Mystery

When Zane’s formula didn’t arrive at the beginning of last week, I decided to call the home health supply company to see where we stood on the insurance approval. I was surprised to hear he would not receive the formula as soon as I expected. Apparently, Zane’s insurance still had not approved his last order of enteral feeding supplies. In fact, when the woman called insurance, a Medicaid employee told her it would be upwards of two weeks before she had one. Of course, without an approval, home health could not ship out another order. I totally understood. If insurance denied Zane’s food, then the company would have to eat the costs. The woman I talked with was so nice. She offered suggestions for obtaining the EleCare Jr. while we waited: The Oley Foundation (didn't have the EleCare); purchasing it directly from Abbott (not realistic at almost $300 for a week and a half of meals). But it was nice of her to try to help us out.

I called the pediatrician’s office to see if we would use an over-the-counter formula in the interim, explaining our dilemma to the wonderful receptionist there. However, none of those formulas would give Zane adequate nutrition while we waited on insurance. He would have to suffer with the gagging/retching/vomiting for two more weeks. I felt so guilty giving him the soy formula, but he couldn’t not eat.

So I was pleasantly surprised when—the very next day—Zane’s shipment of EleCare Jr. arrived by UPS. I felt endless amounts of gratitude for the woman at the home health supply company, believing she worked her magic to get the shipment to us. I couldn’t wait until the next business day to call and thank her.

When she answered the phone, I thanked her endlessly for sending the formula since it had come from their facilities. “It wasn’t me,” she said. She looked up Zane’s account and told me she was still pending an approval. Shipment was still pending, as well. I called the pediatrician’s office, thinking they found a way to get the formula from the local office after hearing of our extensive wait. “It wasn’t us,” they said.

I so wanted to thank someone for helping out. But—as much as they may have wanted to—no one within the system did. I immediately thought of Zane’s Aunt Sara. She loved Zane so very much. Could it be within the realm of possibility that she had some influence over the person in the shipping department, enabling Zane to get his much-needed formula sooner than later? I don’t know. But it certainly would be just like her to do something as wonderful as that. And no one else is owning up to the shipment.

Love ya, Sara J

Test Results

Zane remains an enigma—at least his symptoms and what they mean do.

His pediatrician called yesterday to say the tests all came back normal. A couple of visits ago, I asked whether or not Zane’s soy formula could be the source of his troubles; perhaps he developed an allergy or intolerance to it over time. She wanted to take one step at a time—which is totally understandable. Now that the tests shows no obvious gastrointestinal issues, she is pursuing that line of thought. She sent a prescription to Zane’s health supply company for a change in formula. The company has to obtain insurance approval, so we won’t have anything until next week. He is going to give EleCare Jr. a try. It is a hypoallergenic formula for kids who have food allergies and the symptoms Zane has exhibited. I’m looking forward to giving it a try. I sure hope it works because the next step will include seeing a GI specialist in Denver.

Keep good thought and fingers crossed, please.

If You're Having a Bad Day, Read This!

I had loftly plans for myself this morning. Zane’s medical tests at the hospital (an upper GI and blood work) were going to provide me with some well-deserved reading time. With a handful of toys and my book tucked into my bag, Justin, Zane, and I headed to town.

I should have known it was going to be one of those days when the low-gas light came on during the ride to Durango. I stopped to fill up before dropping Justin off at Jeff’s workplace, making us a little on the late side for our appointment. Just a little late; no big deal.

When Zane and I rolled into the hospital parking lot, all the handicapped parking places were taken. Apparently, it didn’t matter. When I opened the back of the vehicle to pull out Zane's Kimba, I realized I had left the seating insert at home beside the dining room table where I last fed him. I grabbed the bag (with reading material, toys, and diapering materials), my purse, and Zane and headed inside.

As we registered for his procedures, I caught a whiff. Nothing significant; he just needed a simple diaper change. I asked if we could skip off to the bathroom before his tests. The woman said it would be ten minutes anyway, so we were in good shape.

Of course, life is not so simple. Once we came back to the lobby, I sat Zane in the chair beside me. He started coughing and retching—the very things he was at the hospital for anyway. I did a quick diaper check again. All was good. Until I lifted him up. There was stuff everywhere: on his legs, on his pants, on MY pants, on my hands, and even on the waiting room chair. Oh. My. God. What to do? I rushed him off to the bathroom.

Stuff truly was everywhere. The woman exiting the stall must have thought I was undertaking a Frankensteinian procedure. The protective gloves were on; the pad and incontinent care spray were wildly tossed on the changing table; Zane’s clothes were off; the bag had been dumped recklessly on the floor with extra clothing, wipes, and paper towels. What a mess! After ten minutes or so, Zane was clean as a whistle. Mom: not so much. My pants had stuff smeared all over them. As hard as I tried…the signs were evident. I had been pooped on. The smell lofted up toward my nasal passages. But the show must go on. We returned to the waiting area, where I diligently cleaned the chair amidst staring eyes, then was whisked away by a very patient and understanding hospital employee.

I apologized to her, the technicians, and to the radiologist, as well.

The upper GI went well. The blood work? Well…no! He was unhappy before they even stuck him. But when they did, the tears really flowed. They couldn’t make their magic work on his left arm, so they stabbed the right. There were some mumblings, which I took to mean they were having a challenging time with the right side, as well. All the while, Zane wailed. But they finally drew the 5ccs they needed.

We zoomed out the lab area, past the doctors, nurses, administrative staff, and technicians lined up at the coffee shop. They simply stared at us: me with my poop-stained pants, toting a child who—for all they knew—had the most horrid mother in the world.

So after baths, showers, and laundry, I am feeling slightly better about my day.

The morals (yes, there is more than one):

1. Never administer Miralax to your child the day before a hospital procedure.
2. Don't get too exited about reading when taking a child to the hospital. Better to just stay up until midnight to get that book read.
3. Truly, don’t sweat the small stuff. Sure, poop everywhere—by all intents and purposes—seems like a big deal. And, to be honest, it is no picnic to go through what I did this morning. However, it’s still small stuff. With a little problem-solving and a lot of cleaning products, we got through it okay. And now we have a comic (albeit gross) story to tell.

BTW...the hospital staff was so nice and nonjudmental. I truly appreciate them for those qualities.