When we last left the great insurance saga, we had insurance that covered autism therapy but didn't really because it only covered autism therapy provided by Virginia State Medical Board certified behavior analysts and no such thing existed. Which, I suspect, was kinda the point. However in September, the Virginia State Medical Board did, in fact, start taking applications for licensure. So all that was left to do was for our insurance company to spend seven months haggling with local agencies over the reimbursement amount, which left me with hilarious statements like this:
However, I can now announce that after eight short months, Kurt is covered for 15 hours of therapy a week, all for the bargain price of $125 per. This is a vast improvement over the previous cost of $500-ish for 6 (!) hours a week. I say "-ish," because the bottom line is hazy for me. Jeff's dad swooped in and paid out of pocket for us. I have no idea what happens to uninsured autistic kids who don't have a Grandpa Bob, but I am really grateful mine does.
The dramatic increase in therapy hours has coincided with Kurt's continuing "challenging behavior." I am tempted to use phrases like "reign of terror" and "minion of Satan" to describe his demeamor these days, but it seems kinda unfair. The truth is that he's an anxious boy who is very low on emotional resources right now. We are talking major screaming, banging of head against any handy surface, all potty training out the freaking window, and crying at the drop of a hat. (Seriously. Like a pregnant woman.) And the car rides with the two kids in the back seat had me today googling for products like "back seat dividers" (I came up empty, but if you know of a solution, let me know. I need, like, a total visual barrier.). I am taking it on faith that this will end at some point, since it always has before. (gulps)
On the bright side, after eleven years of awkward silence, I recently made peace with my best friend from high school (and beyond), after we agreed it's way too much effort to sustain that kind of anger over more than a decade. She sent me a picture of us from the Olden Days:
The man in our laps is her Grandpa. He taught me how to drive a stick! He was a gentleman.