Torticollis Baby Needed A Second Helmet

This post is actually coming a bit after the fact, but I thought I'd wrap up what I started.

Henry, the lil' chunk that he is, outgrew his helmet (DOC Band, as it's officially called) after nine weeks of treatment. Most babies get 12 weeks out of it, and that's the standard treatment length. Oh no, not my pumpkin! He's too busy eating all the foods. All of them.

Where'd he learn to give a look like that? He git it from he mama. Saucy.

We went in for a consultation on what to do next, as we really did see massive improvement within that short nine weeks. Of course, Cranial Technologies recommended another band (Hello, for-profit healthcare system! Oh, you'd like us to purchase another one? What's that, you'd like to make a bit more money at my son's expense? I'm shocked... Said no one, ever.)

Cliche saying inserted in post? Check.

We were on the fence about it, if you couldn't tell from my political stance on the company from the above anecdote. I mulled it over for a good week. Then I decided, you know what? We have a couple thousand. I won't miss the money in a few years, but I will kick myself every time I see the light shine on his still-slightly-flat spot. Time to pony up and make it rain with the Benjamins, P-Diddy and MA$E style.

(Y'all remember MA$E tho?!)

So I called to get all our appointments on the calendar. And that's when I learned that our insurance rejected the pre-approval letter. Meaning, we'd have to pay 100% out of pocket, it wouldn't go against our deductible nor our out of pocket max for the year. Basically, at this point (says the insurance company) it's purely cosmetic. And he may need two or three more helmets considering his growth pattern to complete the treatment fully. Read: this would cost us thousands upon thousands upon thousands of dollars.

The "bad" angle aka flat side of Henry's head, elbow dimples and a shaggy little Morkie dawg.

Needless to say, torticollis baby is NOT getting any additional helmets. Right or wrong, the insurance company determined that for him. Put a nail in that proverbial coffin for us.

No baby has a perfectly shaped head. When I pick Henry up from our gym daycare, I see babies with all kinds of goofy stuff going on with all this back-sleeping they're doing, and have to hold myself back from telling his/her mother, "You need to get that kid in a helmet, STAT! Don't you see how flat your kid's skull is?!"

You know, because I'm now a head-shape-connoisseur and am totally qualified to project my medical opinion unwanted-ly. Don't worry, I'm not *that mom*.

Can you still see a flat spot on Henry's head? Yup. If he wants to play football or hockey some day, will a sports helmet fit him? Yup. Life is imperfect. This is Henry's first lesson in that.

My perfectly imperfect little torticollis baby. I think his head is beautiful.