What the Sprinkles!?!?!

Oh dear, aww shucks, what the heck…. We do our best to avoid those sneaky four letter words that are so rampant in culture. We quickly try to think of a substitute… That’s what happened with my mom and I when one of us just blurted out, “What the sprinkles!” We were shocked, I don’t even remember what it was about, and sprinkles were in eyesight and so that became the substitute and now is a common phrase around the house.

“Potty mouth,” as it was called in the 1990s, was a no-no in our house growing up, but as I have become an adult I have found there are lots of different definitions of potty mouth. In our home, “potty mouth” didn’t really have to do with anything to do with the potty. This “mouth” had to do more along the lines of swearing, disrespect, talking back, calling others names (idiot, stupid, demeaning and dehumanizing words). I have found that other homes would consider actual potty words, “potty mouth.” Now don’t get me wrong we didn’t talk bowel movements 24/7/365, but these words reality, as they are for everyone, so the fact that we wouldn’t ever talk about these things is beyond my comprehension. And also the fact that I had many GI issues as a baby (and my entire life), did not allow for not explaining. Yes, there was a time and place, and then not a time and place- these are called boundaries, and we knew them. I also grew up with a brother and all boy cousins, so it was pretty inescapable 😂.

No one is perfect and we all let one slip every once in a while, at least I do. Movies, TV, etc was not withheld from us that had swearing or if they didn’t line up strictly with our beliefs. We were exposed to these things as preparation for culture, learning to discern, and defining our own beliefs, values, morals, and boundaries that lay ahead. One of the values I have really had to pay attention to quite a bit in the current political chaos, and choosing who I would like to represent me, my state, my country, has been the way these people speak to and about others. Calling names, to me, is playground nonsense, did we not learn our lesson when the teacher made us sit out of recess? Swearing as a leader, for me is one of the lowest place you can go. It disgusts me so much that a leader would even think that this is even slightly acceptable. And yes, I am referring to what our president, honestly I cringe when I type this leader’s title, because of the video being replayed, unfiltered over and over again today, of his comments as he left for the NATO summit. I’m not surprised, unfortunately, but I am appalled.

That being said and off my chest… Leaders are to lead. When they lead with a heavy hand, or by belittling or dehumanizing or calling names, what do we expect culture and society to do? This brings we to what has been on my heart and mind for several weeks, and this week it hits home and is a very real experience that I relive this time of year. So hang in here with me as I do my best to paint a picture…

I’ve been in many emergency room waiting rooms and exam rooms, either for myself, grandparents, family, friends. There are many characters that enter in to emergency rooms – I have seen gunshot wounds, heart issues, broken bones, respiratory issues, pain of all kinds, some just needing some good wound cleaning and bandaging, but there’s one scene that always occurs, sometimes once and sometimes several times while waiting, that always has ripped my heart out of me…

A parent with a child who is obviously in desperate need of medical attention. I can tell they have tried everything but the emergency room, because they are unsure of what resistance they may face, how long will they have to wait since others waiting have private healthcare, and most likely will take priority over them (not always true, but I’ve watched it happen). They come with their child, their wallet, sometimes a phone, and a final string of hope. They get their child settled across a couple of chairs and wait. So many times I have heard the coughing and instantly thought there has to be a baby whale in here- then realize it’s a child- and my advocate mode wants to start kicking and screaming. Or I’ll hear a scream of a child in horrific pain, I see the parent’s agony as they walk up to the desk to ask how many more before they will be seen. Some I have seen still waiting when I left the emergency room. Some just leave after hours upon hours of waiting in search of another emergency room…

I only know and have felt a tiny, tiny glimpse of this myself. After bringing Lucy home, I knew she would need a cardiologist consultation and test ran to see what the hole in her heart was going to do. If you know anything about infant adoption, then you know all the documentation and legal things can all get held up because they are basically “undocumented” until they receive their social security number. And you need this number to do about anything- insurance being the biggest to do, in my mind, when we arrived home. I had spent hours on the phone confirming that she would be able to be added to my insurance asap. The response I always got was “of course, just as if she was biological she will go right onto your insurance, no problem.” WRONG! When I say this took up the most time from being with my little girl in those six months, I mean literal days. I knew there could be a big surgery in the near future, but specialist are not primary care either. So, I got the very best plan that I could get for her and started paying for two separate insurance plans. When I say best plan, it covered some, more than what Medicaid would have covered, which she was eligible for until she received her social security number. But I was getting it mainly for planned surgery, planned specialist visits, but nevers happen.

