" Good morning boys and girls," chirped the high-pitched voice over the school's intercom. "Today is Nov. 19, 1998, and the power word for today is tenacious.

Te-na-cious is an adjective. It means: 1. holding firmly, 2. retentive, 3. strongly cohesive or adhesive, 4. persistent; stubborn. Thank you and have a good learning day."

I reminisced for a moment about today's power word. I'd first heard it during my high school years when my mother described me to a distant relative over the phone. My last experience with the word "tenacious" was in 1993 when my attorney wrote in a congratulatory note that he admired my tenacity. We had just won a war with my publisher over creative differences and contractual obligations.

On this day in 1998 I was substituting at my son's elementary school, teaching 12 music classes of 40 minutes each, back-to-back. Now that's tenacity. I'm definitely a number four!

At the beginning of most every class, I answer a few questions regarding why I use a three-wheeled power scooter instead of walking. The kindergarten class was most inquisitive this morning.

"Does that thing cut grass?" "Were you born with it or did you get it at Super Wal-Mart?" "How do you fit in the bathtub?" "What makes it go?" "What's its name?"

The older students are used to seeing me on my scooter because I have volunteered in their library since 1996. Other than an occasional request for a ride, they don't ask many questions any longer. Having lost all shyness, they'll push a lever and send me flying if I don't turn off my power switch when they approach me. Just because I'm affected by a variant of limb-girdle muscular dystrophy is no reason for the elementary students to cut me any slack.

Today's children know just a little bit more than their parents did at their age when it comes to interacting with a person who uses a wheelchair or scooter. These children don't ask me where I want to "park it" when I enter their school, unlike the bewildered hostess when I enter a restaurant.

Which brings me to a dilemma I recently experienced with my health insurance company. Insurance companies employ professional analysts, accountants, doctors, nurses, legal advisers and coordinators. But I do believe that few of them have the experience and knowledge of most elementary students today about people who use assistive technology, service animals and wheelchairs or scooters.

For about seven years, my power scooter has been my most valuable friend -- always there to assist me, she never let me down.

However, late last summer as I overseeded our one-acre lawn, my pal struggled moaning and groaning over our steep, uneven terrain as I tossed out seed from the 50-pound bag perched on the baseboard between my legs. When I hauled two cans of trash and two bins of recyclables down the driveway she barely carried me back up the pavement to safety.

The author and her son, Lee, do the shopping with the help of her new scooter's elevator seat.

I admit the entrance ramp into our home isn't exactly code, but the way my buddy whined while going up the incline, you'd have thought it was Mt. McKinley. My trusted friend had grown old and weak over the years -- more so than me. As my muscles have deteriorated, I've come to rely on my scooter more and more, and it's taken a toll on her. She's just plain worn out!

Next, the inevitable happened. My legs responded like wet noodles to an attempted transfer after sitting all day. While transferring from the scooter seat I felt my ankle turn. The next thing I knew I was on the ground and my leg was broken. It was time for some changes. Since my scooter motor was failing anyhow, now seemed like a good time to upgrade.

Both my physical therapist and my neurologist recommended a new three-wheeled power scooter and an ankle brace to support my loose ligaments. The new scooter would be more powerful and have a custom chair with a longer seat base for my 5-foot-8-inch frame to help with my circulation.

Most important, it would have an elevator seat that could literally rise a foot into the air to assist me with standing from a seated position. (Not to mention with writing on the blackboard or reaching high grocery shelves.) I tried one and, like a kid in a candy store, I wanted it -- badly.

Easier said than done. Over the next four months I received one letter of denial after another from my insurer, which covers me through a Tennessee state health plan. The insurance company was denying me a new scooter because the decision makers felt it was "inappropriate" for a person with a diagnosis of muscular dystrophy. A registered nurse employed by the state wrote that I was "in denial" of my condition and a power wheelchair was more "beneficial and safe."

My reaction was a mixture of disbelief and amazement. Not one person from the state or the insurance company had spoken with me or my neurologist of 11 years. How could they possibly form a judgment such as this?

Perhaps they thought most people wouldn't go to battle over such a ruling; what they didn't know was that I wasn't "most people." For me, it was a simple matter: I have a contract with my insurer. I pay timely premiums, co-pays and deductibles, and they insure my physical well-being. Obviously, this R.N. didn't know me any more than she knew the meaning of "Te-na-cious."

The insurance company's position was later echoed by a medical doctor hired by the state as a consultant. He said a power wheelchair would "be easier to maneuver." Nothing could have provided me more fuel than strangers depicting me as delusional or unnecessarily weak. Nor could I imagine myself living my current lifestyle in a wheelchair. How would I mulch or re-seed our lawn? How would I haul down the trash? How would I shop for a few grocery items much less carry in the weekly load from my van? A wheelchair was simply too small and limiting for me.

Furthermore, these people certainly didn't know my property. Our driveway is 1,200 feet long and extremely steep, with three particular inclines of over 20 degrees. I'd tried negotiating this ground in a borrowed power wheelchair in 1996, only to go over an 8-foot embankment while attempting to retrieve the Sunday paper. I skidded off our driveway and landed on a rock in a ditch with the wheelchair on my back. My face took the brunt of my fall, breaking my glasses and causing facial and neck injuries. Even the frame of the wheelchair was bent. I wound up in an emergency room, realizing I could have broken my neck!

Wouldn't it be fun to send the insurance company R.N. down my driveway in a power chair? That would educate her in a heartbeat.

My insurance battle was an education.

Tennessee contracts with various companies to insure enrollees, and provides special appeal mentors to assist those insured under the state plan. The mentors patiently walked me through several written appeals. At the final leg, I had no choice but to go before an appeals court of law or state "Administrative Procedures Division" for a hearing. The ruling of an appointed judge would be final. The state personnel encouraged me to continue fighting for my case. One legal assistant for the state even told me that many times an insurance consumer's situation isn't thoroughly reviewed until an appeal reaches the hearing stage.

