My State of Affairs

I've been asked a lot in the last week how I'm doing by my good friends.  Thank you for caring so much about me and my family.  One thing I know for sure about this life is that I have wonderful friends, and I am not alone.  That is a comfort beyond measure.  

Here's how I'm doing: I feel as if my heart has been broken into a million pieces and all that is left are shards of glass.  Many of you know our family's circumstances, some of you don't.  But, I bet you know what is like to suffer a loss that is so tragic that it just knocks the air out of your lungs.  I found out about our loss alone, at an airport, after having a car accident (no injuries to me, minor to the car) with a bag of overpriced, fried, airport food in one hand and the phone in the other.  Fortunately for me, the other end of the phone was the voice of someone who loves me.  It could have been worse.

I don't know how long I sat on the carpet at my gate crying.  But, eventually, I got up.  I asked for my suitcase to be removed from the plane. Then, I systematically shoved onion rings in my mouth while weeping, still on the carpet. What can I say?  Food is my friend in the best of times so you can imagine...

As I drove home from the airport to my family, I may very well have powered the car with my fury.  I became so angry about the injustice of our situation that I felt my whole body clench and my vision sharpen as I flew down the expressway.  The clarity that came with my anger was a welcome distraction from the incredible sadness I had experienced at the airport.  At least with the extreme tension I could accomplish my one goal...get home.  

Today, I woke up utterly wrung out.  And numb.  I alternate between exhaustion and nothingness, anger, and being okay.  It seems like there is no happy medium with grief.  You're either doing just fine or you walk through your day in a heavy fog.  Consider me Seattle right now.  

It's almost like living in an alternate universe...a different reality; there's the one that existed before the events that changed your life and the one that now exists.  And you wish you didn't know the things that you now know.  I wish I didn't know that in the place I once called home and loved to work, the judicial system is nothing more than a mockery of the values we hold dear as American citizens.  I wish I didn't know that a bunch of good ole boys disguised in nice suits and a judge's robe are so untouchable and corrupt that they make up the rules as they go, and don't seem to care who knows about their incestuous relationship.  I wish I didn't know that the media is just as guilty of injustice, spitting out whatever gossip the prosecution spoon feeds them and calling it news.  

Most of all, I wish I didn't know that you can have the faith of a mountain and still be unable to move a damn mustard seed.  I wish I didn't know that you can pray until tears stream down your face for the righteous and watch the corrupt prosper at the end of the day.  I wish I didn't feel so frightened and confused about my faith for the first time in my life.




I can't deny God's presence in my life at this moment.  I feel him with me.  Calming me and quieting my mind.  Building me up and steeling me so that I can go on with my daily life and be of use to my family.  But I'm not ready to meet him here.  He is like the boyfriend that I still love but am not speaking to.  Not that I'm expecting him to explain himself to me any time soon.  


I would love to wrap this post up for you with a bow in a nice neat package.  You know that I am a sucker for a silver lining.  Right now, the best I can do is tell you that we are putting one foot in front of the other and living one moment at a time.  I love my brothers so much; the one I inherited through marriage and the one that I grew up with.  They were both late bloomers and were well worth the wait.  They spit out these little nuggets of wisdom; kind of like a fortune cookie.  Here was my brother's advice to me today: "Don't confuse the terrible stuff that's going on around you with your smart, beautiful daughters and your healthy husband.  You have a wonderful family."  

Where does he get this stuff?  I said, "That's some Mr. Miyagi sh%* right there!" He is right, as usual, and I will do my best to remember it. 

State of Grace

State of Grace- (Christian theology) A state of sanctification by God; the state of one who is under such divine influence

"There but for the grace of God go I." I've had this quote stuck in my head, just bouncing around there for the last few weeks.  I'm not sure what that means because I've never given the quote much thought before now, but maybe it's there for a reason? I didn't hear a song, read a novel, or watch a movie that included this famous quote, so as woo-woo as this sounds, I believe it was placed on my heart to teach me something. 

So...I did a little research with my trusty search engine.  That has got to be the lowest form of "research," don't you think?  I came upon this website and here's a bit of what it had to say. 

The origin of the quote, “There but for the grace of God go I,” is attributed to John  Bradford, but it is recorded as Bradford saying, “But for the grace of God there goes John Bradford.”

