Yep, it’s broken. But, not me… Nope, not me!

Friday, I tripped over something in my hallway.  I wasn’t looking.  I ended up against the wall, screaming all sorts of words that I am sure were inappropriate for my daughter to hear.  But, for about 60 seconds I let them go.  I screamed while the pain was too intense for me to breathe.  I screamed about my stupidity.  I screamed with certainty that the foot, or at least the little toe, was broken.  Because it was that kind of pain.  The kind that makes you sure.

Friday 9/2
                                   Friday 9/2

After some ice, I tried my best to jam it into a sneaker.  Less than 2 weeks post op from the implant repair, I was not interested in losing my ability to walk to relieve stress.  However, my efforts were in vain.  That toe wasn’t even close to making it into my sneaker.  No way.  No how.

I took Meghan to swim practice, and called my husband to meet me.  I figured when he tagged in I could go for an x-ray.  Just on the off-chance it was more than the toe.  Because every memory I had was of “you can’t do anything for a broken toe,”  I was hoping…

I kept busy in the hall above the pool.  I had my laptop and all I needed to continue to pepper NYU with what I really feel are immoral and unethical billing practices.  Along with 2 weeks worth of a records retrieval nightmare, where I could not gain access to Meghan’s lab work from earlier in the month while her doctors were on vacation, and the online system was a classic, epic failure.

Definitely feeling the adventure!
           Definitely feeling the adventure!

I propped the foot to the side, and used the hotspot on my phone to send the 14 page document I had compiled off to the CEO of NYU and the head of Patient Relations.  Then I copied one of her doctors, a lovely woman who I doubt has any clue how these things are done.

When I finished that I called on a bill I had just received.  Same doctor for Meghan.  Two dates of service.  No evidence of my secondary carrier billed.  My $30 copay times 2 requested as payment.  I asked, innocently why the secondary isn’t mentioned.  I was told they didn’t pay.  Didn’t acknowledge the claim.

IMG_8139

I made my notes, to follow-up.  I did.  Amazing what technology will do me.  This facility was paid THREE times for the January visit alone.  A visit totalling about 20 minutes generously.  They COLLECTED over $1,000 from the three separate claims.  And they were STILL hitting me for money.  My older, weaker self would have paid.  Just to shut them up.  I’m not that person anymore.  I am strong.  I am tough.  I am morally and ethically strong-minded.  I will pay what I owe.  The rest I can do with as I decide, not them.

They are sneaky.  They prey on those who can not figure this out.  I am developing a spread sheet I will have to enter all data into to stay on top.  But, I will.  And when I have enough I will expose them.  I will do it for the people who can’t.  Because some things are just flat out wrong.

I thought of all this as I found my way in the x-Ray machine Friday evening.  The tech was sweet.  She was kind.  We laughed.  Without saying anything, she said it all.  “I think you might want this CD.  Why don’t you just wait for it?”  Sure…

An elevator ride up I was informed of a displaced fracture of my right small toe.  They can’t be sure if it’ll need to be properly set.  I need to wait about a week.  Until oh, I don’t know, the FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL?

Saturday 9/3 - I did manage a polish change!
    Saturday 9/3 – I did manage a polish change!

I spent Saturday morning in vocal therapy.  Apparently she’s waiting for confirmation that I don’t actualy have nodules, but rather some type of vascular lesion on the left vocal cord.  Tiny.  Benign.  Therapy the same.  Prognosis not quite as good in terms of self-resolution.

IMG_8142

Stitches sticking through the streri strips on my newest boobs, a boot on my right foot while I track down a doctor.  A voice that may work, or not…

School starts for teachers tomorrow.  A hot mess of me headed in to meet my schedule.

I am bent, bruised and strained.  My toe may even be broken.  But, not me.  I won’t be broken.  Ever.

It’s mind over matter in so many ways.  And this mind.  Well, it matters.  I’m all over it.  #beatingcowdens is not for the faint of heart, but we’ve got this.

For right now, with a little help from the Captain… 🙂

IMG_8144

Comfortably numb

I walked into a meeting this afternoon at the tail end of the work day.  I brought the key to my room, and my phone in my hands.  I sat and listened to the presenter, and as I got up to leave I gathered my things and realized my key was missing.  Lately I have been losing everything.  Maybe its stress, maybe estrogen loss, maybe I am just getting old.  Who knows?

I looked everywhere.  This year we were each given one classroom key, which also unlocks the bathrooms.  It is a really important key, and I have been so careful.  I even make sure I have pants with pockets every day so I can keep track of it.

I dumped the bag one last time, checked my pockets and checked my coat.  No key.  Realizing I was running late for Meghan‘s swim class, I resigned myself that I would have to look for it tomorrow.

Walking down the stairs something gold caught my eye.  I looked down and there in the breast pocket of my shirt was my key.  I only knew it was there because I saw it.  That was when I was struck with laughter and remembered that

I always keep my key in my PANTS pocket, because I can feel it against my leg.  No idea how or why I put it in my shirt pocket, but I won’t be quick to do that again.

They may be firm.  They may not sag.  But they certainly lack the feeling of being real.

Nothing like being able to laugh at yourself when the day is a bit rocky.

It’s been over 6 months, and I guess I am used to the new girls – because most days I don’t pay them any mind.

On the way out of the building my Assistant Principal asked me if I had found my key.  I told him I had, but when he asked where it was I spared him the details.  “TMI,” I said.

I went to pick up Meghan humming “Comfortably Numb,” the whole way.   Probably not exactly what Pink Floyd had in mind, but hey – it works for me!

One year…

One year…

It just sounds better than 6 months.  It feels better too. 

“Six months” says, we are still a bit concerned.

A year says, “You got this.  I’ll just check back and make sure it’s all good.”

One year from now I will visit the plastic surgeon.  She will check on my fake boobs, and make sure they are still doing exactly what they are supposed to do.  (Which near as I can figure is stay still.)

Next month I visit the breast surgeon.  Hoping to get “one year” from her too.

Eventually my life and Meghan’s will be in some type of maintenance cycle.  We still have some time before we get there, and there will always be doctor’s appointments – but for now it’s a big win.

The cancer is long gone.

I heal pretty well.  Especially on the outside.

Cowden’s Syndrome is good for something.