We've pretty much hit the jackpot when it comes to the people who make things like insurance and medical billing happen. Given the quantity of tests, treatments and traumas, insurance and billing have, overall, been smooth sailing.
It helps, though, to have encountered some Marlyns along the way.
Marlyn works for the large regional group system that includes much of Kevin's cancer care--chemotherapy, radiologists, nursing, lab, hospitalization. With the bulk of his medical care billed under their name, a typical monthly bill runs in the $30,000 range.
A couple of months ago my frustrations mounted against an immovable force of an anonymous woman who wouldn't/couldn't attempt to investigate a billing problem for me. Normally, I'm no pushover. That day, though, I was overwhelmed with the ongoing storm of Kevin's care and this little wave felt like a tsunami. I shoved the papers in a cubby hole on my desk and let them drift for the next six weeks.
Today I forced myself to make another attempt with the billing office. A woman identified herself as "Marlyn" as she answered my phone call. In minutes Marlyn had the information she needed from me and asked if she could call me back with an answer. In a short time Marlyn was on the phone, confirming she had located the error and corrected our account.
I now have Marlyn's direct office phone number in my files. I know that she is off on Wednesdays through this month and she knows Kevin's chemotherapy is drawing to an end and we are hoping to never have to light up her phone line again. Marlyn sounded genuinely pleased to hear Kevin is recovering.
Marlyn was so efficient and helpful that I wouldn't have minded if the error had been found on my side rather than the billing office. I would have felt good about understanding it and been happy to pay it feeling Kevin's case was getting attentive care from all angles.
The world would run better--and we would all feel better about it--with a few more Marlyns.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Weekend Reflecting
We are home in Ohio now. Hard to imagine that 5 months ago I was pretty certain I would never be "home in Ohio."
Kevin has already fallen asleep. The weekend of travel and visiting left him exhausted. Me too but I need to unwind a little before sleep will come. I don't know why I'm so tired these days; I tell Kevin it's my way of being supportive--sharing his tiredness.
It's quiet tonight--it's usually quiet here, but tonight is a particularly nice quiet after such a busy weekend and I'm enjoying the memories.
Brother--er, Father--Patrick's ordination was beautiful for so many reasons. His story, his 
journey to this point, is a wonderful affirmation of faith and knowing what we know of it made the day even sweeter. Our other Patrick was the photographer of the day and, as I look through the digital files of his photos, it's a joy to see the smiles lighting up Father Patrick's face throughout the weekend.
journey to this point, is a wonderful affirmation of faith and knowing what we know of it made the day even sweeter. Our other Patrick was the photographer of the day and, as I look through the digital files of his photos, it's a joy to see the smiles lighting up Father Patrick's face throughout the weekend.I made a little montage of some of Patrick's great photos of the day.
Celebrating the ordination with dear friends from St. Tom's just added to the sweetness of the day. Joan, Johanna, Zelda, Charlotte and Patrick met us at the Cathedral so we could sit together. We all went to the lunch at St. Tom's afterwards then met again on Sunday morning for Father Patrick's first Mass.
Even more amazing was the surprise of seeing Elaina Balser at the ordination. She is friends with the newly ordained diocesan priest and was there to celebrate his day. We barely had a moment to visit before our schedule and hers called us in different directions but it was a wonderful gift to even get to say hello in person. John wasn't with her--he was at a conference in another state. I'm glad she was able to see Kevin and can report back to John! Kevin may not feel great, but he looks wonderful and it's always reassuring to friends to see him looking much better than they might imagine.
Saturday night was devoted to Andrea's birthday and spending some time with Kate. Another late night but rewarding in time spent with people we love. Miss Kate has written a song relative to her recent break-up with James and she brought her guitar to the pool to share it with us. It's a good piece. I'll try to get a recording of it and post it here sometime.
