Back in February, I started the process of trying to get insurance to cover pull-ups for Kay.
What I didn’t realize at the time was just how long, frustrating, and exhausting that process would be.
Denial after denial came in. Each one asked for more information than the last. Each one felt like a subtle nudge to stop trying—to accept the “no” and move on. And honestly, I can see how easy it would be for someone to give up after one or two attempts. The system almost feels designed that way.
But I made it very clear: I was not going to give up.
As a solo parent, my days revolve around Kay—taking care of her, getting her to therapies, attending appointments, managing her needs. And I’m grateful I get to do all of that. I truly am. But it also means there’s very little extra time or energy to keep fighting uphill battles like this one. Still, I kept pushing.
Because here’s the reality: with everything Kay has going on, potty training isn’t always a straight line.
We have amazing stretches—weeks, even months—where she’s consistent about telling me she needs to go. She’ll hold it, make it to the bathroom, and we feel like we’re really progressing. And then… we have the other times.
The times where it feels like we’ve taken steps backward. Where she doesn’t tell me, where accidents happen more frequently, and where we’re reminded that progress for kids with special needs doesn’t always follow a predictable timeline.
And the truth is, most families aren’t financially planning to buy pull-ups long-term. It’s one of those things you expect to outgrow. But for many of us in the special needs community, it’s not that simple. That’s why this mattered so much.
At one point, I was told that Kay having Down syndrome alone was not a qualifying condition. I knew that wasn’t accurate—I personally know other children with Down syndrome, no additional diagnoses, who have been approved.
And then there’s her Type 1 diabetes.
Anyone who understands diabetes knows it can increase urinary frequency, especially depending on blood sugar levels. So to say she didn’t qualify didn’t sit right with me. At all.
So I kept advocating. I kept pushing back. I kept asking questions.
And thankfully, I wasn’t alone in the fight.
Kay’s pediatrician’s office stepped in and supported us, and we eventually switched medical equipment companies after realizing the first one wasn’t doing what they were supposed to do.
And finally…
We got the approval.
After months of going back and forth, of advocating, of refusing to accept “no” as the final answer—we got it.
I can’t even fully put into words the relief.
I’m also incredibly grateful. Grateful for the opportunity I have to share Kay’s life with all of you. That support has given me the financial flexibility to continue buying what she needs—even during the months we were fighting for this approval.
But this experience also reinforced something important:
Families like ours shouldn’t have to fight this hard for basic, necessary support.
We shouldn’t have to prove, over and over again, why our children deserve access to things that directly support their health, development, and dignity.
But if there’s one thing I hope someone takes from this, it’s this:
Don’t give up.
Even when it’s exhausting. Even when it feels like you’re getting nowhere. Even when the system makes it harder than it should be.
Keep going.
Because sometimes, persistence really does pay off.
And this time, it did.