Entry #24 • April 21st, 2026

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Sits speechless at the laptop
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Raises hands in humble praise 🙌

It’s an interesting place to find myself—penning (well, typing) words that feel so deep, so honest, so raw…and then putting them out there for others to read.

Stories are powerful. But they can also feel incredibly exposing.

And then to own those stories in person—to interact with people who have read them. It’s just such an odd experience to wrap my head around. It’s like writing in a secret diary (did any of you have one of those journals with the little locket and key when you were a kid?) and then leaving it out in the open for someone to pass by and read. Just…beckoning them to crack it open.

Meanwhile, you watch from a distance as they pick it up and thumb through it. Your name, your thoughts, all over every page. There’s no question whose diary they just stumbled into.

And then one day, you see them in passing. And you both just…act normal. Like they didn’t just read your deepest struggles and biggest victories.

Thanks for reading my "secret" diary. Thanks for letting me entrust it to you, Dear Reader.

The Diary I'm Leaving Open

I have a powerful story to share with you—one that comes out of the depths of my brokenness.

But first…

This song floated across my periphery a few days ago. I hadn’t heard it in years. It honestly took my breath away to hear it again in such a casual setting with a friend.

I won’t post all the lyrics here, but definitely give it a listen—whether you’ve never heard this rendition or you’ve heard it a thousand times.

That chorus, though. Man. What a song.

Back on March 6th, I received one of the most defeating emails I’ve gotten in a long time. It was from a Colorado non-profit I had reached out to—desperate for help with the ongoing billing complications from my son’s emergency stay at Dallas Children’s Hospital last June.

They told me that despite everything—my persistence with the hospital, the insurance, the back-and-forth, me playing middleman between two systems I don’t understand—the hospital could still deny coverage. Simply because we were "out of network."

It didn’t matter that the emergency was deemed life or limb. It didn’t matter that it was out of our control.

Because it happened out of state, it was considered out of network.

And that alone was enough for them to deny coverage.

Which meant the bill would be our responsibility.

If that had been made clear months ago, I could have applied for financial assistance on a normal timeline. But instead, I was stuck in the middle—trying to connect insurance with billing—being told over and over that the case was "under review," and to check back in 30–45 days.

And I did.

Every month.

Following up. Calling. Waiting.

And getting almost no real answers.

That email in early March is what pushed me to the edge. I was tired of being passed around with no clarity, all while getting notices that the bill was heading to collections.

When the non-profit responded with that unexpected blow, I truly had no fight left in me.

I’m going to pause and go on a side tangent here.

Throughout this process, I had a few people tell me, "Don’t worry—medical debt doesn’t count like other debt." But quite frankly, that isn’t true. Laws have changed in recent years, and now the "medical debt that doesn’t count" refers to bills that are $500 or less.

Who has a medical bill for less than $500? Lol. Scam.

I know friends and family meant well when they said that, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just drove the point in deeper—how absolutely decimated and powerless I felt.

Also, this is wildly personal (lol…is anything not personal in Just Me?), but a little lore (as my teens would say) about me:

Up to this point in my life—and yes, that could always change, I’m not declaring this until the day I die—I’ve never had any sort of credit. No credit cards. No credit history. If you ran a credit report on me, nothing would come back.

Why?

Because I’m weird. And honestly, I kind of like it that way.

I’ve always just operated with cash, and for now, that’s how I plan to continue.

So this whole hospital bill situation felt extra stressful because it was in my name. If—or when—it got sent to collections, it wouldn’t just be a bill. It would be the thing that destroyed my very carefully maintained credit score of…non-existent.

I’ve somehow protected that "score" all these years, and the thought of this being the thing that changed it really, really bothered me.

That they could take a bill—one our insurance would cover—and just slap it onto my record because they didn’t want to do the paperwork to "get in network"…it just didn’t sit right with me.

It was the injustice of it all that got to me.

I’m not saying we don’t owe for the services. But when we have insurance that would cover it—and they just don’t want to step through the complicated process to make that happen?

Oof.

I was fiery.

And then…I was wildly defeated.

When the Fight Left Me

About a week later, on March 14th, I found myself on the floor, face down, begging God for something. Begging Him for help. Begging Him for a miracle.

I was at the absolute end of myself.

I had nothing left. Like I said—no fight.

And it was in that moment (which I wrote about in JM#22) that God met me.

It was as though He was right there in the music playlist I had on shuffle. Like each song, one after another, had been handpicked just for me. I was completely overwhelmed by His nearness.

