A different lens

In therapy terms, we often try to look at experiences, thoughts, etc., through different "lenses." Kind of like looking at things from a different perspective, a different point of view.

I had a training late last week at Children's hospital. While the training provided some profound learning, my presence in the hospital provided a profound experience seeing things through a different lens.

As a kid, I spent my fair share of time in Children's hospital. In addition to the auto-immune disease I had, about which I have previously blogged, I had several surgeries for a malformed hip, one that required that I stay in the hospital for 2 weeks recovering. So, I know the place well, from a kid's perspective. Walking into Children's, or any hospital, for that matter, brings back a lot of memories, good and bad.

What I didn't understand, until last week, was the experience of walking into a kid's hospital as a parent. I wasn't there for any medical reason- just a training related to work. But as I went to the cafeteria for lunch, I could not ignore the kids in wagons, pulling IV poles, in hospital gowns. The feeling I had in my gut is hard to explain.

Sick. I felt sick. Because I know how much I love Kinnie, how much I want to protect her, how there is nothing more important in my world than her well-being. And, I know that these kids' parents feel the same. And they must feel so helpless, watching their kids fight serious illness. I wanted to cry for them. And, I admire them. I can only imagine the strength it requires to be there for your kid through such a thing.

We have been blessed, in Kinnie's first 8 and a half months. Beside several colds, she has been healthy and happy. I'll admit there are times when I have had the "what if" thought. And just imagining any illness, injury, could bring me to my knees.

I stop those thoughts, though. If I get stuck in worry and fear, I cannot be present. And each moment that I am present with my daughter is magic. I am grateful for every one.

Health insurance

I wonder if it isn't quite appropriate to use my "Mamacita" blog to vent my feelings about social issues. Ultimately, I suppose that my views on issues are a part of being a Mama.

So, here's the thing. In Mexico, because I was employed, I had access to "public" heath care. Meaning, I could obtain care, any care, free. The clinics were a bit rundown, and I think the wait for certain testing could be long. But, it was free. Brian and I opted to use a private doctor for my prenatal care, which cost $550 MX per visit- about $40 US- including a full exam and ultrasound. That wasn't a copay. That was the cost of the appointment. My doctor was located in a new, state-of-the-art, hospital.

Our plan to return to the States for Kinnie's birth presented a lot of concern about how we would pay for it. We knew I would probably have a c-section. If we stayed in Mexico, it would have cost about $1000 US if we had it done by the private doctor- it would have been free if we used the public system. After working for pesos for almost a year, we did not have the money to pay the tens of thousands out of pocket that a c-section would cost in the States.

I researched options. I discovered that I may qualify for Medicaid, and when we got home, we applied. I was approved. It was such a relief. I knew that whatever care I needed, and any care Kinnie needed, would be covered.

I was aware of the stigma. When I would walk into the doctor's office, or to get a prescription, I felt myself wanting to discuss my insurance in a whisper. What do you think when you see someone who is using Medicaid? I never had anyone judge me openly, but am aware of the judgments often made. Ultimately, I decided to carry my head high. I had paid into the system, and was truly in need of the care offered through the government. And it covered everything. I paid nothing out of pocket for Kinnie's birth.

Now that Brian and I are gainfully employed, we have "real" health insurance. I went to the pharmacy yesterday to pick up my thyroid medication. I have had hypothyroidism for several years. It's no big deal, and has been stable since I was diagnosed with the daily use of medication.

Because of the stability of my condition, my doctor has prescribed 90 days of medication for each refill. When I was using Medicaid, this presented no problem. However, when I picked up my script yesterday, I was informed that my new insurance would only pay for 30 days at a time. The copay for the 30 days would be $8. The pharmacy had filled the 90 days, and for the sake of ease, I asked if I could just pay out of pocket for the 90 days. The cost, without using my insurance, was $26. So, If I go back every 30 days, and pay just my copay, I'll save $2 over 3 months. Hardly worth the gas.

It gets worse. We were sorting through our mail last night, and found a letter from our new insurance company. Mind you, this is a major insurance company in Colorado. The letter indicated that if we have any prescriptions for which we want a 90 day supply, we must first fill a 30 day supply 2 times through the insurance company's mail-order system, and then we can begin to obtain 90 day prescriptions through the same mail-order process. And, they'll only charge us 2 copays for the 90 day script.

What?!?! Who makes these rules??? Why in the world does it need to be so complicated? Seriously? I just can't believe it. Clearly, there needs to be a change. If my doctor believes it's okay for me to have a 90 day supply, because my condition has been stable for years, why should I have to play games with the insurance company to obtain that prescription?

