That sucks; I had the same issue with UHC. It’s a pain in the arse.
You should be able to print a copy of the online EOB and submit that to the flex spending account. At least that’s what we did when I had UHC a few years back.
Good luck!
Along those lines, I have a very German last name. My great-grandmother married into a “Steen” family (just the first half of my last name). When she divorced her husband, rather than keep his name, or going back to her maiden name (he was abusive), she changed the spelling of her last name to “Stein.”
It wasn’t until my late 20s to early 30s that I found out that that spelling change changed my assumed heritage from Dutch to German.
Me, too, on the wrong assumed heritage. My father had one of those ‘obvious’ German names, on the lines of Schweitzer, so I just assumed… When I was seventeen I learned that that was the name of his stepfather and his birthname was Appleby and we were actually English. Oops.
Actually, it was never a formal adoption. He was only four when his mother remarried, and they just casually started calling him by the new one. I guess at some point it becomes legal through use? At least, he enlisted in the army under it and that’s what shows on those papers and his marriage license and all his children’s birth certificates. <shrug>
I did go look in the nest and they were gone, so I believe their mother came for them. Yay!
The service at this Applebee’s is so bad… That’s the last straw! We’re Schickelgrüvers now!
I don’t think I’m going to see my grandfather again.
Some backstory - grandfather is suffering from some form of dementia, and cannot function independently anymore. He and my grandmother have live-in caretakers who help him clothe, bathe, etc., and God bless those people, because I know I couldn’t do it.
Grandfather is a semi-public figure (where certain people would recognize the name, but I doubt 8 out of 10 would), and if he saw back then how he acted now, he’d be mortified. He always has his hands down his pants, either playing with himself, or pulling at the gauze on his diaper, and his teeth have rotted away due to his constant consumption of candy. He has little, if any, short-term memory, and when my parents and I visited this past weekend, he asked the same questions, repeatedly (and we’re talking 50x or so), including asking his son (my father) if my dad’s parents were still alive.
Luckily, we were able to sneak my grandmother out on Saturday to get her out of the house and let her have a brief reprieve, since she’s currently normally stuck in the house due to a broken hip. While we were in the car, she repeatedly stressed how her important it was that my grandfather maintain his dignity.
So, what does she do? She schedules a big family dinner at a restaurant, dragging my grandfather in tow (despite the fact that he barely has any awareness, and didn’t seem too eager to go). While she is cooing and playing with all the great-grandchildren (who she sees on a regular basis, seeing as how they live ten minutes away), my dad and the caretaker are constantly restraining my grandfather from putting his fingers in his mouth and rubbing his eyes - it’s given him some nasty eye infections. The grandfather finally became loudly belligerent and my dad and caretaker wheeled him outside to calm him down.
I guess I kinda pit myself, because this trip was really important to me. I talk to them on the phone on a regular basis, and I knew things were bad with my grandfather, but I thought it was more mental, and that he wasn’t doing these physical tics. I could tell my dad was dreading it, and didn’t enjoy the visit, but I needed to see them, if only to assuage my guilt in not living closer. So, in doing so, I put my dad (who already has complicated feelings towards his parents) in a horrible position.
But, after seeing him like that, I realize that the man sitting in that recliner is not my grandfather, and that my grandfather died a while ago. Going back there would only put undue stress and burden on all parties involved, and he wouldn’t remember the visit, if he even registered that I was there.
I had UHC when I had my first C-section. They rejected the operating room at the hospital. Reason: Not an approved operating location. I called them, and laughingly asked if my dining room table would have been more appropriate. Then asked her to check the code to see if it was right. Turns out, someone fat-fingered a key and it was charged wrong. The stories I could tell about insurance… shudder
I’ll talk to the hubs and see if they will take that. Still not gonna pay it unless and until they bill me! 
