One Funk Leads to Another.

After a long, sick few months, I specifically remember thinking that, although being sick sucks, it's part of having little kids. I also remember desperately wishing for just one healthy week. Just one. Long enough to buy some groceries. Do some laundry. Get the snotty tissues out from between the couch cushions. Return some phone calls. Not watch Dora. After that if was fine by me if we were all sick again. Just wanted a chance to regroup, that's all.

And in way that made me think wishes do come true, I had almost two whole weeks of pure domestic bliss: I emptied our bathtub (which was being used as the overflow laundry basket and was also full). I bought some groceries and got back on the meal planning kick. I restocked tissues in every room of the house, washed the cushions with puke on them, paid the bills, vacuumed Goldfish crackers from under the kids' beds. Pure joy.

Two weeks later, on the nose -- well, IN the nose -- we all developed colds. Nothing major. We'd been through worse. We can handle this. No big deal. And then, over the weekend, Gramma and Grandpa were around, playing with Twin A and Twin B all day. Husband and I did errands, enjoyed a breakfast out together, bonded over cleaning out boxes in the garage and fully enjoyed a day away from Twin A and Twin B. It seemed that we all had a great day.

Gramma and Granpa put the kiddos to bed and as they were leaving, around 9 pm on a Saturday night, Gramma casually mentioned on the way out the door that Twin B had been having trouble breathing all day but to "have a good night!!!"

Husband and I look at each other, our shoulders deflating, and we both head to their room to investigate. Sure enough, Twin B was having a very hard time breathing. We call the nurse line and (like always) they tell us we should bring him in. Husband and I do rock, paper, scissors to determine who has to change out of their pjs and bring him to the ER. Of course, we never seem to get sick on a Wednesday at 2 pm. Nope. Saturday night. 10 pm. ER. Good times.

I lose the challenge, put on a hat, and bring him in. We sit down to register and prove that we can, in theory "pay" for the visit, and the nurse lifts his shirt to watch breathing. His chest was practically caving into his back. Tears form in my eyes, I squeeze him tighter with my eyes closed. Immediately I have flashbacks to many previous incidents with him and his brother. I'm not quite sure what happened -- maybe she pushed a secret button -- I don't know -- but in like two seconds, we were whisked into the depths of the ER. Four hours, several tests, tears and x-rays later revealed pneumonia.

After a neb treatment his breathing was significantly better and we were fortunately discharged with an inhaler, a prescription and a teddy bear from the ER "concierge service". After a trip to Walgreens at 2 am, we arrive home. Me exhausted. Emotionally drained. Twin B filled with energy, wanting to tell Daddy all about the x-ray machine.

The next day, Gramma calls to check in on us and Twin B. I tell her what happened and she tells me "I thought it could be something like that..." I took a deep breath and ignored that comment and told her that not only is it a bummer about him being sick, as we were about to head out of town for a family funeral, but the expense is going to push us over. With a $1000 deductible per person and Twin B's not met, we were likely facing a near-$1000 out-of-pocket bill due to the ER visit. Gramma says "I know! Don't you just hate that??'

No, Gramma, I don't hate that.

• What I hate is when I don't push the basket in the coffee maker in all the way the night before and I wake up to a puddle of coffee all over the floor, the counter, and the river down the stove.
  
• What I hate is when I get a rare moment to catch up Entertainment Tonight, but some stupid sports event is on.
• What I hate is when is the battery runs out on the digital camera during at the precise moment Twin A and Twin B will sit next to each other and look the same direction.
  
• What I hate is when I reach the last can of Dr. Pepper in the fridge and it's gone.
• I hate when I'm late somewhere and have to put gas in the car.
  
• I hate when my sitter cancels at the last minute.
  
• I hate growing my hair out.
• I hate when I have work to pay medical bills and can't blog as much as I'd like.
• I hate zits in my nose. Pimples on my ass. Hangnails that rip down to the knuckle.
• What I hate is when someone spends all day with my child, but fails to mention until they're out the door that something seems wrong with him.

These things I hate, but can deal with. But a multi-hundred dollar ER bill on top of all our previous medical bills from this winter?? This is not something I hate. This is something that changes our life, causes stress and tension and keeps us up at night. Causes stomach aches and zits in my nose and God knows where else.

I want to remind Gramma that the reason we moved from Big City to Nice Midsize City in the first place was because of gut-wrenching, collection-calling medical bills. The only place left in our world to tap money (after taking out more home equity lines of credit that should be allowed by law, borrowing from our 401ks and begging from our parents) was to sell our home. Our home in Big City that we'd spent years making "our" home.

Knowing the prognosis for our kids' health and the likely residual continued larger-than-life medical bills combined with our commitment to stay home with them won out over funky shops, hip neighbors and getting to say we lived in a trendy part of town. So we sold our beloved house, moved to a less expensive, less-funky community, paid off the bills and already have depleted the savings we kept for future incidents. Ok, FINE, I bought some new shoes, too. A girl can't lose all her funk.

No, the residual effects of money stress doesn't end with paying -- or not paying -- the bills. It impacts our entire world. And for someone, especially a close family member to dismiss that with a flip comment? That's what I hate.

About Frugal -- 'er -- CrabbyJo.