Apparently, this Bradford fellow was an English protestant minister who lived during Queen Mary of England's (Bloody Mary) reign.  Delightful woman!  She  has to be a runner up for "Most Neurotic and Insecure, not to mention Stark Raving Mad, Queen of England".  Oh, and she had major daddy issues.  You would too if your Dad was a serial wife killer. Mary's notoriety came from her habit of publicly executing anyone who openly rejected her Catholic faith...kind of takes all the fun out of free will.  

As the story goes, John Bradford was walking by a group of criminals being led to their death when he spoke, (probably under his breath) "But for the grace of God, there goes John Bradford," meaning, it is only by God's mercy and grace that I am not walking in their shoes.  Most of us cannot imagine living in such a fragile state of grace...that at any moment the worst could happen and the bottom could fall out.  For John Bradford and others like him, a stroll through the town square or attending a worship service was a reminder of his own mortality.  Little did John know when he spoke those words that he would one day be condemned and executed for openly preaching the gospel in Queen Mary's England. 

So what does that mean?  How am I supposed to wrap my brain around them apples?  I mean couldn't he have gone on to spread the gospel and NOT die?  Like have a happy life with a chubby wife, lots of babies, and die warm in his bed?  

In my heart, I think I know the answer.  I think that God's grace is sufficient and made new each day.  I think when John Bradford walked by those "criminals", he did not take a single breath for granted.  He saw them and knew that at any chosen time, that could be his fate, and he was immeasurably grateful for the grace, the mercy that God showed him in that moment.  

And, when he was the one being led, unjustly, to his death, I have to believe that God gave him the grace to withstand the fear, humiliation, and pain that he would have to face.  I believe that because I have so often heard stories, read books, and talked to people who knew incredible peace through unimaginable ordeals.  The strength and courage they felt, could only be explained by God's grace.  Have you ever looked at someone's life and thought, "I could never do that! How could I go on after that happened?!"  

But, somehow, we do.  We endure.  And so does our faith.  

It sort of makes me think of childbirth.  When I was in labor with my first daughter, nothing was progressing except for the agonizing contractions.  My labor had gone off the rails and I was ready to kick some ass!  None of the books or classes told me that you could be in labor for 34 hours.  There were so many moments when I cried and declared, "I can't do this anymore!  I'm DONE."  I think I even said, "God, why have you forsaken me?"  

Drama.

Here's the crazy thing.  Just when you think you will die if you have to withstand one more second, something happens.  You start to get the hang of the breathing thing.  A friendlier nurse comes along with an icy beverage and a smile (or drugs!) You get to push.  And the awful ordeal is over.  

I think that's how God's grace works in times of pain or trouble.  He does not promise to take away the pain, or make the awfulness end sooner.  He just holds you up.  And when you think that things will never get better, that you just can't go on, he gives you rest and help.

I will leave you with a beautiful Psalm about His vigilance and help!

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore. 

Psalm 121, New International Version

I'm Still Standing (on His promises)

There is a funny thing that happens to me when I am writing a post.  I've said before that this forum is my "free therapy" and I think a lot of bloggers who write about their own lives would agree.  When I am piecing together a story for you, I am actually processing life in my mind; working out the kinks.  It's a little magical, really, because the way I feel when I sit down to type is transformed by the end of the post.  Writing to you is my way of wading through the muck.  At the end of the story, I always find my silver lining. So thank you for that, friends. 

This week, I've been feeling pretty overwhelmed and kicked around.  But, I wanted to make you laugh.  When you consider the alternative, laughing is almost always the best option.  Too bad, every now and then, it's just not possible, is it?  The journey is just too difficult and the only choice available is to just sit quietly and experience the discomfort of feeling something unpleasant.  That's where I'm at today.  It occurred to me this morning just how strange it is that life goes on as usual when we are in the midst of something that tests our faith and our ability to cope.  The alarm clock still goes off at 6:30. School and work still happen. The kids still need to be tucked in tight and have their books read at night. Bills need to be paid. Little hands still need to be washed and little teeth need to be brushed.  Doesn't it seem like life should just stop and let us catch our breath for a minute? I want to yell, "You expect me to do what?!"

