Monday, August 22, 2011

B-I-G Ideas

The thing about adoption is that it costs money.  A LOT of money.  And while there are any number of things I worry about on a daily basis (is the puppy going to pee in the house, is that a gray hair on my head, where is the closest exit and how quickly can I get to my niece if the house is suddenly stormed my know, the usual) there is one thing that takes the worry trophy and that is money.

And I hate that it is money.

Because this house was the right decision.  There is space for a baby, work is ridiculously close, the school district is great, and I love it....but the adoption fund took a hit.

And I knew it would.

But, yikes! It was a big hit.

And I've decided that what I need is an IDEA (yes, in all caps). Like and epic harry-potter-meets-twilight-meets-any-other-damn-thing-that-just-popped-into-the-heads-of-their-creators type of idea.  Because I every time I think of something I could make, or sell I find 25 of them on Etsy (and way cuter than I could have done), and I don't thinking selling my eggs would work (but don't think I haven't thought of it, or the irony of it), but I know I need something.

I have a second job.
I'm saving a crap-ton of money in this new house since I split everything with my sister.
My gas bill went down to almost nothing since I can see work from my backyard.

But I've done the yard sales, and I have nothing left to sell.
And I've done the budget, and I have nothing more to save.

But if I'm perfectly honest there is one thing that I haven't really done, haven't honestly done and that is pray.  I mean for real pray.  Specifically pray.  Just for what I need.  Because honestly, honestly, it works.  I know it works.  I've seen it work. 

And it's just me, my doubts, my worries, my me-ness, that has prevented me from truly believing that I can trust Him with this worry, with this need.  Which is ridiculous because I fully trust Him to bring my daughter home.  Seriously, that worry never enters my mind because I am absolutely certain that my child will come home when the time is right.  

So why is it so hard to believe that He will help me find a way to get the money so that He can bring her home?

(and wow did this post go off in a direction I wasn't expecting, so I give.  I'm listening, and I'm praying...and okay, I'm still thinking of BIG ideas but only because I think it would rule to retire and work from home)

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The One Where I Complain About Health Insurance

It's no secret that I have some medical needs.  Things are actually pretty awesome in the RA department, but even when I'm feeling good I still have to take medicine daily to maintain the good.  Until recently this has been no big deal.  I have insurance which covers a bulk of the cost.  My local pharmacists know me on sight.  And I (usually) remember to order my refills in time.

All was going well until last month when my insurance company decided that my expensive medication (enbrel) had to now come from a "specialty" pharmacy.  As far as I can tell the only thing "special" about their pharmacy is that it's especially annoying. 

When I have to pick up my enbrel from my local pharmacy I get this. 

I can call the pharmacy on a Friday when I need the enbrel on Saturday.  It takes me 5 minutes to get to the store.  And, as an added bonus, I can pick up a Diet Coke, or People magazine while I'm there.

Under the new policy (which is supposed to make the process easier), I have to call the pharmacy at least a week in advance.  They then bug the crap out of me on the phone (um, no I don't want to sign up for anything I just want my medication, and I'm already annoyed that I have to call you to do that so lets just move on shall we).

And did you notice how small the box is that my medicine is in?  Yeah, because this is the package that came in the mail today....

And inside that giant box was an equally giant styrofoam cooler

And inside that giant styrofoam cooler were three cold packs, and one tiny box of meds....

And YES the cooler and ice packs are necessary to keep the syringes at the right temperature...but seriously?  Mother Nature is SOOOO pissed at me right now (and I blame you Health Insurance)!

Saturday, August 6, 2011

The Waiting Game

I often imagine that waiting to get THE call from my adoption agency saying that I've been chosen by a birth mother is akin to that 3 minutes you have to wait between peeing on the stick and seeing that little pink line.....times, like, a million!

And in the months since my papers became official at the agency I've only had one of these moments. At the beginning of a 12 hour car ride I got an email about a "situation" (as they call them), asking if I would be interested in the birth mother viewing my profile (Duh). And even though I knew I shouldn't, my mind shifted into overdrive and I had this baby in my arms, in my life, and in my heart almost as soon as I pressed send. 

This could be it, this could be my daughter, this stranger on an email could be tied to me forever through adoption.

I told five people about the email.  Five people who I knew would keep it close to their hearts.  Who wouldn't ask me 15 times a day if I'd heard anything yet.  Five people who I consider family, even though three of them technically aren't.  Five people who I know will be a part of my daughters life. 

And after the longest weekend of my life, I had to tell those five people that I hadn't been chosen.  That the little girl who had lived in my imagination wouldn't be coming home to me.  That this was not THE call, simply A call.

It sucked

And again I imagine it's like waiting for that line to turn pink, for the test to say yes, for those three minutes to change your life forever. 

So while I wait for my turn, for my pink line, for my life to change forever I'll continue my endless dreaming, my imagining, my wondering....and I'll try very, very hard not to pee on any sticks (because I really don't think it'll help).