together again.  Could it be?

I stood in my garden today just thinking about things before I left the house.  I had an appointment today to meet with an old supervisor.  Old as in we used to work together way back when.  Not old as in old old. 

It would appear that a dream-come-true transcription job has been presented to me as an option.  I am going to take it when the official offer is made.

Anyone who knows me well knows that my life has been a roller coaster for the last four years.  In 2004, my husband woke up in the middle of the night with a heart rate in the mid 200s.  He felt weak and sick.  His exact words were that his heart felt “bubbly.”  It took me a couple of minutes to fully wake up and realize that I needed to call 911.

EMS arrived and determined that he was not even safe to walk.  He was carried out on a stretcher and put into an ambulance to go to the hospital.  I followed behind in the van while my oldest son stayed behind to watch his siblings. 

He was diagnosed with Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome and it changed life as we knew it.  His heart rate was wild all night in the emergency room and he was finally cardioverted (shocked) into a normal sinus rhythm.  He ended up spending six days there and having an attempt at ablation which lasted all day.

I took the statement above from a file I have.  I just pulled out the bill on top.  By the time the dust settled the bill was over 120,000 dollars and my husband was not cured. 

He would need another operation, they said, or he could “drop dead.”  The first procedure had not been successful.  We were covered by insurance, but it was a policy we bought ourselves and I knew after going over it that we were going to be left with some hefty bills if we opted for a second, curative procedure.

In order to get him the best insurance possible, I took a job at a large medical center.  At the time, I felt like I would stay there and work until retirement and just abandon my dreams of being a stay-at-home-mom.  I mean, I didn’t even know what was going to happen to my husband, but I knew he needed the procedure again and we needed better insurance.  I put on a happy face, even though I was going in the opposite direction of where I wanted to be.  But for hubby, I could do it.

I don’t want to go into a summary of my life here, but let me tell you this:  even after you are cured of something, there is no insurance company that wants to touch “previous heart surgery” with a 10-foot pole.  So there began my constant following after medical insurance.  Yikes!  After a successful procedure, when I was free to come home again, I couldn’t come home!  We couldn’t find insurance!

I did finally leave the medical center because my heart just would not allow me to be away from the children that much.  Going to Whole Foods to work gave me a bit more time at home than being in the medical center, and it put me in a place that I really enjoyed being, but I felt in my heart it would have to be for a season.

I hope that season is finally ending. 

I interviewed today for a position that pays hourly for work at home doing medical transcription.  Hourly.  Anyone in the industry knows how rare that is and how big a trust it is for a company to pay you hourly to work at home.  And I will have full medical benefits, if I choose to buy them, for working part time. 

So it would seem that it’s true:  me and medical transcription, together again.

I’ll let you know when the official offer is made by human resources and when I am again an at-home transcriptionist.

Lynn

PS - Expect pictures of an office redo.  Oh, and I spent so much time at the hospital today, I did NOT get to go to any thrift stores, but it’s okay. 

A Mother’s Journal may be pen on paper.  It may be fancy feather quill on heavy luxurious paper or a once-sharp pencil working to be visible on a piece of tattered notebook paper.  Yes, a mother’s journal may be written word.  Most often, though, it’s the unseen thoughts written on a mother’s heart.

It’s the fervent desire that baby be safe.  It’s gently holding sweet baby’s feet in her hands and hoping that it is a mercy-strewn path upon which those little feet always walk.  It’s wanting to impart a bit of poetry and pretty song.  It’s wanting to show all the good in the world and the human soul to little one, and hoping beyond hope — until it feels like a mother’s heart might break — that her precious one escapes harm and all evil.  It’s making sure buttons are right.  It’s band-aids and kisses.  It’s modeling the compassion to rescue the wounded wren.  It’s the courage to say no to what’s not good.  A mother’s journal is the million trillion thoughts that a mother has towards her baby, that turn into one long thought and is the mother’s heart until she breathes no more. 

Lynn