Change

Change can be hard.

It can also be also be a chance to reflect on what is important.

This sweeping statement sounds somewhat romantic until you learn that I am talking about health insurance.

Up until recently, M was covered on her father's PPO coverage at his place of employment. This worked out pretty well on the day she was diagnosed. We paid about $38 each time we visited a specialist, and about $84 per month on insulin, and $87 per month on test strips. Also, we paid about $50 every six months for lancers, since M only changes them about once per day. Infusion sets cost us about $240 every quarter, so about $800-$1,000 per year.

All of this totals roughly $3100 per year in maintenance.

All very interesting, I'm sure.

But then Daddy got a new job. And insurance doesn't kick in for 90 days.

Okay then, let's get on Mommy's insurance plan: an HMO.

The insurance itself costs less, for sure. And prescriptions are a lot cheaper: $15 for test strips and insulin. Doctor's visits are $10. But M's current endocrinologist is not on the plan. In HMO speak, this means that the insurance will not pay anything toward M's care if we see her current doctor. At least on the PPO, if M's specialist was not on the plan, we would still get some coverage, but not as much as those "participating" in the plan.

So now what?

We have to change doctors.

We have been thinking about this for a while, anyhow.

After all, M's diabetes nurse educator would frequently give us conflicting advice, and although we asked repeatedly to be part of trials, we were never even told if any were going on. I assume that we were put toward the bottom of the list due to the fact that we live over one and a half hours from the hospital.

Fortunately, we have heard many great things about the hospital just 40 minutes away.

Searching the web, I learn which doctors are on our plan, which is somewhat helpful, but I can't find any information about the doctors themselves. So I turn to my new resource: the STAR parents.

I send an e-mail to the group explaining our situation, and within two days I have the names of the two favorite pediatric endocrinologists in the Dartmouth area, as well as the name of a favorite Diabetes Nurse Educator.

I contact our PCP (Primary Care Physician) and request that we be referred to the new doctor. (For all of you Russians out there who are mysteriously reading my blog, we in the States cannot refer ourselves to our own specialists: another doctor must "officially" make the request in order for our insurance to approve and pay for the visits.)

Service was excellent, and within a week I received a phone call from the new hospital confirming an appointment with our new DNE. The copay for the visit was $10.

So an HMO doesn't sound too bad, does it? Lower prescription prices (even if they do give us 100 fewer test strips per month), lower copay prices, a specialist nearby....

Except that if the diabetic stuff hits the fan, and we need to see someone "outside of the plan", the expenses may very well not be covered.

Which is why, after 90 days, we will be switching back to a PPO through Bill's new job. I will continue to remind myself: change can be good. But hopefully after the 90 days, we won't have to make another one for a while.

Unpopular

In the STAR program, we had a parent meeting about 504 plans. Everyone in the room talked about how hard it was for them to get teachers and administrators to follow the 504 plans for their child.

When it was my turn to speak, I admitted that I didn't use a 504 plan.

The group leader was evidently distraught at the prospect of a diabetic child running around without some sort of paperwork marking her as "special".

I explained that each year I write a letter to every teacher and coach that comes into contact with M, and cc the school nurse, who is obviously aware of her condition. I believe that for M, this is special paperwork enough: especially since (so far) I have a system of open communication with the school she attends.

A parent in the group asked me if teachers allow her the special accommodations needed to manage her type 1 at school. I responded that yes, they do, although M sometimes needs to remind them that she has diabetes.

For example, M's math teacher, whom she adores, was giving a test when M realized that the tubing on her pump was leaking. Panicked, she raised her hand and asked to go to the nurse.

"Can it wait?" the teacher asked.

M shook her head, "no" and was sent on her way.

When I spoke to the same teacher at a regularly scheduled parent conference, she admitted that she had forgotten that M had diabetes. "I assumed it was a female issue", she told me.

We took that opportunity to explain what diabetes is, and the multiple ways it can present itself in class.

She was sincerely fascinated, and we nearly ran over the allotted time.

A parent in the group said that rather than having to give "mini lessons" like this to M's teachers, a 504 would educate them. and save me time. Then she told me about her yearly ritual: she holds a meeting with all of her child's teachers at the beginning of the year to explain what diabetes is, and how to care for her child. Then each teacher is handed the 504 and the care plan, and asked if they have any questions.

I listened to her, and what she said made sense. But arguing that the 504 would somehow save me time was not true. I could hold such a meeting with M's teachers and never hand them a sheet of paper.

I was smart enough not to say this, however.

But the group leader leaped on the parent's comments and took the opportunity to press the issue with me. As the entire group looked on, she explained that since the 504 is a legal document that it would protect our family. "From what?" I wondered. If something serious happens to M in school, all a 504 does is give me the right to sue the school, which, considering that I had already laid it all out in a letter, is probably true anyway. Suing a school wouldn't help me, and a 504 is no guarantee that she would get the care that she needed. I mean, I know it couldn't hurt, but with only two and a half years left of public high school, was it really worth the effort? After all, when she was in a teeny-tiny Montessori school, M didn't even have a school nurse and managed quite well.

The group leader told me that she would be happy to help me with the legalities and formation of the document, to which I shrugged and replied, "You know, it's a lot of work, and I just don't want to do it."

After that little tidbit popped out of my mouth, a nano-second of doubt occurred: a tiny moment where I felt sure that I had said the wrong thing and would be upbraided in front of my peers.

But nobody said anything, and we just moved on to another topic.

Yea me!

Now we'll see if anyone talks to me at the next meeting.