Our Little Pisher

Today, Archer (that little pisher) got himself signed up on our family's insurance policy.

I'm over at my parents' house, when their phone rings, and it's for me. It's Bruno. What's wrong? Who died? What's wrong? Well, it seems that Providence St. Vincent Hospital, where the boys were born in Portland, has called Bruno at work (because they didn't want to upset me) to tell him that they are having trouble getting our insurance company to cover one of our hospital bills.

The bill is for "Baby Boy 2 Morse Hospital Stay".

It's for Archer, for his two hours alive with us in the hospital. And they've called Bruno out of a meeting at work to tell him that since we didn't sign Archer up as a dependent under our insurance, the insurance company can't process the claim. Bruno is now ripshit, torn apart, needing to go back into a meeting, trying to hold it together, and calling me to ask if I can pick up the ball. Of course I can.

I hang up the phone and pause for a moment at my parents' dining room table. I am right back in the hospital, in the moments after the birth, seeing Archer's little open mouth, his little furrowed brow (I'm not sure he loved his bath: oh well. We tried.) I miss him so much, I feel like my chest is going to burst wide open. I want to kiss him, to press my lips against his forehead again. I can't believe we ever let them take our boys out of the room.

I gather myself up, remind my parents to think of what they are grateful for, because life could be a lot shittier, get in the car and grimly head for home. I'm not looking forward to these conversations. First call is to the hospital, to verify what the problem is. Yup. A very nice woman named Joanie tells me we need to get Archer on our insurance. She tells me that our boys were automatically covered for thirty days after their birth, but that they aren't anymore. I ask her why the claim is only being processed now, so long after the fact. She informs me that legally the hospital has 180 days to process claims and..... I interrupt her to announce that I'm really glad that legally the hospital has its ass covered and I'm going to say goodbye now to go try to get my dead baby registered on my insurance. And I hang up.

Drat. I thought I was done doing things like that. Shoot. Grief induced sainthood is frickin' fleeting.

I call her back to apologize. She tells me she was just picking up the phone to apologize to me. We have a big ole' lovefest, she makes me promise to lean on her for help if we run into any more trouble, we agree to be friends for life and hang up the phone.

Next call is to the insurance company, who puts me on hold while they try to do everything they can to put Archer on the policy. All attempts come up bust, and the only remaining option is to call Bruno's old company. I was hoping to avoid this. I can almost keep it together with anonymous people, but I know these people at his old company, and I like them and they like me, and we all know that adds up to a sob storm. Alright, well, there's nothing else for it but to do it.

I call the HR woman, a lovely fabulous friend of ours, and mercifully go straight to voicemail. I explain what is happening and what we need, and I make it halfway through before the shaking starts, leading quickly to the voice cracking, and soon it is just all out speaking through sobbing with a little apologizing thrown in for good measure. But I make it through, and hang up the phone.

And I swear to you, I have barely returned the phone to it's cradle, when it rings again: it is the insurance company: they have been contacted by the HR saintess, she has told them she will take care of everything right away, we aren't to worry, and she's called the hospital and told them to stop calling us. She also wants to know if there is anything else she can do to help.

We are so blessed. We are so very very blessed, to have encountered and to keep encountering so many people who are doing everything they can to help keep us from feeling more pain.

And did I mention that as I was pulling out of my parents' driveway, a little hummingbird came and winked by my car window?

Hello Archer, you little pisher.