There has been a common theme in my writing: distractions...the little, earthly pleasures that are a quick, temporary fix to life's troubles.  Every fiber of my being calls out to these delicious diversions, covets them. The food, the T.V., the social media, the books, the entertainment...they tap into a part of my brain that is looking for comfort.  There is nothing wrong with a little comfort...it may be one of the best parts about being human. But, these little pleasures never really address the underlying painful feelings, do they?  It's like putting a band aid on a bullet wound...not very effective at solving the problem, just covers it up a bit.

When I turned thirty, my mom gave me a very special gift.  She allowed me to read the journals she kept when she was thirty and had young children.  It was an eye opening experience to pour over the blemishes and insecurities she struggled with at that age and incredible to see how she has evolved into the empowered woman she is today.  Immediately, I was struck by the impulse to give my children the same gift.  At that time, I thought it might look like me keeping a diary...never did I imagine it would be a big, fat, diary that would be accessible to the world!

My point is, I am sharing my struggles with you now, so that one day my girls, who may be mothers and wives themselves, can look at my life and see an honest portrayal of who I am, right now, insecurities and all. It's my wish that they will be surprised at how difficult things were for Mom and Dad sometimes because they only remember love and laughter.  Is that unrealistic? Maybe, but it's a good dream to shoot for. My hope is that they will be the kind of women who can easily laugh at themselves, and are comfortable enough in their own skin to stand firm in their convictions when the world kicks them around.  My mother has always been humble enough to laugh at herself, and she passed that gift on to me. The tricky part is learning to be quiet and sit with unpleasant feelings.  That's usually my cue to lace up my proverbial running shoes and head for the door. But, I'd like to make things different this time around.  That doesn't mean I'm going to pull the covers over my head and marinate in self pity. I'd like to take a breath and allow myself to feel...knowing all the while, it can't last forever.

A good friend gave me some food for thought this week.  She remembers being miserable in med school, working through the night, and missing her small children desperately.  She asked a fellow med student why he never complained about their crappy schedule and he said, "Whatever else they do to us, whatever they take away...they can't stop time. Eventually this will all be over." His words stuck with her through trying times. 

This too shall pass. 

God, grant me the grace to do what so many generations of women have done before me in times of trouble.  Help me to put away childish desires and surrender those troubles that weigh heavily on my heart to you.  Strip away the superficial things and leave me with the desire to get to know you better.  Teach me to trust in the plans you have made for my family, when all rational thinking points to an unhappy ending.  Because I know you better than that, God. You have only the best of intentions for me and the ones that I love. 

A Little Help, Please.

How are things?  I mean, how is life treating you lately?  My family and I are doing surprisingly well.  Surprisingly, because we have some really sucky, stressful stuff to look forward to in the month of April.  I honestly thought that by now, I would be an absolute basket case, taking all sorts of medication, smoking, and sporting a Fantastic Sam's haircut.  I envisioned someone finding my unwashed body submerged under piles of laundry and cheap romance novels, stained by my Cheetos fingers.  But, fortunately for everyone, that is not the case!  Let's take a strengths based approach at catching you up, shall we?

•  I have yet to beat my children and spring break has ended.  This is no small feat. Now them beating up on each other...that's a whole other thing.  
• My 5K for the Cottage was fabulous and I am still running!  Running has saved me in the last month.  I am terrible at it, apparently have the worst possible feet our Lord created for this sport, and wear all sorts of unflattering, compression gear, but man, do I ever love it.  When it's just me, my ipod, and my dog friend, Fred (a.k.a. the rape whistle) sailing through our neighborhood at night, I am free.  
• We are all healthy (at least we were until I just jinxed us by typing those words.) 
• The kids took the recent loss of our dearly, beloved cat very, very well.  The only indication of any trauma is that Lilah likes to role play "the vet" and tells all of her animal patients that they should expect to either receive a prescription or die during their visit.  Yikes!  
• I have a rock solid support network of family and friends who listen to me rant and rave about our current stresses, and compassionately tell me when I am being entirely unreasonable, which is a lot of the time.  
• In ways big and small, I can see God's fingerprints on our lives every single day. He fills me up with this reassurance that says, "Don't you know everything is going to be just fine?" This is miraculous in the face of logic and reason that says, "You're headed for hell in a hand basket!"  Like my cousin says, "Choose faith over fear."  
• Encouragement has come from the most surprising places.  It may be a text that says, "I am praying for your beautiful family!" or the stranger who sat next to us at the pharmacy the other day and commented, "You know, you sure are a loving mother."  Wow.  Way to make my whole year, buddy!  Can I package you up, take you home, and pull you out when I'm feeling crumby?

