Angry letters (in mass) work

An update.

The following day (Friday) after my wife's call for angry letters, she received a phone call from the hospital in question. This...guy, whom my wife had previously left messages for over the past couple months, and sent a letter to (all of which was ignored), with a lawyer present, finally explained why they could charge for the autopsy, and said that they would overnight a proper bill to us so we could contact our insurance (which they did).

What he couldn't explain, however, was why we were ignored. And really that was our big issue, we paid without question because we didn't really care about the money. We -- well, I say we, but all credit goes to my wife honestly. Most of this took place while I was at work, and even without that, well, she's the one that knows how to get shit done. So, my wife raised such a fuss over all of this because no one would simply talk to her and help her out or explain what was going on. All we wanted was a piece of paper with a medical code on it.

My wife and I both understand the torture of work-related paperwork, so I think we can relate to having trouble finding something, or putting together a previously non-existent piece of paperwork. We aren't the only people to have trouble with hospital bureaucracy, and surely we aren't the first to complain, so I find it hard to understand why people can't just do their job. Simple as "oh, we messed that up? Here, let me fix that for you." Which, come to think of it, is what we got...5 months late.

really?....no, REALLY??

I haven't posted much lately because....well, life I suppose. But that doesn't mean things haven't been happening. As always, I bow to my wife's superior blogging for you to go and get the full scoop on this particular facet of our son's death.

I know I said a long time ago that Joel's story is not over, but I didn't think it would be quite like this.

I will always sing the praises of the nursing staff in the OB/ Delivery dept. where Joel was born, but to the hospital as a whole, I submitted this letter.

To the Entire Staff of PVH, Five months ago I sat in the backseat of my car, comforting my 15-month old son (he used to hate car rides) while my wife drove us all to your hospital. She made this 45 mile drive from Huntington knowing that when she arrived at your hospital she would be delivering our second son, dead from her womb at 41 weeks.

In that alone it was a traumatizing experience to my wife and my family; we will never be the same. We came to your hospital on recommendations, that we would be treated well, and all in all we were.

She endured hours of waiting with our dead son inside of her, ultrasounds, without me by her side, looking at our dead son, and even more hours of excruciating labor, lying in a hospital bed, knowing the only relief from the pain would be when she could finally see and hold our dead son -- hardly a relief.

Not knowing how our son died, we agreed to an autopsy, no matter the cost, but were informed we could submit it to insurance for possible reimbursement. We didn't think much of it at the time, but it was at least some reassurance for a paycheck-to-paycheck family that had just lost their beautiful baby boy.

Five months have now passed; constantly painful, but with small moments of progress. Unfortunately, the business side of death has always been willing to rip our wounds open again. Do you know how many people you have to talk to to try and claim your stillborn son's autopsy on insurance? How many times you have to describe what happened, over and over again, reliving it each time, just to get to the person that can explain the process? When my wife eventually found out that all we had to do was get a bill/invoice from the pleasant hospital that had treated us so well, we actually weren't that worried. We paid you 2800 dollars for it, we got a simple receipt, but surely a bill with a medical code could be pulled up. No, it can't. This is what my wife has been told by your hospital over and over and over again:

You have no idea, or you can't help...try this number so you can get the same answers.

For months now she has tried to get help from your hospital, from VPs down to simple clerks, and theres been NOTHING. Today we were told that "DOAs" aren't charged for autopsies, and that our son would count as DOA. Is this why you can't help us? Because your hospital cheated us out of 2800 when our son was dead? We honestly don't mind having paid for the autopsy, because we wanted it, but turning around and not helping us to submit it to our insurance, because its something you don't usually charge for...well thats just cheating, isnt it?

We gave our son to you. We let you wheel him off on a cart, knowing that some stranger, not his parents, but a stranger would be the last person to see him whole, and in that moment your hospital took the opportunity to swindle us out of money?

If you're actually feeling bad about your hospital's mistake, then go find a way to make that bill, so we can fight with our insurance company for 5 more months just to get a small portion paid back to us, or own up to the mistake and let our credit card company know that it was an invalid charge. Thank you, me

(Okay, so I signed my name, but for some reason I feel compelled to keep the oh so thin veil of privacy I keep here at ye old blog)

Stay tuned for more on this, and probably plenty more.

Upcoming: Orion

Never simple...

First, the good news: Picadilly, our 3rd child, is doing well. Measuring a little under what we'd thought, but looking good. So HOORAY for that, because after a week of cramping and spotting, well, we feared the worst.

Now, the "It's never simple, Charlie Brown" (or "AAAAARRRGH!") news:

The doctor dumped my wife. Why? Because, if we are to take things at face value, we're skeptical. So lets go back through the timeline and figure up what is going on here, as best we can.