This morning we headed out after Mass and met Kelly and Paige in Indianapolis for lunch. There's a good chance we won't be able to be there later this month for Kelly's birthday so this was a nice time to celebrate in advance. It was fun to spend some time with the girls and Kevin had the satisfaction of knowing he had time with all three of his daughters. He misses the individual time he used to sneak in with each of them.
We had to squeeze in a quick stop at the house in Lafayette--sewer problems for the tenants. This is the kind of thing I dreaded when we became absentee landlords. We'll have to call Mark the sewer guy tomorrow to deal with it. And I am resolved to not over work it in my mind in advance.
So I'm going to return to the pleasant recollection of a weekend filled with faith and friends and family. Good night to you and may God bless you all!
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Sleeping the Sleep of a Man Well Loved
Kevin is sleeping the blissful sleep tonight of a man adored. I think his eyes were closing before his head hit the pillows.It's hard work being adored.
He and Kate went out to dinner--just the two of them--for probably the first time since those conference trips when she was still in high school. He said walking downtown with Kate on a Saturday evening really is like Norm entering Cheers--everybody knows her.
He sealed the deal on his wonderfulness when he hauled Evan, Andrea and Hannah off to DQ for banana splits at 10 p.m. after they had been swimming in our hotel pool for 4 hours.
You don't make a lot of enemies with spontaneous dinners downtown and banana splits an hour after bedtime.
Friday, June 6, 2008
"family" Doesn't Always Swim in the Same Gene Pool
Weekend in Indiana.
Brother Patrick will be ordained and Miss Andrea is celebrating her 7th birthday.
We're looking forward to seeing each one--friends from St. Tom's, the kids from daycare, our girls, my family. The support of these people has kept us going through this last year and the way they've continued to be with us even over the distance between Lafayette and Cincinnati is humbling. Making the time and effort to call, to email, to send pictures from the kids, to ask how he is and listen to the answer, and to share with us what is going on in their days has eased many of Kev's worst days and kept me from feeling like I am alone in taking care of--in caring for--him.
Kevin has decided we'll miss the family gathering in Indianapolis. Mostly it's the fatigue of a long day of travel for Kevin. The drive over will wear him out and I expect him to nod off at the Cathedral. He doesn't feel like he can drive another 90 minutes then make it through an evening family gathering--which would be the first time he's seen much of his family since before his cancer, the first time he's talked to his brothers since before his cancer and one of the few times he's talked to his sisters. His mother is no longer able to keep track of who she sees when and she tires easily, especially in a crowded situation. We will stop to visit with her on another weekend.
So there we are at the other side of not going to the "Family" thing in favor of the family thing. The lingering hurt and bitterness about the neglect of Kevin aside--and it is an aside because it's a pop-up when something reminds us, not an ongoing gnaw inside--sometimes being "family" has nothing to do with a shared gene pool.
It has to do with sharing.
Brother Patrick will be ordained and Miss Andrea is celebrating her 7th birthday.
We're looking forward to seeing each one--friends from St. Tom's, the kids from daycare, our girls, my family. The support of these people has kept us going through this last year and the way they've continued to be with us even over the distance between Lafayette and Cincinnati is humbling. Making the time and effort to call, to email, to send pictures from the kids, to ask how he is and listen to the answer, and to share with us what is going on in their days has eased many of Kev's worst days and kept me from feeling like I am alone in taking care of--in caring for--him.
Kevin has decided we'll miss the family gathering in Indianapolis. Mostly it's the fatigue of a long day of travel for Kevin. The drive over will wear him out and I expect him to nod off at the Cathedral. He doesn't feel like he can drive another 90 minutes then make it through an evening family gathering--which would be the first time he's seen much of his family since before his cancer, the first time he's talked to his brothers since before his cancer and one of the few times he's talked to his sisters. His mother is no longer able to keep track of who she sees when and she tires easily, especially in a crowded situation. We will stop to visit with her on another weekend.
So there we are at the other side of not going to the "Family" thing in favor of the family thing. The lingering hurt and bitterness about the neglect of Kevin aside--and it is an aside because it's a pop-up when something reminds us, not an ongoing gnaw inside--sometimes being "family" has nothing to do with a shared gene pool.
