Just Our Luck

A few months ago I tried to get Thomas into an intensive therapy program called Europeds. There are only 2 or 3 centers in the entire United States and we just happen to live less than two hours from one of them. At the time the waiting list was extremely long, but we were put on it and patiently waited to get the call.

Meanwhile our new physiatrist got on the ball. He gave Thomas botox injections in his legs, has him being casted and going through physical and occupational therapy, and wrote a prescription for a new set of AFO's (leg braces).

Our insurance company will only cover 60 consecutive days of therapy per YEAR. So however many visits we can fit in a year is all we get. They consider the casting as therapy so that takes away from his 60 consecutive days.

Well, today I got the call from Europeds, they have reached our name on the waiting list. We have just one more full week of therapy available through our insurance though. I am beyond bummed about this. I have heard such great things about Europeds and seen some amazing videos on their website. It makes me so mad that they finally have room for us and we don't have the means to cover the expense.

They have put us back on the list for the first of the year, when our insurance replenishes the 60 days. I am going to make sure I have all my ducks in a row for when the time comes so I don't have to fight with my pediatrician over the referral for this therapy. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he can get in in January 2008.

Therapy makes him sad.

Poor Thomas. Poor Mom. This is the face I have to look at while we are on our way to therapy. As soon as Thomas sees a certain landmark on the drive to therapy he pulls this face. It is the saddest face I have ever seen in my life and it breaks my heart that I am partially at fault for causing it. It's not that he doesn't like therapy. Once we get there and the therapist comes out for him, he is generally happy. He has fun back there, really he does. So why the sad face? I wish I knew, I wish he could tell me, I wish he didn't need therapy, I wish I wish I wish... But it is what it is and he has to go. So four days a week I try not to look in the rearview mirror. And four days a week I fail, I look, and my heart breaks a little each time.