Every day, without fail, I get a reminder that my kids are no longer in my life. Whether it’s a colleague getting married, a little boy in the mall crying for his mama, passing the Uncrustables in the supermarket, or a commercial on television for Ulcerative Colitis or Crohn’s medications, the alarms of sadness are deafening.
Today, I had two blaring reminders, but only one was consequential and crippling. You see, I still insure my two younger kids on my health insurance. My daughter, who is 26 and a married lawyer, is on my plan, and my son, who is 24 and an accountant, is also on my plan. It was part of my divorce agreement, and, quite frankly, whether they’re talking to me or not, I wish that I could insure them forever. My insurance is that good, and their health is paramount.
That said, their Explanation of Benefits come to me, and seeing one in my mailbox sends me into a panic. I start begging God to not let it be an oncologist; last year, Zachary, who is on the immunosuppressant Humira, had a CT Scan of his left breast. I nearly passed out, as any mother would, and I recited my mantra, “Just let them be healthy and happy, even if I’m not a part of their lives.”
Jay is supposed to keep me updated on the kids’ well being, but he doesn’t. It is far too enjoyable for him to let me have all of the pain and none of the pleasure. No graduations, no weddings, no babies for me; I only get the torture of seeing that my kids went to doctors and not knowing why.
Today, Rebecca’s Explanation of Benefits and a reimbursement check to a radiologist arrived. All I could dissect was the doctor’s last name and that Rebecca had x-rays of an upper extremity. Again, this keyboard dances with my shaking fingers, as my mind runs wild and my palpitations blare.
Inhumane? Damn right it is.
A Martini Toast 