It has to do with sharing.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Be Careful What You Promise...
...because it might come back and bite you in the rear years later.
The word "patient" in any of its incarnations wouldn't generally describe me.
I used to buy out of Kevin's urgings to get me to go to the doctor by promising him that I would be better at it some day far in the future when I was no longer running the daycare. My premise was that running the daycare made it next to impossible to keep a doctor's appointment.
It wasn't like I could just let the kids stack up in my "in box" until I got back or work a little later to catch up on time missed during the day.
Although the stress and chemicals of chemotherapy have left Kevin occasionally reaching in his mind for a last name or a date, he managed to recall my promise this week after Sunday's fainting episode.
If waving the promise wasn't enough, he threw down the cancer card and reminded me of how bad he feels when I won't let him do what he can these days to take care of me. He's a smart man and generally reserves that trick for things like getting Skyline Chili for lunch.
I got lucky and snagged an appointment with Peggy, the Nurse Practitioner. Both Peggy and I survived the encounter which says a lot about her patience with me as patient. I agreed to having some blood work done and Peggy extracted my promise to return in a couple of weeks.
And Kevin is pleased for the reversal, however brief, of our roles of patient and caregiver.
The word "patient" in any of its incarnations wouldn't generally describe me.
I used to buy out of Kevin's urgings to get me to go to the doctor by promising him that I would be better at it some day far in the future when I was no longer running the daycare. My premise was that running the daycare made it next to impossible to keep a doctor's appointment.
It wasn't like I could just let the kids stack up in my "in box" until I got back or work a little later to catch up on time missed during the day.
Although the stress and chemicals of chemotherapy have left Kevin occasionally reaching in his mind for a last name or a date, he managed to recall my promise this week after Sunday's fainting episode.
If waving the promise wasn't enough, he threw down the cancer card and reminded me of how bad he feels when I won't let him do what he can these days to take care of me. He's a smart man and generally reserves that trick for things like getting Skyline Chili for lunch.
I got lucky and snagged an appointment with Peggy, the Nurse Practitioner. Both Peggy and I survived the encounter which says a lot about her patience with me as patient. I agreed to having some blood work done and Peggy extracted my promise to return in a couple of weeks.
And Kevin is pleased for the reversal, however brief, of our roles of patient and caregiver.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Intellectual Knowledge Versus Experience
Kevin is frustrated by the continuing--growing--side effects of chemotherapy. The neuropathy has increased and is interfering with simple tasks like buttons and keystrokes. He trips alot because of the numbness in his feet. He drops a lot of things--or squeezes a glass until it breaks--because his fingers won't communicate if he's got a grip on something or not. He feels achy and overall flu-like much of the time and his energy level is kaput.
All expected results of chemotherapy and all proof that you can intellectually know something yet not really know it until you live it.
My research indicated he would see an increase in the quantity and duration of side effects as chemotherapy continued. And we have been cautioned several times by both medical staff and other patients to expect a cumulative impact.
So he knew it could happen.
But in his mind he is ramping down to finish this deal and he hoped the physical side effects would be gracious enough to ramp down with his mindset!
One of the frustrations of chemotherapy is the inconsistency of reaction. There are commonalities and a few definites but it's still a lot of wait and see. Kevin can count on a certain amount of cold sensitivity, neuropathy, nausea and general rotten feeling each time. But the quantity and duration of the effects varies somewhat. There's some relativity to things we can control in his environment but a lot of it just is what it is and he's always left guessing as to how he'll feel on any given day after treatment. And disappointed when he feels worse than he thought he would--or should.
He's got the heart and determination of a lion though and continues to go to work each day--10 or 12 hours of each day. I think a little moderation might help here but 'moderation' isn't part of Kevin's work ethic. And when he argues that work keeps him from focusing on chemotherapy and getting too sucked up in the accompanying misery, I can't really make a case for change.
