Sometimes those words just aren’t enough. I would like to pretend that they are as that leaves me appearing kinder, more forgiving, gentler than I naturally am but it’s simply not true. It doesn’t mean I am harboring anger or sending my meanest thoughts in retribution (though I am). Really, I’m just standing up for myself. And my son. For me, the words, “I’m sorry,” indicate that a mistake was made and so, there is an admission of guilt, poor choice or perhaps an accident. Does this make sense? I can handle that kind of sorry.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m just so sorry. I’m terribly sorry. I’m sorry. Over and over again those words ring out and yet, I don’t accept the meaningless apologies. How can I forgive when the one apologizing is simultaneously wreaking havoc on my family? Yes, BCBS is at it again and just when I think it can’t get any worse, of course it does. I have decided that very few people are willing or truthfully have two hours a day to talk on the phone with people who love to apologize and do absolutely nothing. Nothing except tell me things that are wrong, inaccurate, misleading and confusing. And then top it all off with a sorry, like a rotten cherry on top.

I told them, three of them, to stop apologizing. I went on to say until my son has what he needs as offered in my policy, until you pay the claim that you have admitted to wrongfully denying and until you call me back regarding authorization for service and a peer review, you are not allowed to say sorry. I made an assertion, perhaps a bit harsh but the best way to capture how I really feel as a helpless scared mother. Yes, I aligned myself as an abused woman and my partner, though full of apologies and regret, still continues to beat the you know what about of me. Silence on the other end.

I heard silence then and no apology. I can’t take the sorries any longer and the frustration is high. If I flee, they win so I can’t give up, I can’t and I won’t. It’s just a mistake they say, you can appeal they say, an electronic error they say. It feels intentional, I say, this breaking of my heart and dangling carrots and then snatching them away. I waited all afternoon for Christian or Asia or Myesha or Aaron or Katrice Patterson or Dr. Kristi Edwards to call me back. The phone never rang and so, I’ll get up tomorrow and I’ll do it again. I know they’re busy but this isn’t about a pair of jeans on backorder. No, these stakes are too high. It’s my son Amos this time and I’ll keep calling and begging and haranguing and pleading and telling and I will never concede defeat. I’m not sorry.