacek in the prom scene from Carrie. OK, so maybe I'm exaggerating a wee bit, but it was bloody, and it scared the hell out of me. Seriously - about five drops of pee came out. Mass pandemonium ensues as Fifi, Diva, and the neighbor kid all try to explain what happened. I grab a cloth, wet it, and put it to Fifi's face. From what I could gather from Alvin and the Chipmunks (that's how they sounded, all trying to talk at once, hyper, and I'm sure there was some helium involved at some point), Fifi was running from a barking dog, scared out of her wits, and ran smack into the neighbor's pool deck. Results:



Ouch.

So I had to go to work two hours early and play Mommy, while wearing scrubs. Then I had to clock in. She got stitches. She has a ballet recital in three days. Is it OK if I become an alcoholic now?

It's pretty bad when you've gotten to the point where you're numb to your kids' injuries. Don't get me wrong... you're not indifferent to their pain; you still baby them and love on them and kiss them and make it better. But you aren't panicked; you simply take charge and do what has to be done, whether that is take them to the doctor or call the ER (AKA your place of employment) and tell them, yep, you're bringing your kid in again. And nope, they don't need to consult Medical Social Work.

So the drive-thru scenario was just a comical bit on what has become my life as of late, but we practically do need to start a tab at the children's hospital. Yesterday, I told the admissions clerk to bill me as usual for our co-pay. He laughed uncomfortably and then stopped and said, "Oh - you're serious. Oh, OK."

Is it just me, or are you envisioning my health plan company(*koff koff*CIGNA*koff koff*) getting pissed and making voodoo dolls out of my family? Wait - I take that back. That would make no sense. Because any injuries they'd inflict on us in some primitive, mystical manner; well, they'd have to pay to fix. Hmmmph.

I just have to accept the fact that as long as I have the fruit of my loins under my roof or claimed on my insurance, my employer will get $50 per paycheck toward the hospital bills I owe them. Even if I get the balances paid off 6 months from now, they might as well keep drawing it out. Because we'll be back.