Friends, I implore: Try really, really, REALLY hard not to get run over by a truck at work because the runaround you’re given by insurance carriers and billing agents even years post-accident will exhaust your wife to the point that she’s left little more than an enraged, cursing like a sailor, hollow shell of her former wise-cracking self.
Sometimes just putting it in writing and tossing it out to the universe is enough to rattle my cage of rage and move on.
You though? I hope you are having a marvelous Monday. For reals. I hope the sun is literally or metaphorically shining upon you and that people you call and email to help arrange medical care have the common courtesy to return those contact attempts. (OK, that last part might be a wee bit personal and specific to me and may suggest just a tiny bit that I’m not completely ready to move on, but as it’s been famously said, tomorrow is another day–a whole twenty-four hours ripe with the possibility of a return call or email–the anticipation is simply killing me.)