
I have a love/hate relationship with our insurance provider.
We have private insurance through my husband’s employer, and without it, we’d be well over $750K in debt. So in many ways, I am incredibly grateful for it.
But it’s not free.
Between premiums, deductibles, and out-of-pocket maxes, we are drowning.
So when the dreaded package arrives in the mail, informing us:
“This claim is denied. After our review, it has been determined this procedure was not medically necessary.”
It takes the wind out of our sails.
A Simple Procedure, A Complex Condition
Last month, Jackson needed ear tubes—a routine, 15-minute procedure.
Not a big deal, right?
For most kids, no.
For a child with Congenital Hyperinsulinism, it’s not that simple.
The procedure required general anesthesia, which meant he had to fast from midnight before surgery.
And that’s the problem.
HI kids can’t fast for long periods. Their bodies require constant carbs to prevent dangerous hypoglycemia. Jackson typically needs to eat every 2.5–3 hours—even overnight.
Working with Texas Children’s Hospital ENT and Endocrinology, we made a plan:
- He was admitted the night before the procedure.
- He had a full dinner, then was placed on a dextrose (sugar) drip.
- For the first time in his life, he slept for nearly eight hours straight!
His blood sugar remained stable, and surgery went off without a hitch.
We were discharged 45 minutes later.
The stay and surgery? A complete success.
The Dreaded Envelope
Then, this week—it arrived.
The thick envelope from the insurance company.
By now, we know what it means:
- An Explanation of Benefits (EOB)
- An appeals package
- Another denial
This time? The hospital stay was denied.
“Not Medically Necessary.”
I’ve appealed before. It’s not that I can’t do it.
It’s that I shouldn’t have to.
They have all of his medical records. They know his condition. They know fasting is life-threatening for him.
Yet, every time, I have to send the same information, over and over again.
It’s exhausting.
But I’ll do it.
Because now, a new fight begins—and the fear of assuming $4,000 more in medical debt hangs over our heads.
