“Are you coming with me? You’re not a boy,” Jackson whines. “It’ll be weird if you come and you’re the only girl there.”
Oh, I’m going to this BBQ. I’m going to go with a T-shirt that says ‘kindness, equality, and inclusion’. I’m going to wave my single momma flag with pride.
“If it’s okay with your mom and you, I’d be happy to take you there, bud,” Jim pipes up.
Jackson gasps, looking at me for approval, and I shrug. “If Jim wants to, that’s fine by me.” I’ll find other ways to stick it to Tom. Ones that are slightly less embarrassing for Jackson.
Jackson runs and lunges at Jim, hugging him tightly around the waist. “Just us?! That’d be so cool!”
“Are you sure about this?” I whisper to Jim as he keeps an arm draped over Jackson’s back.
He nods, gesturing to see the flier now crumbled in my sweaty hands. “Absolutely I am. I told you, anything for you two.”
Chapter Ten
“What do youmeanthe mattress isn’t covered?” I rifle through the stack of notes on my desk, seeing my streaks of red ink correspond with each required criteria. I spent the better part of the last two weeks making sure to gather every doctor’s note, every surgical consult, and ER visit, making sure I didn’t miss anything. “This kid has progressive muscular dystrophy, he's bedbound, completely unable to reposition himself without help, and has a two centimeter ulcer on his right buttock. That literally checks every single box on your authorization sheet, so don’t tell me it’s not covered.”
“That’s what you’re missing,” the snarky voice on the other end responds. “The doctor’s notes report a two centimeter abscess, not an ulcer.”
My hand freezes mid-page flip, stunned at her response. Are you fucking kidding me?
The point is the kid has a wound on his bottom and needs a specialty mattress to prevent it from getting any worse. Who gives a rat's ass if it’s an abscess, or an ulcer, or a goddamn raccoon bite. “Maybe the origin of the wound was an abscess, but it measures the same as a non-healing stage two pressure ulcer, now with undermining. Can’t an exception be made?”
She sighs loudly on the other end, sounding just as exasperated by this forty-seven minute argument as I am. I bite my tongue, waiting for her to respond.
Only to be met with silence.
“Are you still there?” I prompt, moving the phone away from my face to let out a shaky breath, willing myself to calm down so I can keep this somewhat professional.
“Find me documentation that says it’s an ulcer, and we can re-evaluate in the future.”
I cross my legs under the desk, letting my hanging foot bounce erratically, while repeating the same mantra in my head. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice.
“What the fuck’s the point of having insurance if it doesn’t pay for anything?”
Damn. So much for being nice today.
“Find me the proper documentation, and we can re-evaluate,” she repeats.
“Fine.” I slam the receiver down, and once I see that the call has disconnected, I pick it up and slam the phone against the base three times in quick succession as I mumble curses under my breath.
I hate working in case management. I hate insurance companies that don’t want to pay, and I hate that healthcare has become a money-making business when it should be about the patient.
I swear on my own life, someone is going to pay for that kid’s mattress, and it won’t be the family. “Fuckinghatemy job.”
I gently place the phone back on the receiver, turning back to my laptop to document my phone conversation when it rings again.
“Case Management, this is Meg.”
“Hi Meg, this is Sherry from the Principal’s office at Rowe Elementary. Sorry to bother you at work but we were unable to reach you by cell.”
I roll my desk chair back to reach for my purse. I had dropped it on the floor by my feet earlier, and was so caught up with the call I forgot to take my cell out. I pull the bag on my lap, rifling through to grab my phone, finding three missed calls and twenty-seven text messages.
Two of the calls are from the school, one from my mom.
“Jackson was sick this morning,” she continues. “We called the secondary contact, which was his grandma. She came and picked him up a few minutes ago, but I wanted to make sure we were able to get in touch with you as well.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, opening up the text messages to see they’re all from the T-ball team parents. “Sorry I didn’t answer, I appreciate you calling my mom.”