After Joel's death, we both had quite a bit of bloodwork done to determine if there were any genetic risks for any further pregnancies. We took said results to a High-Risk Specialist in Charleston, WV. In looking over the results and all of Jess' charts and records, he determined that there was no genetic disorder or blood disorder for us to worry about. He said that we would automatically be considered "high risk" but not high enough to be seen by a specialist, just additional monitoring during the pregnancy, and probably a planned induction.

Now, she does have one mutation, but it is one that is only a problem when paired with another mutation. If she had both, she would have to be on a daily injected blood thinner. Still, High Risk Specialist says no biggie, probably no need for injections, but he wouldn't be seeing us so it would be up to the doctor that does.

This was, of course, before we even tried getting pregnant. Flashforward a few months and Jess heads to this new doctor who is loosely associated with the hospital we've had our problems with, but it is a self-contained office, so we're happy and hopeful. Initially all is well, blah blah blah.

Today we go in for the ultrasound and are very pleased to find out that our Picadilly is alive and well. Afterwards we met with the doctor, who was pretty nice and well-spoken and impressively open about his thought process (not used to that with guys in lab coats). He brought up his concerns about the mutation and the need for blood-thinners, expressing that he wants to do everything possible to make sure we take home a baby. Well, okay. Us too.

He explains that he consulted with the local High Risk Specialist about this. Uh-oh. See, we went to Charleston because the local guy is the same one that told us Joel had two kidneys when in fact he only had one. Naturally, we're a bit skeptical of dealing with that doctor.

So anyway, Uh-Oh Specialist says use the blood-thinners. Well, okay, we're fine with that. You know, better to err on the side of caution. Conversation over? Nah, the doc still isn't sure that the blood thinner would be okay, even though he really trusts Uh-Oh Specialist. So, his feeling is that we should go and meet with Uh-Oh Specialist.

Uh-Oh.

Yeah, we turned down that opportunity, which confused the doc, and we finally had to tell him the most basic version of our interaction with Dr. Uh-Oh. The solution? we go back to the Charleston High Risk Specialist...you know, the one who already said Jess isn't high risk and that he saw no need to see her. When they tried to set up an appointment, the OK Specialist said they needed records first and would determine if Jess needs to see a high-risk specialist. See where we're going here?

So we found ourselves looking for yet another OB because, well, we were skeptical. I suppose I understand the doctor's issue. Obviously he intended to give Jess additional care and keep a close eye on the baby. Unfortunately, if any issues came up, he would be consulting with Dr. Uh-Oh, and inevitably, Dr. Uh-Oh would want to see Jess.

Of course, since Jess' last visit, all the doctors associated with the office we were at today were 'searched' on her blog by someone at the 'Corporate Health Hospital'... I'll let your mind run with that as it will.

Bumps in the night

5 Months.

A lot can happen in 5 months. I would know. I mean, a lot has happened in the last 5 months.

We certainly tried to keep ourselves occupied at first, just to keep moving through the days. If anything, we've been spending a lot of times focusing on things we can control; taking back our lives, I suppose. Working on our home, visiting friends, spending time with family, going back to school, and even making time for ourselves. Still, none of it makes Joel's death any easier. There is still the unnoticeable empty space: where nothing was before, but something should be now.

The baby swing in the back room, fully assembled, but never used. So we worked on doing what we can to see that it does get used.

Thing is, as time has gone on, life has started doing its thing again, and we've started running into things we can't control. Little bumps, big bumps, bumps from the past: we've got bumps.


Tomorrow we go for the first ultrasound of Picadilly...and I'm pretty sure we are both scared to death. ... and all the bumps aren't helping.

FINALLY!

I've been wanting to post something, ANYTHING, for a while now, but honestly I just haven't had the heart for it. I'm excited about Picadilly (the name we've given our new fetus until further naming occurs [ Jules was the Wookie and Joel was Princess Steamboat...yeah, we were way off on that last one]) but I'd be a complete liar if I acted like that most excellent of news didn't rip the scab off of my not-so-healed wounds. More on that when I 1) feel like reflecting on my recent emo-ness and 2) I have more time to sit and write more self-analyzing, self-deprecating drivel.