All expected results of chemotherapy and all proof that you can intellectually know something yet not really know it until you live it.
My research indicated he would see an increase in the quantity and duration of side effects as chemotherapy continued. And we have been cautioned several times by both medical staff and other patients to expect a cumulative impact.
So he knew it could happen.
But in his mind he is ramping down to finish this deal and he hoped the physical side effects would be gracious enough to ramp down with his mindset!
One of the frustrations of chemotherapy is the inconsistency of reaction. There are commonalities and a few definites but it's still a lot of wait and see. Kevin can count on a certain amount of cold sensitivity, neuropathy, nausea and general rotten feeling each time. But the quantity and duration of the effects varies somewhat. There's some relativity to things we can control in his environment but a lot of it just is what it is and he's always left guessing as to how he'll feel on any given day after treatment. And disappointed when he feels worse than he thought he would--or should.
He's got the heart and determination of a lion though and continues to go to work each day--10 or 12 hours of each day. I think a little moderation might help here but 'moderation' isn't part of Kevin's work ethic. And when he argues that work keeps him from focusing on chemotherapy and getting too sucked up in the accompanying misery, I can't really make a case for change.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Be Less Obvious....
...that's my new motto after I fainted in Meijer today. Right in front of all the checkouts, face planted on the floor.
My mother would have told me that "nice girls don't draw attention to themselves" and been annoyed as hell with me for not timing things better.
Sorry, Mom.
I wanted to make a joke about being done in by the shock of seeing our grocery bill; however, even in a just fainted fog I could tell Kev's sense of humor was absent for the moment.
Kevin told me later that foremost in his mind was "If I over-react to this and make too big of a deal, she's going to kill me..."
He's right.
In our younger days of parenting Kevin was the "OHMYGOSH SHE'S BLEEDING" parent when one of the girls skinned a knee. I was the "Eh. Let's sleep on it--that arm could look a lot less broken by morning" parent.
(He's better, though, at the long haul than I am. I get through the moment, hit a wall and quit. Kevin recovers from the initial panic then keeps chipping at the wall until we're through.)
I'm telling myself that the real time vision of my face bump-bump-bumping down the front of a Meijer grocery cart was much more graceful--like a choreographed ballet--than it could possibly have been.
In reality I'm certain it was the sort of moment that makes winners on American's Funniest Home Videos.
The graceless landing left my face bruised from chin to forehead. I've been giving Kevin a hard time.
"Sweeney, you were supposed to catch me! Did you drop me flat on the floor?"
I think it may be payback for those cold early morning sponge baths in the hospital.
My mother would approve.
My mother would have told me that "nice girls don't draw attention to themselves" and been annoyed as hell with me for not timing things better.
Sorry, Mom.
I wanted to make a joke about being done in by the shock of seeing our grocery bill; however, even in a just fainted fog I could tell Kev's sense of humor was absent for the moment.
Kevin told me later that foremost in his mind was "If I over-react to this and make too big of a deal, she's going to kill me..."
He's right.
In our younger days of parenting Kevin was the "OHMYGOSH SHE'S BLEEDING" parent when one of the girls skinned a knee. I was the "Eh. Let's sleep on it--that arm could look a lot less broken by morning" parent.
(He's better, though, at the long haul than I am. I get through the moment, hit a wall and quit. Kevin recovers from the initial panic then keeps chipping at the wall until we're through.)
I'm telling myself that the real time vision of my face bump-bump-bumping down the front of a Meijer grocery cart was much more graceful--like a choreographed ballet--than it could possibly have been.
In reality I'm certain it was the sort of moment that makes winners on American's Funniest Home Videos.
The graceless landing left my face bruised from chin to forehead. I've been giving Kevin a hard time.
"Sweeney, you were supposed to catch me! Did you drop me flat on the floor?"
I think it may be payback for those cold early morning sponge baths in the hospital.
My mother would approve.
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