Deliver The Money in Large, Unmarked Bills and Place in Nearest Dark Alley

Turns out that Tucker's fever was just a fever, or as his dr. called it, a "nonspecific virus." He did get a light, non-bumpy rash on his face and torso for a couple of days after the fever stopped -- and this too was deemed normal by the doc. All of this is very good news, as I'm quite fond of both my firstborn child and my right arm, either of which I may be required to fork over should Tucker need another hospital say.

I say this because of The Bill we got last week from the hospital. In the hospital's defense, it is really the fault of the bastards at the insurance company, who decided that, in their opinion, Tucker didn't really need to be in the hospital for the last 6 days that he was there back in June, and so, hey! Guess what?! We ain't gonna pay for it! And since every decision or payment from the insurance company seems to provoke a flurry of paperwork, the gears of bureaucracy really started grinding away, which resulted in us receiving The Bill amongst the junk mail and Pottery Barn catalogs.

I suppose unless your child has been kidnapped and you're anxiously awaiting the delivery of the ransom note, nothing can quite prepare you for the sight of a piece of paper with the words "Patient Responsibilty" and "Payable Upon Receipt" typed next to an amount that is just slightly less than $47,000. $47,000. Huh. And just as if it really was a ransom note, I burst into tears and panicked and then calmed down and thought, "we'll have to call a lawyer." (Why do the parents of kidnapped kids on TV always have a lawyer on retainer?)

Turns out we likely won't need to get a lawyer. Myk called the hospital, and they apologized and said we never should have gotten that bill, and they're still in negotiations with the insurance company. Meanwhile, we get to keep our healthy, happy, and precious little boy, and for that, I'll happily deliver all the ransom money I can scrape together, and I promise I won't even get the cops involved.