The High Cost of Hope

Please don't misunderstand me.

This is a break in the clouds. This is handpicked by God for LRHF. Excellent therapies with excellent outcome. Intensive and on-site. One realistic and remarkable doctor overseeing a hand-picked therapist working big-chair-to-little-chair with LRHF because, because, because LRHF, my beautifullest most blessingest baby, wants to come out and play. And that's not just me mommy-talking. That's what the smart folk think.

This is what must be, what is necessary, and what will work.

This is what will cost $32,000.00 a year.

(Do you hear that? that's my insurance company still laughing, or maybe just pissed off at that last post--the one where I got a little pissy w/them)

As I say, don't misunderstand me. This is a good deal. Seriously. This is the best I am going to do to achieve the best for my LRHF.

But Holy Freaking Batshit (sorry Jenny, but you know you're thinking the same thing), that's a lot of money and Hope is not something that will ever, ever go on sale and even if it did, what child should wait? Not mine. I mean, not yours either, but definitely not mine.

So then, oh yes Lawd, I will sell my second-rate soul. And you would do just the same if you had a LRHF.

Yes. You know you would.

And now I am collecting data and research on this therapy and this doctor and the exponential relationship between frequency of therapy and successful outcome. I am practicing my bestest wordiness to explain to my father that this is Hope. This is the means by which his grandson will have his path eased, even just a tiny bit, one less pebble, one less hill. This is all I want for him--I cannot want what I don't know, but I know that I want this Hope.

Umm...I've never done this before, btw. Asked (well, begged really) my father for such things. Was not raised this way, was not entitled. We've discussed the possibility, but it involved what is essentially LRHF's education money, not my father's damn-well-as-I-please money. This new thing never crossed my silly mind. Until I had a LRHF. And some really sad projections about plasma donation.

So here we are. And I think, I think that with the Hand of God on my back, I can do it. Or He can get me up to it, because don't think for a moment that I don't know Who is really pulling me out of the puddle for this. I think, too, that it is oddly possible that this same Hand will move over my father's heart for this child he's seen twice.

No matter what I think--I can do no other but ask. (Seriously, God, just how many flavors of scared do You make? And who knew there'd be such a freaking buffet?)

And girding that 32k Hope is this sticky whispery prayer--

Keep Your Hand firm at a mother's back, soft on a grandfather's heart, and forever on a little red head.