Speaking of not having time: I really don't mind teaching, some days I even enjoy it, it's just everything that goes with teaching that I can't stand. I have to take grad classes to keep my certificate, so I figure why not put those credits towards an actual degree. The problem with that is that the only degrees I can really work that with (other than a Masters in Literature too much work) are degrees in the education field. ...and you realize in graduate courses they make you do things that actually resemble work, right? I mean, I spent 6 long years bullshitting my way to a college degree. Now I spend 40+ hours a week bullshitting 97 students and then bullshitting my way through parenthood and husbandry. Do I have time to act like I care about how to properly build a curriculum? Well, okay, maybe I do, but not for a pre-school class, which is for some reason what one of my classes is about (don't ask, because I don't know) I actually do care about middle school and high school curriculum because I figure if the people that make those decisions ever get their shit together, it might actually make it easier for me to bullshit my 97 students and I can cut that 40+ into just plain 40. :) (God I hope President Obama isn't reading this... at least my principals will think I'm being sarcastic)

Anyway....to the things that I'm honestly not dealing with, but actually do take up my "mental time": corporate bullshit. Admittedly, I am a financial moron and I'm bad with paperwork (ask my principals), fortunately my wife loooves paperwork. The unfortunate side of that is she ends up dealing with just about every issue we have with any company, this includes dealing with any and all financial/business fallout from Joel's death: insurance, hospital billing, lawyers, credit card companies, and I'm sure the list goes on. Me, I just feel like a useless douchebag as my wife relives the days surrounding Joel's death time and time again by having to explain paying for an autopsy and trying to submit it to insurance, and somehow having to explain all of this time and time again.

The interesting thing, however, comes as a result of my wife's blog garnering quite a bit of attention from the online community and even locally after she was interviewed about Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day (October 15th) by our local news channel. We're both nerdy and nosey and use stat-trackers on our blogs. In the same way that it lets me see that 99% of my average 6 hits per day come from my own house, it has also let my wife see her ever increasing number of hits from the large, local hospital that we've had so many complaints about. The hits come from email links, Google searches, and even bookmarks.

Clearly these are people with offices and time on their hands, so it certainly can't be the hard-working nurses and residents that have been so good to us, but perhaps the office workers, receptionists and administrators that have always been such a pain in the ass? Except Jennifer in Patient Relations; she was very sincere. And these people must really have some time on their hands, because they aren't just readoing my wife's blog, they're also checking in on our Canadian friend's blog.

I can't help but to think that ifthese folks weren't spending so much time checking into their PR, they might be able to spend some time actually helping to improve patient care. We're awfully glad you're taking the time to read blogs about complaints we've already sent you, but why not take the time to do your real job?

People that should be focused on providing the most basic of care to the community are instead having to think in terms of sales and marketing, worrying about Public Relations over individual patient relations. Corporate Health Hulk, why don't you quit reading blogs and do something to help my student that comes to school in pain and nausea because the specialist at your hospital won't return calls and tells him his pain is in his head? Why don't you do something to help the student that comes to my classroom and lays her head down in pain because her family can't afford to get her tooth pulled by a dentist?

CHH is a hospital full of good workers, nurses and doctors and I certainly don't mean to insult those fine people that work their asses off each day while I bullshit my way into a paycheck. But marketing and PR healthcare -- when dealing with the hospital is like calling customer service at the cable company -- something is wrong with the system. I mean, I've admitted to bullshitting through my schooling and my job, but at least when I'm at work I'm helping people as best I can, as opposed to sitting on my ass reading a blog. sheesh.


**oh, but last I checked, even they weren't reading my blog. Go figure.

Odd timing (The Quest part 8)

So this upcoming week, October 15th to be exact, is the Awareness week/day/month for our "club": for all of us who have lost an infant, be it a stillbirth, miscarriage, or any other infant death. If you didn't click on the link above, go ahead and do it now, or plan to later. My wife put together quite the statement/blog about it. I had actually planned to just re-post it over here, but as it would happen, a strange thing happened on my way to get my back shaved.

(Yes, I have unfortunately developed the back hair that I have often mocked...now I tease it...with a pick)


We'd just spent a marvelous weekend at the George Washington Hotel in Winchester, Virginia, a beautiful and cozy colonial town, where we enjoyed our friends' wedding as well as some horseback riding. ( If that sentence sounds a bit pompous, it should, but it was that fun AND classy of a weekend) In many ways, we had looked forward to this weekend away from home as a reprieve: a chance to stop and not think so much on our troubles, and just enjoy ourselves a bit. Just a week or two ago, we had been very focused on our Quest and had faced some hard truths about just how much I'd recovered from the reversal. According to my own microscopic examination, as well as that of a local lab, I was completely spermless (only so many sperm metaphors I can go through...).

After 400 miles on the road, there was a great need for bathroom utilization. On a whim, my wife decided to use one of the test strips she had bought (in bulk). I got in the shower, where she had finally conceded to help me out with that damned back hair, and as I lathered up she started freaking out. I assumed there was a spider or something...

nope, just a line. a faint, but very obvious line -- and trust me, we've seen enough negative tests to know what a line doesn't look like.

