I hate spam.
Of course, who doesn't?
I don't mean Spam - which I've seen, but never actually had, but the junk email spam. But you knew that, right?
My website has an email address to contact me. I never use it any more because the spammers have gotten hold of it. I've never seen so much crap in my life. Don't these nimrods have anything better to do with their time? And really, if you're going to be a total a-hole and flood someone's in box with garbage, could you at least get the gender right? What the hell am I going to do with any kind of penis enlargement drug/device/Jedi mind trick? Get a life, you morons. I'm not buying. Who buys this stuff? Someone must, because every day there's about thirty emails advertising this crap. Ugh. Although, on the plus side, I've won the Nigerian and European lotteries three times.
Okay, I feel better now.
Onto the next rant.
My son is twenty-seven months old and he still doesn't really speak. So we're trying to get him into speech therapy. I go through out physician directory, find that one of the two speech therapists who are covered by our insurance program is pretty close to where we live, and I get an appointment for an evaluation and hearing test. Get it for next Thursday. Sweet.
Ten minutes later, the therapist's receptionist calls me back. Our insurance won't cover speech therapy for the Boy unless he goes through early intervention first. Now, his pediatrician recommended early intervention, but he never told me it was a separate entity. I figured (stupidly, it would appear) that it was something all speech therapists did.
I have to go through our local board of education (I don't really get why, but I'm sure there's a really good reason) to set this up. So I call the BoE. They direct me to someone else. So I call someone else. Nope, they aren't who I want, I have to call yet someone else. Finally, third someone else is the right someone else.
Only she's away from her desk. Leave a message and she'll call you back in about ten minutes, the secretary says.
So I leave a message. Then I wait.
And wait a little more.
Then I have to leave, because there's a special event going on at the Girl's school. So I pack up the Boy and his toys and drink and snacks and off we go. Probably going to miss the return call. Oh well.
Get back about two hours later. Still no return call. Well, at least I didn't miss it.
Another hour goes by.
The phone rings. AHA! Return call.
I chat with this delightful woman - Jessica - who takes all kinds of information and then tells me a caseworker will be assigned and I should know sometime next week when the therapist can come out (they work with your child in your home, sweet) and evaluate the Boy.
Probably not until mid-February.
So instead of getting to the root of the problem next Thursday, the Boy and I will have to wait another month. How does this make sense? Stupid insurance. None of this would happen if they would just let me take him to the original therapist. I don't know why they won't, but they won't. He either has to complete this early intervention thing and still need additional therapy, or he has to not qualify for early intervention. Then I can start all over. And I really don't know what will qualify or disqualify him. All I know is that I want my little boy to talk. I don't care what hoops I have to go through (well, okay, I do care, but I'll do it because it's important) as long as I can get to the bottom of the entire thing. The worst is not knowing why he can't or won't speak. It's frustrating and maddening and irritating at the same time - for all of us.
Okay -whew... rant over.
Back to work!