After all, I'm still at work, still technically on the clock. But after two weeks of not knowing whether my insurance company will approve my fibroid removal (and thus essentially allow me to have a baby), a surgery scheduled for this upcoming MONDAY, I'm pretty much done in. I've done all I can to get my deadlines in order. I've drafted all my motions to extend my deadlines, motions to continue my court dates. I've drafted a memo to my bosses on the status of all my outstanding cases. I've started popping xanax like candy. I've hid behind a closed office door all week. Wonder how many people know I've been crying?
And still I wait. J called me to tell me that, for at least the fourth time in the last two weeks, the doctor's office screwed up the insurance request. Now maybe the surgery isn't going to happen, not because it's been denied, but because the insurance person at my doctor's office hasn't been able to get her head out of her ass. And maybe I won't know for sure until tomorrow evening, which it's just too damn late to make it happen.
Trying my hand at blogging. Maybe I'll find some sanity?
More later, I'm sure.
The Baby Chaser