I hope for an improvement to our system. It is ridiculous. To think that this is the process one has to go through in order to obtain a simple, inexpensive medication. What would it be like if we needed something for a much for significant condition? Perhaps when Kinnie is grown, we will have had the ability to simplify. I hope.

Cold season

Kinnie has a cold. This is her third or fourth in her life. Seems like a lot to me, since she's been here for only eight months. This, I think, is the worst so far. Of course, I have probably thought that of each as it has come along. In the infancy of my life as a mother, there is nothing worse than knowing my baby doesn't feel well, and having little to offer for comfort. We were up a couple times last night, which hasn't happened for almost 6 months.

I, too, have a cold. I think I got it from Kinnie- probably when she was "kissing" my nose the first day of her cold. I find myself wondering where she picked it up. I know, babies get sick. Especially babies in any kind of daycare setting.

For me, it begs the question of how sanitary is enough, without going overboard. I think my overall feeling is a bit old-fashioned. I don't have a fancy cover for the shopping cart. She sits in it as I did as a kid, often trying to mouth the metal. If we're out, and she gets irritated, I often hand her my keys, upon which she chews. She has chewed on my cell phone, and the dogs have kissed her on the face- sometimes even catching her open mouth. I don't feel panicked when a stranger touches her hands in saying hello.

You see, I don't want Kinnie to grow up in a bubble, thinking of the dangers that things pose prior to experiencing them. It is not that I don't care. Quite the opposite, in fact. I feel a fierce sense of protection over my child. And, as she grows, I will teach her when there are true dangers present. But, a little dirt? A few germs? I guess I wonder if I panic about these things now, what will I have left when it's time to really panic?

Pick your battles. That's what I think. Now, somebody promise to remind me, when Kinnie is a teenager, that this was my perspective...

Playpen

Much to my chagrin, I ordered a playpen for Kinnie. Several important people urged that I do so, in order to keep her safe once she is mobile, which will be very soon. It arrived last night. It is 3 feet by 3 feet, with a padded bottom, and mesh sides about 3 feet high. It is brightly colored, with fun animals printed on the "floor" and sides.

My Papa reminds me frequently of a family trip to Newport Beach, California, when I was maybe one or two years old. He teases me that I nearly ruined the trip because, while on the beach in playpen, I screamed and screamed. I tease him back that I was screaming because I was jailed in my pen, and wanted to be free to play.

It is with humor that I tell Papa I was jailed. But, last night, the playpen for Kinnie arrived while I was at the grocery store. When I left home, Kinnie was on the floor, playing with her Daddy. When I got home, she was in the pen.

I was surprised that I felt a strong reaction to seeing Kinnie this way. My instinct was to get her out and let her roam. I'll admit, it made me feel like crying. And, I'm still sitting here thinking, what is this all about?

Two possible explanations come to mind. One is that I never want Kinnie to feel limited by me. I want her to know that the world is at her fingertips, so to speak (or, in this case, write). I hope that she will explore all her potential with excitement. I realize, also, that it is my job to keep her safe as she does the exploring. Thus, the need for the pen. But it pushes against my general philosophy.

The other explanation could be that she is growing. Not that that, in itself, is a bad thing. I wonder if, as my baby changes into a little girl, there is a part of me that is sad to let go of the teeny tiny being who relied on me for everything.

Well, back to the psychotherapist I go... Every day is an adventure, with lessons to be learned. I am still more grateful that I could have ever imagined.

PS
My baby give me kisses. She opens her mouth wide, and puts it on my face. Sometimes they're more like moose kisses. It cracks her up, and warms my heart. If I'm having a hard day, I imagine getting a kiss and all my worries melt away.

Fathers

Here I am, early in the morning, thinking again...

At work, I currently have 7 families with whom I am working. Of the 7, NONE have a biological father who is consistently involved. One has a step-father who has stepped in and attempted to fill that space. Two have never met their dads. One dad is incarcerated. Others seem to pop in and out of the lives of their kids at their discretion. ALL of the kids have legal involvement. They ALL struggle in school, and many are using drugs. ALL of the kids have always been with their moms.

I don't want to appear to be blaming fathers. I know that some of the Moms may make it extremely difficult to be a part of the kids' lives. But, ultimately, does that matter? Shouldn't it be that nothing can stand in the way of being there for your kids? Is there anything more important? Even if the courts are involved and say these dads can only see their kids on the weekends, shouldn't the dads be showing up at 6 am Saturday to fill that time?I think it is likely not coincidence that these kids all have these commonalities- their fathers are MIA, and they are acting out.