I wrote about it that very night in JM#22. I already had a different entry nearly finished, but I felt a strong pull to set it aside and write something new.

I sent JM#22 out on March 17th, and I felt sick about it all day.

The rawness of it was suffocating. I had instant (temporary) regret about sharing something so deeply personal. Even now, I can feel a little of that creeping back in…but I keep rallying myself to push through the discomfort and keep writing, keep sharing.

As the next few days passed, I started to feel just enough distance from that Just Me entry that it didn’t feel quite as heavy—knowing it was out there.

Then on March 24th, I reached out to the hospital billing department again—for what felt like the hundredth time—asking to speak with a supervisor.

Of course, none were available (standard), but I was told "a supervisor will call you back the next day."

They never do.

The next day passed with no return call, so I tried again on March 26th. Same request. Seemingly same result.

I was apologized to for the delay and reassured that the supervisor had just returned from leave and was working through a backlog of calls.

Likely story. At this point, I had heard excuse after excuse for months. My patience for any of this was just…gone.

The billing representative asked if there was anything she could maybe help with.

I’ve explained our situation well over a couple dozen times, and I am completely burnt out on it. But I decided to walk through it again—where things started, where they were now.

I asked her to review the notes on my account (thankfully, there are extensive notes), and I confirmed dates, who I had spoken to, when.

She ended the call by saying, "I’m going to reach out to the insurance rep, my lead, and the supervisor. I’ll email all of them to see where this is in the process. I’ll need you to give me some time to get back to you—hopefully by mid to end of next week."

"Sure," I told her.

Meanwhile, internally rolling my eyes.

Because the number of times I’ve heard that—and gotten no resolution, no follow-up—is honestly embarrassing.

The Call I Thought Would Never Come

Well, the next day—Friday, March 27th—while I was working on the sales floor and couldn’t answer my phone, the supervisor called.

She left me a voicemail:

"It looks like things are at a pending status right now, and I’m unable to get an update today. It might be best if we try to connect next week."

I listened to it and thought, Mmm…ok. Thanks?

But honestly, I was grateful she called at all. That was the first time a supervisor had ever actually called me back.

On Tuesday, March 31st, I woke up to another voicemail—this time from Cindy in billing, the woman I had spoken to on March 26th.

"Hi, I’m just following up on our conversation from the 26th. Can you please give me a call back? Thank you."

Again, I was surprised. They just…never would call back before.

I returned her call, but she wasn’t available, so I left a voicemail.

Less than 15 minutes later, I was loading my kids into the van to run errands when my phone rang.

Dallas Children’s billing.

I told the kids I’d be right back and ran inside to answer—opening my laptop at the same time to take notes. (At this point, I had taken notes during every call. Dates, names, what was said. I wanted a clear record of everything.)

Cindy was on the other end.
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She told me our bill was $0.

"…wait, what? Were you guys able to bill our insurance?"

"I can’t see that information," she said. "I can just see that you do not owe anything."

I was…dumbfounded. And honestly, a little skeptical.

After months of back and forth. After the stress of the last few weeks in particular. I couldn’t quite process what she was saying.

"$0? Can I get that in writing?" Haaaa.

She emailed me an itemized bill, and at the bottom—it showed exactly that.

$0 due.

The supervisor followed up two days later and confirmed the same thing: the bill was $0. We owed nothing.

I asked her about the insurance piece, and she said:

"This was a complicated case that would honestly be too much work to get in network with your insurance for a one-time bill. So instead, we’re just adjusting the balance to $0."

I was stunned.

And just like that, Dear Readers…it was done.

Over.

All those months. All those phone calls. All those "on hold" minutes with the blasted elevator music.

Done.

🙌

I still don’t have words. Even now—three weeks later—I’m in a bit of shock.

So...much...relief.

Thank you, God, for Your lovingkindness. 🙌

The best I can do is turn that relief into praise.

Just ten days before these calls, I was on my face, begging Him for a miracle.

Thank you, Dear Reader, for reading.

Thank you for your encouraging words, your silent prayers, your willingness to open and sit with these emails. I am truly humbled and deeply grateful.

Do you remember just a few weeks ago when I shared Psalm 13, a chapter that felt relatable in my moment of utter despair?

It ends with verse 6...

And now…that verse doesn’t feel so distant to me anymore.

I’ve lived the “How long, O Lord?”

And now, I get to live the “He hath dealt bountifully with me.”

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For His service,

—Just Me[gan]