The only signs that I am floundering under the pressure of our cruddy month are as follows:

• I spend a lot of time looking at my forehead in the mirror and wondering whether I should get botox or cut bangs.  These are dangerous thoughts because I could end up looking like this (been there, done that)

or even worse, this.

 Sorry, lady, but it ain't good.

• I spend suspicious amounts of time looking at this website that dares to ask the question, "Should Christians get tattoos?" Heck ya, they should!!  I have mine filed away just in case the day should come when Hubby says, "Let's call a babysitter and go get some ink!" Or of course, if he runs away from home; in which case, my mid life crisis will officially begin. 
• I am consuming copious amounts of chocolate and caffeine.  In fact, I think I have developed a new antidepressant made up of these two ingredients! 
• My house tends to be in a barely contained state of disarray...the laundry is now master of our bedroom. 
• My prayers usually sound something like this: "Please, please, please..." or "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."  

But, you know what?  All things considered, I am blessed and I know it.  Everyday, I wake up with the realization that my kids are safe and happy, my husband still loves me despite my imperfections, and I am surrounded by really wise, loyal people who keep me grounded and lift me up.  I will leave you with a message that I have saved from a great friend in our church small group because it perfectly sums up what I love about my friends.  

 

"I thought of this story this morning that paints an amazing picture. It's about Moses from the Old Testament. Moses and his men were in battle. And, for whatever reason, if Moses was holding up his staff, his side was winning. When he lowered it, they started getting defeated. He obviously got tired and was unable to hold his arms up any longer. A couple of guys decided to help him out. They found a rock for him to sit on and they held his arms up for him. What I'm trying to say is, you are not alone. I will help hold your arms up. Our small group will help you hold your arms up. You will not be defeated." 

 

Maybe life is throwing a lot on your plate right now and you need someone to hold your arms up.  Or maybe you just have this one thing that's weighing you down. If that's the case, let me know.  I would love to pray for you!  After all, we are all in this together. 

 

 

 




 

The Least of Us

 

 I think God spoke to me this week.  

Before you stage an intervention, it wasn't in an "I hear angels and need to wear a tinfoil hat on my head to block out the demons" kind of way.  It was the kind of way where He gives you a wink and says, "Pay attention! You're about to see my fingerprints on something."  

We had some drama at our house recently; the kitten variety, to be specific.  Those of you who read my inconsequential updates on Facebook already know the gist of it.  This little snip of a kitten was abandoned by someone and left on our street.  She was just as friendly as she could be, purring and circling my legs as I approached the gutter to investigate.  So... I did the only thing any decent person would do (see how I rationalize?). I put out food and water bowls on our porch and made a little fleece bed for the kitten.  Naturally, one must consider how cold and dark it is at night, so one moved the bed, food, and water dish to our garage.  Along with the litter box I purchased for her.  

To say that she was snug as a bug in a rug, is an understatement.  To say that my husband was unhappy about the new addition to our family, which already included an anxious dog and elderly cat, is like saying my Grandma enjoyed televangelists.  It just doesn't even begin to cover the situation.  Every time Hubby would catch me sitting on the garage floor snuggling with kitty or calling her (by name- oh yes, I named the kitty) to come in for the night, he would shake his head, while muttering under his breath, "I really don't need this s*&% right now."  

What's a girl to do?  You just can't drop a cutie like that off at the shelter when you live in the country.  She'd have zero chance of distinguishing herself among the litters of kittens that get dropped off daily.  I did the only thing I could.  I tried to pawn her off on anyone and everyone I could think of with no luck. As for Hubby, as long as she was an outdoor cat, how much could they really run in to each other (I'm doing it again)?  

Besides the fact that you could cut the tension in our house with a knife, things were going just peachy.  Until...one morning after I let her our to do outdoor kitty things, she did not come back.  It was cold and rainy.  I kept hoping that she'd peep her little head out from behind a tree.  Me and the two little cat lovers in my house searched the neighborhood, calling her name.  No luck.  