(
(15 minutes later)

Yep...still lines...


(...another 35)

Tried two more: more lines.

(...one hour and a half...)
Yeah, so we're still in shock and I don't even know what to post here.


WOOOOOOO MUDDA' FUCKIN' HOOOOO!!!!!!


Now I know it's early, and TRUST ME I know we have plenty to worry about...but this is really great. :)


Now, back to the "odd timing". First, today is October 11th, my father's birthday. Wait, don't say "awwww". I mean, if you've read this whole blog, you know things aren't cool there. But somehow I still take it to mean something that we found out on his birthday. I mean, he made it pretty clear through his absence of inquiry that he didn't care about Joel, so quite honestly, we have no interest in giving him the opportunity to care for this pregnancy. So we found out on his birthday, AND went horseback riding... I guess take it as an extra "fuck you" to him (not that I like to associate hateful terms with birthdays, pregnancies, or horses, but he brought this on himself)


Another coincidence of time that occurred to me is that this is also the week of my truly best friend's son's birthday (he'll be a great big ONE this week. very awesome!) He and his wife also experienced a loss before this little cutie came along, which I suppose makes the date all the more meaningful (and coincidental). Now I don't know what they think of all this, and I'm certaionly not wanting to put anything on them, so to speak, and its their perogative to deal with those ideas and feelings as they wish. But what I can say for sure is this: I'm very happy and honored to have received this most exciting news in the same week as their son's birthday.

So it would appear that The Quest will now take on a new form (I'm tired of talking about sperm anyway...) as we keep a very close eye on this pregnancy.

oh, and there are STILL lines.

and I never got my back shaved...

Unposted

When "real" writers (ie: the ones who get paid to do it) give advice, it almost always comes down to this: write, and write often; just do it; or (my favorite) don't get it right, get it written. It doesn't necessarily matter what it is you're writing either, just that you are practicing with the written word. It's just simple practice, like lifting weights in order to go out and...uh...open pickle jars or embarrass fat people or whatever else it is people that work out do.

Naturally this results in catalogs of unpublished works, at least for the dedicated writer, which means I have about 10 pages (not counting the plethora of created, but discarded, smartass work emails)

In regard to ye ole blog, I have a few things I've sat on for a while. Blogs that went unfinished, or ideas I started with but never polished. I honestly think of this whole blog as a mid-process window: I don't consider much of anything I post to be "finished", I just write it and post it (a longer process than it sounds, trust me) without much revision. Of course, knowing myself, I would edit out the emotion in favor of (more) lame jokes and sarcastic banter, because that's how I operate.

SO: Here are a few nuggets that I didn't want to post alone, but couldn't find a perfect fit elsewhere. Forgive my "short sentences double-spaced" (or freeverse poetry)



It's a WRISTBAND

Ever so sweetly, a girl in one of my classes asked me, "What does your bracelet say?"

I paused as I was erasing my whiteboard and thought, "Bracelet...?" I looked down at my wrist, at the black band that keeps a nice, constant pressure on me. "Oh, my wristband" (because apparently even in grief gender stereotypes persist)

So I shared, not much, but I shared. It wasn't the first time I had told this new group of students about Joel -- some of them knew from being around last year and, of course, in introducing myself to them on the first day, I wasn't going to mention one son and not the other -- but there was an odd feeling about it. It wasn't so much wanting to avoid being a "downer" to my students, or even to avoid distracting from class with our story; I felt like I was protecting them.



$#!%

What a strange #@$%ing day.

(I censor because it is supposed to be both visually appealing and more comical...although I've always been curious if there was a key for replacing the letters in curse words. I mean, $#!% ( or shit) is pretty easy, but I', just @!$$!*& in the dark when it comes to replacing f-u-c-k. Ah, #@$% it)



All the love of a lifetime poured into one day.

I had felt your kick,

Saw you make your mommy squirm and shout

I listened to your heart a dozen times:

Every time, there is a moment,
time stands still and the world is silent
waiting for you
waiting to hear your only sound
the beat of a heart not yet exposed to the world
Every time there is a moment of excitement and fear
anticipation and dread
The emotional spectrum exposed
while the universe waits to hear your beat.

So many times I heard it; every time, a sigh of relief
But not this day,

This day, the cosmos stay still.



I knew you,
your personality,
rambunctious and lively,
a monkey in mother's belly.

I felt you,
she felt you,
your kick,
your moves,
your life

Our son was real.
His life has consequence.