When my dad had Alzheimer’s (he got over it)*, I’d visit and we called it “Getting mom some fresh air”. Which meant she could get dressed up, out to a nice restaurant for lunch, and do a little shopping. And chat with people who could respond. While dad sat home in his “comfy chair” and watched Lawrence Welk (which he hated pre-dementia).
So maybe you can at least take your grandma out for a nice lunch sometime.
*by dying…
(What? He was a jokester and would’ve appreciated that)
It works for ours. As a matter of fact, I just did it and got my check already. Still haven’t received the bill from the clinic.
Heh! Too bad it wasn’t Applebee, we might have rich relatives.
Unfortunately(?), they live 800 miles away. Also, the grandmother had a huge guilt issue with leaving him. Basically, if it wasn’t for the fact that the grandfather announced he was going to take a nap, she wouldn’t have left his side. Sad thing is, he wouldn’t even notice if she was gone, I’m willing to wager.
Pretty sure my kitten thinks her name is ‘‘No Bite!’’ It just occurred to me there is never a time she doesn’t hear it because there is never a time she’s not biting. :smack:
Although it does remind me of how my husband, when he was a child, thought his cat’s name was ‘‘Dammit, Cinnamon!’’ 
Fuck anxiety. Insert long rant about where it can fuck itself and how hard here, I don’t have the words right now. Just fuck it and the scary thoughts that go with it.
Also this. Big hugs.
I planted marigolds in my backyard. All but one died. Today I went out to water the last one left and something had dug up all of the marigolds (dead ones too) and shredded my lone, surviving marigold. Sigh.
Aww shucks :o thanks. No rants for you.
On top of anxiety, fuck OCD too. And all those people who say they have it because they keep their house clean. Really? That’s neatfreakery. OCD is real and it ain’t that. OCD makes people do things that make no sense whatsofuckingever over and over and makes the people who love them nuts.
Two Saturdays ago, I mowed and watered all our flowers in planters. The following morning, one of our flowers was just gone. Completely dug out of its’ planter. It was a shame, too - I don’t know what kind of flower it was, but it was a pretty iridescent blue/purple and had just started a second bloom. The expensive planter was left alone.
Today, I noticed the flowers from the planter above it were gone. What/Whoever took the zinnias also got the stinging nettle that somehow popped up in the pot, too. Ha! Again, the planter was left alone.
Who/whatever doesn’t like the petunias in the third planter. Either too boring or doesn’t taste yummy.
This is after spending an entire day this past June planting hostas up at the cabin. The following weekend, half had “disappeared”, including some gorgeous elephant ears. We’re not talking 3-4, we planted 80.
Seven miles of my commute today consisted of following some knob in a WRX whose muffler had apparently been tuned to emit race car noises when he hit the accelerator. So it was 20% funny and 80% annoying to hear this vehicle make vroom-vroom noises as it accelerated mightily to 30 miles per hour. It reminded me of the car in C. M. Kornbluth’s “The Marching Morons” which had a speedometer that would read 100mph (with accompanying motor and wind noises) even though the car was actually going 35.
My brother-in-law.
This shit-bag is a piece of work. A wanna-be outlaw biker with an explosive temper, poor impulse control and now, a cocaine habit (great combo dickhead, how’s that going to work out for you?).
A few days ago my wife and MIL went to an apartment my MIL owns to do a final inspection before MIL rented it out to new tenants, only to find out that my BIL had ‘rented’ it out to some of his druggie mates (BIL had stolen a set of keys) who were paying him ‘rent’.
Lots of police in attendance, heated tempers and threats now means the squatters have been moved out, the locks changed and we are in the process of getting a restraining/domestic violence order taken out against BIL. He’s already on bail for other offences in the next state and, rather helpfully for us, threatened my wife with violence while on speaker-phone in front of several police officers.
An interim order is in place, BIL should get served with it today - which will probably cause the shit to hit the fan.
He’s the sort of prick who would go after our boys in order to get to us and our MIL so their school is involved and extra security measures are being taken :mad::mad::mad: an I’m going to be spending a few sleepless nights keeping an eye on our house.