Yesterday I decided to wrestle with a beast I've been ignoring for too long: medical bills. On our desk sits a pile of them. I should probably be embarrassed to casually admit that. Ah, well. Some date back to our very first months in NC when job changes left gaps in insurance coverage (wouldn't you know, kids get sick no matter how you lecture them about eligible dates of service), and the most recent bills, the heavy hitters...Lily's ER visit for a late night asthma attack and Luke's surgery. Uggghhh. Between the larger hospital and physician bills, and the smaller radiology services, pathology services and who-knows-what-else-services, the stack is pretty intimidating...and my checkbook less than accommodating. But ya know, it is what it is, just a stack of bills. Praise God for modern medicine, praise God for clean hospitals and health care facilities, praise God for well trained physicians, praise God for jobs with health insurance. And I don't meant those praises to sound cliche...seriously, praise be to God. With all that's wrong with America and our health care systems, I'm thankful to live in this country. Amen.
Our largest paper monster is Luke's surgical bill from the hospital. Even with insurance. Ouch. But as I stare at it, all itemized and formal, I can't help but recognize that today, in black & white, 7/16/2008 is just a "Date of Service" on a Statement of Benefits. And though my "Subscriber Responsibility" is far more than I care to pay, 7/16 is just another bill to be paid. That's all. And that's wonderful. Because a few months ago 7/16 felt like a weight on my chest and a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart too big to ever fade away to the size of a piece of paper on my desk. But there it is, in convenient envelope size. No more knot in my stomach. No more lump in my throat to choke back tears.
The days and hours leading up to Luke's surgery were so hard. So. Hard. And the time he was away from us, under the care and scalpel of strangers, whew. Tough. But the moment his limp, anesthetized little body was placed in my arms in recovery, it all went away. And the hurdles ahead seem so small, so manageable, even the bill. 'Cause a bill is just a bill. And my children are priceless. And my husband who paced a hole in the carpet of the waiting room, priceless. And my mom who traveled all this way to help, priceless. And the family and friends who cried with me, called in those early morning hours, texted through the surgery, prayed heartfelt prayers and reassured this anxious mommy, priceless. And the God who is the same God in sickness and in health, wow, priceless hardly seems sufficient. Immeasurable.
The day I heard Luke might need surgery, a treasured friend offered a prayer of shalom on Luke's behalf. Shalom, nothing missing, nothing broken. Later, when it was confirmed that indeed something was broken, and after surgery, something would be missing, I felt so disillusioned with the idea of wholeness. But today, with a healthy, happy kindergartner, oblivious to the fact that he's any different from anyone else, I am very aware that wholeness is of God, and no scalpel or word ending in "-ectomy" can take that away. And 7/16 is now just a bill on my desk.
Our largest paper monster is Luke's surgical bill from the hospital. Even with insurance. Ouch. But as I stare at it, all itemized and formal, I can't help but recognize that today, in black & white, 7/16/2008 is just a "Date of Service" on a Statement of Benefits. And though my "Subscriber Responsibility" is far more than I care to pay, 7/16 is just another bill to be paid. That's all. And that's wonderful. Because a few months ago 7/16 felt like a weight on my chest and a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart too big to ever fade away to the size of a piece of paper on my desk. But there it is, in convenient envelope size. No more knot in my stomach. No more lump in my throat to choke back tears.
The days and hours leading up to Luke's surgery were so hard. So. Hard. And the time he was away from us, under the care and scalpel of strangers, whew. Tough. But the moment his limp, anesthetized little body was placed in my arms in recovery, it all went away. And the hurdles ahead seem so small, so manageable, even the bill. 'Cause a bill is just a bill. And my children are priceless. And my husband who paced a hole in the carpet of the waiting room, priceless. And my mom who traveled all this way to help, priceless. And the family and friends who cried with me, called in those early morning hours, texted through the surgery, prayed heartfelt prayers and reassured this anxious mommy, priceless. And the God who is the same God in sickness and in health, wow, priceless hardly seems sufficient. Immeasurable.
The day I heard Luke might need surgery, a treasured friend offered a prayer of shalom on Luke's behalf. Shalom, nothing missing, nothing broken. Later, when it was confirmed that indeed something was broken, and after surgery, something would be missing, I felt so disillusioned with the idea of wholeness. But today, with a healthy, happy kindergartner, oblivious to the fact that he's any different from anyone else, I am very aware that wholeness is of God, and no scalpel or word ending in "-ectomy" can take that away. And 7/16 is now just a bill on my desk.
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