I imagined wild dogs and the coyotes that could be heard outside our neighborhood at night licking their chops. By nightfall, I was whimpering like little Bo Peep who lost her sheep and needed a glass of wine.  Pathetic!  My six year old said, "Don't worry, Mommy.  Let's just pray for her to be safe and come home!"  Lilah, my four year old said, "How about we have a birthday party for her Mommy?  We can bake a cake for her and then she'll come home, for sure!"  

This just created more tears.  

By the time Hubby got home from work, I was puffy eyed and sullen.  Surely, it was his fault for not wanting her to hang around. Yeah, that's it!  

He sweetly spoke to the girls, who were pretty glum.  "I prayed for the kitty all the way home from work and I know that God is going to take care of her and make sure that she finds a good family."  

Whatever.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that ten minutes later I got a message from a mom in a nearby subdivision, who would just LOVE to adopt our little stray.  I'm thinking, "Why? Why couldn't I have gotten this message last night?! That would have been just too easy!" 

As we sat down to dinner, not ten minutes after that, guess what happened?  A neighbor pulled up in my drive way, after finding a sopping wet, angry kitten, who had wondered too far away from home.  Our sweet kitty had been rescued and returned to us after all!  I was just overjoyed.  And immediately, I contacted the wonderful family that had offered to give her a good, indoor home.  

"What did I tell you?" my Hubby said.  "I prayed about it and I knew that God would take care of her." At least he didn't say, "Ye, of little faith!!" But, he could have. 

It's so annoying when he's right.  

Sure enough, kitty is now settled into the perfect home, where she is the only pet and will be spoiled rotten, as any princess should be. 

This story means more to me than a happy ending.  It reminded me of something I had forgotten...something that every six year old remembers.  You see, when I was the same age as my oldest daughter, my kitten went missing as he was prone to do and I prayed first, worried later.  I had this unshakable belief that if I just gave the problem to God, it would be taken care of.  As an adult, I like to worry first, make some phone calls, analyze the situation to death, post a facebook update on it, and then pray. 

God answering our prayers about this tiny, insignificant creature was an awakening for me.  

"Oh, yeah... oh yeah... oh yeah. I'm supposed to pray first.  And then again.  And then some more."  

Because God cares about the least of us.  And if He can attend to the needs of one small, stray cat, then whose to say what He will do for you and me? I will leave you with a quote from Jesus, who said it best. 
 

Matthew 6:25-34

²⁵ “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? ²⁶ Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? ²⁷ Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

 



 





 

I Just Felt Like Running

 
I have often said that I have the best of friends.  It's true!  I have the kind of friends that would give me a kidney, or take a bullet for me...like a flesh wound, not the bleeding out kind (they have kids, you know).  I'll tell you what they would do for sure!  They would run a 5K for me (because that's as far as I can run, not because they wouldn't go further).  

My friends, I have never, under any circumstances, been a runner.  I was the kind of kid that would run at a walking pace with arms flailing wildly, wishing I was dead, as I failed to grab the baton that some kid was desperately trying to pass me.  It was traumatic.  Thus, began my hatred of running.  Later, in high school, when we would approach a track unit, I would inform my mom that she could expect a phone call from the school office about my absence from several consecutive days of gym class.  She would stoically accept my decision because it meant that she did not have to be subjected to anymore embarrassing phone calls from the gym teacher, wondering how in the world I could have another written excuse to sit out.  I don't think she particularly minded picking me up from detention because I wasn't ditching to smoke pot or have sex.  Hiding in the parking lot during the track unit seems pretty great in comparison! 

Lately, however, I have been looking for a sense of purpose.  I needed to do something that was just for me!  And I'll be honest, I was feeling less than young and energetic.  I decided to do something totally out of the Kate box; something that I never thought I'd do.  Since hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro does not mesh with my duties as mom, it had to be a task that I could complete in my own neck of the woods.  Last March, I was completely in awe of my friend, Missy and cousin Annie, when they participated in the Atlanta Marathon/ Half Marathon.  As I watched those girls cross the finish line, dripping sweat and smiling, I could see them finding a power within themselves that seemed superhuman to me.  I was so proud to witness it!  