When I began to walk into the very familiar emergency room that we were sent to by her doctor, everything seemed to slow to very very slow motion. I had her in my arms. My mom and dad were behind me with stroller, car seat, overnight bag, diaper bag. Walking through security and metal detectors, the parents coming in with their little ones came flooding back to my mind. Then my brain fast forwards, and I am at the check in desk, saying her doctor should have sent that we were coming and why, and I am handing over her insurance card and my heart is pounding. Emergency was not a plus side to this plan. She says a total, I’m already unsteady and haven’t been able to eat, so I am weak. I just remember saying, “I’m sorry, what was the total?” And feeling dizzy, but I wasn’t going to let go of my little girl. Whatever needed to be paid to be seen got paid and then we waited. But nevers happen. In all the years of watching these parents bring their children in and I could tell they had no clue how they were going to put on foot in front of the other, here I was my heart breaking in a thousand different pieces because now I had only a small glimpse of that heart pounding feeling of what now? And I had support with me, Lucy had what she needed, she even had an admission already in process before we got there. So when I say small glimpse, I mean teeny tiny.

Why do I share this with you all today? Because I feel a strong responsibility to speak up for what I do know. It’s the difference between doing something and nothing. And the comments and assumptions coming from leaders about Medicaid, Medicare, Healthcare Marketplace, are out of line and honestly not true for the majority of those who receive medical coverage from these places. I continue to hear, “single moms, low to no income, government housing, food stamps” attached to these conversations. Well, okay, I’ll use myself for an example, I have to use the Marketplace because I run my own business and frankly, the economy, government and my health aren’t getting along as of late. So I fall under two of these categories: Single Mom, low income. A couple points I want to make though: 1. Not everyone receiving medical coverage help fall in any of these assumptions they are frequently suggesting. 2. They are suggesting that anyone who does receive any of these services will need to turn in their work hours every week. FYI: this would be called reporting for unemployment. Which I think shows the majority of people who are receiving medical help are busting their butts to do what they can. 3. Medicare is to care for the elderly, you know those who have put in their time and WORK. 4. Clearly none of these leaders has had to ever submit an application or navigate a very tricky website for any help ever, especially when their life depended on it! 5. I’ll let you research for yourself the minimum income to qualify for the Marketplace in 2025 vs what it is for Medicaid, in my opinion, both are what the sprinkles!?

Today, I’ve had every four letter word go through my brain and have had to stop it before it hit my tongue. Thank you Jesus! He restrains my tongue so many times a day. I’m not sure how we can call our leaders to clean up their speech for the dignity and integrity of our nation and future generations, but it can start with us. The name calling, the dehumanizing and making government funded help for REAL humans a product to be eliminated or spoken of as a burden – is only making our friends, family, neighbors a transaction to be dealt with and then onto the next bill. I won’t hold back, the way everyone is talking about chronic illness, insurance, single parents, low income, income in general, medical research, and the sense of entitlement of America above all else, and the heat in North Carolina, it has all got me feeling like a burden myself. However, I know I am not. So anyone else fighting the feelings of being a burden, you are not alone, but more importantly you are not a burden, you are here with breath in your lungs, and just sitting and breathing is a beautiful thing.

The picture today is my mom and Lucy in the hospital bed just talking. I love this picture so much because I had gone to take somewhat of a shower in the room’s bathroom, and came out to them talking and Lucy reaching and grabbing my mom’s face. We were near the end of our hospital stay and we were all running on emotions and surviving by looking into Lucy’s eyes- Jesus was there.

Life Book of the Week: My hands tell a Story, by Kelley Starling Lyons