I Keep Looking for the "Kick Me" Sign on My Back

Somewhere I heard once that you have to experience hot to appreciate cold, and you have to experience pain to appreciate comfort, and you have to experience frustration and defeat to appreciate peace of mind. Apparently, today was one of those days that I get to really appreciate peace of mind. That, or there is a sign on my back that is written in large red letters and says "Kick Me...HARD".

I had taken Little Guy to the Saturday pedi. clinic this weekend because he had been having a wet cough. He coughed all the way into the office and all the way out. But he didn't so much as hiccup funny while the dr. was in the exam room with us. Figures. So, the dr. gave him a very clean bill of health and sent us on our way. Well, his wet icky cough just became gradually worse, so I took him to our regular (completely wonderful) pediatrician this morning.

Just in case I didn't already have enough on my plate, Little Guy now has RSV which is made worse by his reflux. The reflux can't really be treated until the RSV gets better because the meds. for it will potentially mess with his lungs. (Like me professional terminology there?) The kicker? The RSV won't get too much better until the reflux is under control. Anyone else see the cycle I'm stuck in? And, to top it off, he's got an ear infection. Nice. Very nice.

From the dr's office, I went straight to Target to pick up his prescriptions. Seems like an easy plan, right? Ha! Not when you're wearing a big red kick me sign on your back. I had to hurry so I could get home for Snort's ECI semi-annual evaluation. Target's pharmacy usually only takes about 20 minutes, and I had an hour. So, I wasn't worried. Bad idea. When you're wearing a big red kick me sign on your back, your insurance will not find your child's file in their records and will therefore refuse to pay for his desperately needed medication. The very kind and patient pharmacist called my insurance and argued with them. He didn't have much luck. So, I called and argued with them. I had better luck, but not fast enough. So, I still wound up forking out a ton of money for the medication. I can go back later this week with my updated insurance information and get the money back, but I may be too afraid of being struck by lightening to venture out anywhere.

Anyway, so I finally came home 20 minutes late for Snort's meeting. I'd texted his worker earlier, so at least she knew I'd be late. I got here just as they pulled up. I rushed in, put Snort and Pretty down for their naps, and tried to cover the diaper smell in the house with my Lux Vanilla Scentsy. Snort's team asked about Little Guy's appointment and all his latest details. I relayed the whole story and expresed my fear that some doctor somewhere down the line would suggest that I should stop nursing him (which is a huge worry of mine). At that point the very well-intended occupational therapist suggested pumping milk and weighing it down in a bottle. From there, I promptly melted into a sobbing puddle. Nice. Very nice. Tomorrow, I can wear a "Loser" sign on my back I guess.

So, if tomorrow is any better than today was (and really, how can it be much worse?), I promise to really appreciate the peace of mind I'll be feeling. If not, I guess I'll just keep waiting for that big red kick me sign to fall off.