In my relationship with my dad, there have been bumps in the road. There have been times when we were less close, communicating infrequently. I know the emptiness that leaves, the void in the heart, the yearning for something better. And, I don't know that anyone could have stepped in and made that feel better. I suppose, after some time, those feelings diminish, but it seems that they would always be there. I know I'm lucky to not have to know.

Brian is the light of Kinnie's life. Even at 7 months old, there is a special bond. Probably mostly because Brian does anything and everything to make her smile. If she hears his voice, even a cough from another room, she'll stop whatever she's doing to look for him- even interrupting a meal, which is a big deal for this little girl.

I know there are special circumstances, things that happen beyond people's control. I don't want to appear judgmental. I just don't understand being absent from a kid's life. You make a baby (whether you meant to or not), and from the moment you know, there should be nothing more important.

To hear

It seems to be my pattern these days to lie awake in bed in the early morning hours and think. Kinnie is down the hall from our room, and we don't use a monitor. Even so, I generally hear, and awaken for, the slightest peep.

I was thinking this morning about the day Kinnie was born. I was lying on the operating table with some knowledge that behind a curtain hiding my belly, something amazing was happening. The anesthesiologist helped me lift my head so I could see Kinnie as the doctors pulled her from my abdomen. I then had to lie down and wait as the incision was sutured.

I think my ability to hear changed in that moment. I couldn't see what was happening, as Kinnie had been taken somewhere in the half of the room to which my view was blocked. I remember lying there, listening for reassurance that she was okay. Not only was I listening for her little cries, but also to the nurses who were tending to her, to the voices of my mom and husband who were by her side, to insure that there was no worry in the words they said. There I was, with (forgive me) a gaping hole in my abdomen, being stitched up, and I was totally focused on the sounds surrounding my baby.

This morning I was lying in bed, listening to assure that Kinnie was still sleeping soundly. It is amazing how a mother's senses are heightened and changed by the need and desire to protect her children. I had a vague understanding about that instinct, but no idea how powerful it is.

In unrelated news, we have adopted another 4 legged baby. We went to Dumb Friends League last weekend, and picked a few dogs about which we wanted to inquire. When I sat down with the adoption counselor, he informed me that each of the pups we had picked were either aggressive or unfriendly with children. I explained our loss of Fifi, and that we just wanted someone easy going to be a friend to Koda. The counselor suggested we meet a dog named Charlie.

Charlie is fat. And a mutt. I have no idea what he is made of. The DDFL said he is 5 years old, but I think he is closer to 7, based on the way his teeth are worn. He should be about 40 pounds (right now he's more like 50), black on top and tan and white on his face and underside. He has a long tail that curves slightly upward, which is black with a white tip. His ears are floppy, and came with an infection. But, he loves Kinnie. And us. And Koda. Koda is not sure that she loves him yet, but she will. The fact that she tolerates him is a big deal for her. She can be a bit of a cranky old lady.

He has been a good boy, with the exception of one incident involving the diaper pail. And it was funny, the sense I had, as we were going to sleep the first night he was with us- that our house is full again, complete. We miss Fifi, and knowing there's another friend with us warms everything up.

Parenting styles

I had this experience while lying in bed early this morning that has me thinking...

Koda is our 8 year old heeler mix. She is our 4-legged baby, and, until Kinnie came along, the center of my universe. Since the birth of my 2-legged baby, I have worked hard to include Koda, and to reassure her that she is still one of the most important things in my life.

Koda sleeps in our bed. We adopted her when she was a year and a half. She started out sleeping gated in the kitchen. Then, she got a dog bed in our room. Then, she made her way into our bed. I'm not sure how it happened, and I don't mind one bit. There's nothing better than waking in the early morning hours and feeling a warm, soft pup curled up next to you.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Koda feels it is necessary to wake me. While still lying by my side, she'll tap me with her paw. If I don't respond, she'll do it again. Usually, when she does it, I pet her for a minute or two, and she and I readjust our positions and go back to sleep. Sometimes, this requires me to move because she decides she wants to lie on top of me.

So, this morning, at about 6, I felt a tap. Koda had crawled up next to me, between Brian and me. She rolled on her side, and I scratched her belly. Apparently, she decided to also paw at Brian- which she usually does not do. I watched him, with his eyes still closed, lift his hand and point to the foot of the bed. Koda got up, moved, lay down on my legs, and went back to sleep.

It was a minor event, routine even. But it made me wonder what it means for how we will parent our 2-legged baby. It seems I go out of my way to comfort- some might say I'm a push-over. And, it seem Brian has some boundaries around his sleep and whether it is to be disturbed. I smile as I wonder...