When Daphne was in the NICU, it was one of those rare instances that having more money wouldn’t make a difference. If we won the lottery, her odds would not improve by one bit. Sure, I wouldn’t have to work all day counting the minutes until I could get to the hospital, and we surely would have bought a nice place overlooking Central Park, walking distance to the hospital. But money would not have closed her VSD or gotten her kidneys to start working. Daphne, herself, was my lucky ticket.
Winning the jackpot right now wouldn’t get Daphne to start eating, or resolve her reflux. However, it would allow me to be there for her at a time when I wholeheartedly believe she needs me. We are lucky to have jobs in this economy. I am really lucky to have a job with great benefits, where people have been nothing but understanding when I was in the hospital waiting for the twins, then doing my NICU vigil, then back to work and taking time to pump AND leaving early to go see Daphne every day. I took some more time off when she came home, I had surgery, then she had surgery. They have been wonderful about giving me flexibility to take her to appointments. But I can’t be there for therapy sessions, and I can only be so good at my job when I am on the phone fighting with the insurance company about covering her Prevacid. Can anybody explain to me why the insurance company (according to the pharmacy) will only cover 24 solutabs every 30 day period? How does that make sense?
I don’t want to get into the politics of health care reform here, but let me just say that when you and your child have a collection of pre-existing conditions that could fill a museum, you end up very stressed about your job security. Which reminds me, I have to get back to work, and try not to think about the cute little person with no appetite at home.