Sleepy

Have you ever noticed how long the last 10 minutes on a wash cycle lasts when you are just waiting for it to finish, put stuff in the dryer, and go to sleep? I'm sure listening to John Prine while waiting doesn't help one avoid droopy eyes.

BPF???

Do you think it's a bad sign that I recognized the phone number for the police department when they called my cell phone this afternoon?

Would you like an update?

If you would not, go find someone else's blog to read.

I've had some time since I threw my temper tantrum at IHC's wheelchair shop, and I think I may have found a hidden talent.  Aww...who am I kidding?  I've had this talent since birth.

I got a phone call earlier in the week to let me know all the paperwork has been submitted to the insurance for approval for a wheelchair for Chris. I guess this is the "golden" time of which I spoke about a few posts ago. On Wednesday, the wheelchair-fitter-guy (obviously I have no clue what his real title is) brought a loaner chair. The loaner chair has features similar to, well, the chair we don't have.

I was prepared to be pretty irritable, but I remembered he has a child with autism, and with my fascination for all things autism, it was impossible to be irritated. I guess I could have mustered some energy to be at least grumpy, but it seemed like too much work so I went on with life. He made all the needed adjustments to the chair, and Chris is back in business driving back and forth between the living room and the dining room. Here's to the simple pleasures in life.

 

Words for Wednesday

As a general rule, I don't count down the days left in the school year until we get to single digits.  This year I almost made myself a paper chain so I could chop one off for each day gone until summer.  I still like kids and all...I just want to see less of them. 

I H C

In my world, IHC now stands for I Hate the Custom wheelchair shop.  Why you ask?  Well, let me tell you.  Sometime in June, the power wheelchair Chris has broke.  It was seriously the umpteenth time the chair required service since it had been purchased.  Normally you can just call the wheelchair shop, and they will come and pick it up, and attempt to repair it.  Somewhere between the last time it had been serviced and June, Medicare decided to change guidelines regarding this particular benefit.
Now one is required to get a prescription for wheelchair repair explaining the medical necessity of the repair, verify the chair was purchased through the repair entity, and cross your fingers, arms, and legs while praying to the wheelchair gods that the chair will be repaired.  It's kind of like hoping the Utah Jazz will have a post-season.  Not ever gonna happen.  And, not to mention, how obvious would it be that a person who is wheelchair-bound needs a wheelchair?  (After you read the entire post, do you think Obamacare would be as bad as the health care system currently in place?  Think about it.)
Back to the story.  After trying to get the chair serviced for 3 months, my PT and OT friends convinced me it would be easier to get a new power chair than to repair the old chair, and then Chris would get a chair better designed for the consistent decline that comes with multiple sclerosis.  We met with the person from IHC that orders such things, and got things moving along.  Medicare now requires you to meet face to face with the doctor, in case you were faking so you could get cool durable medical equipment.  Due to a combination of factors, it did take a bit of time to get in to the doctor.  The doctor signed the paperwork, sent in a prescription, and the waiting period began.
After a while, it was suspiciously quiet on the wheelchair front.  Chris began to decline in some areas, due to having a wheelchair that isn't effective for the current conditions of the disability.  The home care nurse and I tried to reach the fancy pants wheelchair representative, without any returned calls.  Finally the home care nurse did reach someone, and they informed her the wheelchair had been denied, because the doctor hadn't explained the medical necessity of the specialized equipment that was being requested.  They did manage to exert enough energy to call Chris to say, "You've been denied."  When I finally spoke with a human, it turned out that the doctor note, and the physical therapist recommendation was insufficient to warrant the equipment according to Medicare guidelines.  We would have to go back to the doctor, get a new prescription, have the PT rewrite her letter, but then we'd be "golden."  Uh, ok.  So if we start over, rewrite everything, and re-submit the paperwork, then she could have a chair?  And you call that golden?  And for some reason, waiting from knowing this information in January, and telling us in April was sufficient customer service?  I don't think so.
At least this time, IHC faxed me the medical information that was required, so I could ensure the doctor addressed each area.  We left the doctor appointment with signed paperwork in hand, and I called the PT to ask her if she could rewrite her letter.  Now, to Chris's advantage, the PT had been fuming all week since she heard about the insult to her professional abilities, and was sufficiently outraged by the time I spoke with her.  Might I also mention that her Australian accent becomes incredibly strong when she's annoyed?  Redoing the letter was not an option, so I agreed to meet her at the IHC wheelchair shop in person the next day to resolve the situation.
I'm not going to explain everything that happened at the wheelchair shop, but I will tell you it involved more employees joining the shop's lobby, a supervisor, several business cards, some Kleenex, an immediate call to the doctor's cell, and some unpleasant things being said, none of which were said by myself, the doctor, or the PT.  I'm going to let you imagine what might have happened, and perhaps, just perhaps, in a few weeks I will have calmed down enough to relate the tale to you personally.
After I left the office and returned to work, I received two more phone calls from the custom wheelchair shop.  The first was to let me know that the prescription had arrived from the doctor, and that when the PT delivered the re-written note (which really only needed a date change)at 7 AM Monday morning, and when the rest of the paperwork was returned signed from the doctor, also on Monday morning, the paperwork would be submitted to the insurance company that day.  I will be waiting for the 7 AM call, and the call to tell me it has been transmitted to the insurance.
The second call was to tell me they had audited Chris's file, and would be mailing me the contact log between all parties related to the wheelchair, and also that a loaner power chair would be delivered on Wednesday.  Hmm.  Fascinating.
Well IHC, I'm just so glad you have the vision of "extraordinary care in all its dimensions", because it seems like you've got the extraordinary ability to screw up beyond any excuse that could be provided.  So, no, I won't click "like" for you on facebook.
















 

I'm still too pissed to blog about it.

What is the world coming to when the blind lady can't get a talking glucometer, and the non-ambulatory lady with MS can't get a wheelchair?  In the immortal words of Avril Lavigne, "What the hell."  And no, I do not ask you to pardon my French.

Words for Wednesday

As my usual oppositional self, I've decided to do the exact opposite of my SIL.  She does a wordless Wednesday blog, and sometimes I'm lucky enough to have her forget it is supposed to be wordless.  Of course my motivation comes from my niece, who has already blogged more this year than I have, and she just started a blog.  Oh, did I mention she's only 10 years old?  Man, I'm a slacker.

Today's words come from the student teacher I've had in my classroom.  After her first day taking over the classroom, she said, "I didn't know teaching children was this exhausting."  Yup.  Just like my blog title, it's true!

The fish are starving.

When you visit my blog, you are supposed to feed the fish.  They are starving, and it's all your fault.

I'm not trying to be awesome...

I finally took enough classes that I became burned into their memory...
UEN Teacher Feature