Remembering this, I perused a running website that listed upcoming race events in my area.  I found this 5K on March 30th, in Athens.   The Cottage is an organization that provides intervention, advocacy, referrals, and support to families that have been impacted by sexual assault and child abuse.  This felt like a real God wink to me! You know, when something is evidence of a higher power at work in your life?  Because there is no cause that is nearer and dearer to my heart than advocacy for children who have been victims of sexual abuse.  Sexual abuse affects people from every walk of life and every socioeconomic level in this country.  Here are the facts:

• One in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused by the time they are 18. That statistic becomes real when you step into your child's classroom and look at those little faces.
• More than 90% of juvenile sexual abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way. These are people we trust: friends, babysitters, coaches, pastors, etc.
•  About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children meet criteria for at least one psychological disorder.  The pain does not end when the abuse ends...that is only the beginning.  
• The estimated cost for child abuse and neglect in the United States in 2008 was $124 billion.   

My point is, this is not a problem.  It's an epidemic.  I am a survivor, no longer a victim, of sexual abuse and I will be doing my small part to help the victims in my community, along side Annie and Missy, on March 30th, in the Cottage 5K.  I am running for the little girl that could not find her voice, but has found her power and won't be quiet now. Who can you run or walk for? If you are not available to run but would like to support the Cottage, you can click on the above link and become a "phantom runner." 

If you are local and interested in supporting this awesome organization, get your running/walking shoes on and join us!  I will be the one puffing on my asthma inhaler and sweating like a man.  See you there!

I Can't Make This Stuff Up!

The other day, I was just lazing about the house, (ha!) when I received an unexpected phone call.  Let me preface this by saying that as a rule, I am not unkind to telemarketers.  Don't rush out to give me a medal or anything...I mean, we don't actually have a home phone, so I have limited exposure to them.  But as a group of people, I feel a bit sorry for them.  I picture them sitting in a cubicle somewhere, looking all morose and pasty in the florescent lighting...craving a nicotine fix, all the while dreading the next awkward phone call.  I mean, really! Is there a more hated population out there ( maybe besides serial killers and people who open fire in public places and of course, AL-Qaeda)?

Sorry...I got distracted.

The phone call I got was as bad as a telemarketing call; it was the dreaded hospital billing department.  I will now try to reenact the ridiculous phone call for your reading pleasure.  

Billing Guy: Hi ma'am, may I please speak with Savannah (my six year old daughter)?

Me: Uh, no, you may not because she is six years old and is not allowed to take phone calls from strangers.  (I said this in the nicest way possible).

Billing Guy: Oh, sorry! Yes, that would be strange. I am calling from (the hospital's) billing department.  (I am protecting their privacy, assuming that not everyone who works there is this idiotic).  I'm calling in reference to an E.R. visit that Savannah made in January?  

Me: Oh, yes...she was really sick with strep.  

Billing Guy: Yes, ma'am.  You currently have a balance of $240.00 for that visit.  If you are willing to pay in full, the hospital can offer you a discount!  You can pay just $190.00.

Me: Oh! That sounds good.  Could you just give me a breakdown of what we're paying for?

Billing Guy: Well, I see that you've already paid a copay ($75) so after what your insurance has paid, you owe $240.00 for two doses of acetaminophen administered by the nurse.

Me: Um, are you serious right now? You want $240.00 for Tylenol? 

Billing Guy: Uh, yes, I believe acetaminophen is a form of Tylenol.  

Me: No, buddy it's not a FORM of Tylenol.  I don't care if it can sing and dance!  It's still Tylenol!!  (I start cackling loudly).  

Billing Guy: Um...let me see here.

Me: First of all, it was one dose, unless you think the hospital overdosed my child? We were only there for two hours.  Second of all, 7.5 ml of Tylenol is not worth $2.00, let alone $200.  Surely, you must know that you will not be getting that money?  

Billing Guy: I will have to check with the head nurse about the two doses, but that will not change the cost of one dose.

Me: The $75.00 we've already paid you, plus what insurance has covered, should take care of the 7.5 ml.  I think we're done here, don't you?

So! What do you think the Tylenol cost before the insurance paid out?  Like $500.00?  Hey, forget dealing crack!! We need to get into the Tylenol business!!

You just gotta laugh, right?  I don't think that this is the last I'll be hearing from my buddy in the billing department.  We may become good friends, the billing department and I!  But, alas, they may never recoup from the loss of the 7.5 ml of liquid gold.

Maybe, later I will swing by and drop them off a bottle!