My court date was Dec. 2, only two weeks away. I was sent a copy of all the legal paperwork compiled by the state, along with a pamphlet stating the court procedures and my rights.

The legal materials provided to me contained the terms "discovery," "witnesses," "subpoenas," "jurisdiction," "parties" and "exhibits." Geeze, I didn't want to be a lawyer, I just wanted a new scooter. Did I really want to be bothered with all this? Filing for Legal Aid to represent me would likely delay my case three to six months, and I needed a new scooter now.

One thing was for sure: I was the one who would have to live with the judge's decision. A restless night followed as I weighed the many possibilities.

The next morning as I reviewed our 8-year-old son's homework I came across his weekly power word, te-na-cious. In his spiral notebook he had written this sentence: My Mom is very tenacious. "What does this mean?" I asked, to which he replied, "Oh. That means you never give up."

With that, my decision was made and I declared war on my insurance company. At first what appeared as a daunting task now became an absolute priority to follow to the very end. Maybe I could set a precedent. Maybe the Big Shot insurance company would think twice before taking on another person with a neuromuscular disease. I felt as corny as "Rocky," but I also became the aggressor.

I discovered that I could opt for a "conference call trial" as opposed to actually appearing in court. The up side was it would be easier for my witnesses to provide testimony since they could do so by phone. The down side was the judge would not actually see me. And since it was the judge who made the final decision, I wanted this person to observe me so I could show my physical abilities and ease in using my old scooter.

I called the judge to ask if I could present my case via a conference call, but take my call in her chambers instead of at home. She didn't hesitate and welcomed me to her chambers, saying she would extend the invitation to the others involved. By this time she had received a package I put together declaring who my witnesses were and that they had agreed to testify in my behalf (which made subpoenas unnecessary), as well as including copies of all the items I wished to be considered as relevant evidence.

I mentioned that I was doing my best to follow the legal procedures but that I had no experience in these matters. She assured me that this hearing would be casual, and consideration was routinely given to people who represent themselves. I grinned so hard it hurt. I think she was genuinely impressed by my organization and drive. With only three days until court, my gut told me everything was going to be fine, but my practical side said, "Get to work!"

First, I wrote a brief opening statement that specified exactly what I intended to prove:

Using a wheelchair on my property has been physiologically impossible, even life-threatening for me in the past. And the insurance company's grounds for denial of a scooter were based on false and incorrect information.

Next, I collected my thoughts and organized my "evidence." I took several photographs of my long driveway showing how steep it was. My vendor stopped by and actually measured inclines at the steepest places. I could ask him about that during testimony.

His knowledge of power wheelchairs vs. scooters agreed with my experience: The wheelchair was more inclined to skid and once in a skid, the electronics lock up, making it virtually impossible to steer. In contrast, one can always steer a scooter manually.

I purchased copies of my medical records from two hospitals, including my E.R. visit, and discovered that my neurologist had written in his record that I'd said I couldn't lift a mug of coffee. Ugh!! I never said that. In fact, I'd said I was having difficulty lifting a mug of beer. There's a difference between lifting a mug of beer vs. a cup of coffee -- which is why I use a straw for the beer.

Based on the doctor's notation, my insurance company felt that since I couldn't lift a "mug of coffee" I shouldn't be driving a scooter. Heaven help me if they realized I also drove a van unassisted.

Another witness would be my physical therapist who has seen me regularly for the past 11 years and recommended the scooter and elevator seat for me based on her 20-plus years of experience treating people with neuromuscular diseases. I also had the Certificate of Medical Necessity she and my neurologist had signed recommending the scooter with an elevator seat. The state erroneously said she'd recommended the wheelchair but that I "insisted on the scooter," which is false. In fact, she never had a conversation with my insurance company at all.

My last bit of testimony would be to cross-examine the doctor consulted by the state. Two doctors and two nurses for the state, who had never met or spoken with me, had written in internal memos that using a scooter was "dangerous" and that my past experience with the power wheelchair was "bad luck."

After five months of debate, Blaustone heads home on her new scooter.

They also wrote that I couldn't walk, couldn't use my arms, was in a "debilitated state," and I needed to "face the facts" of my condition. I was going to have a field day with this part of the testimony.

Because the judge would literally see me operating my existing scooter safely and independently, a lot of their argument would be destroyed. I also planned on bringing a prop -- a large, heavy glass bottle of cranberry juice. Upon asking my witnesses if they'd ever seen me lifting a cup of coffee or a can of soda, I'd swig down a good bit of the juice from the bottle. By the time I got to the state's witness I'd rise up out of my scooter and place the empty bottle into the trash along with that issue.

To strengthen my ambulatory point even further, I'd present an approved purchase order signed by my insurance company last August for a four-wheeled walker to assist me at home. I'd ask the doctor why the insurer purchases $400 walkers for people they deem "chair-confined."

My medical records also contained a letter dated July 1998 from my neurologist to my primary physician stating that his recent exam "revealed a very alert and well-oriented woman who is intelligent and has fluent speech." Ha! The state's R.N. who wrote I was in denial of my condition dated her memo Sept. 28, 1998. I couldn't wait to ask the good doctor how I could have deteriorated so quickly.

My closing statement would be brief, just a summary of what I had proved through testimony and evidence. I'd remind the court that my insurance company wrote that it was time I "face the facts." Then I'd say, "Today I have presented the facts and now it's time they face the truth."

The morning we were to "go to court" I studied my notes one last time. After my third cup of coffee (which I poured myself from the 12-cup pot I made myself), I sat back, drew in a deep breath and packed my "testimony and evidence" into my legal-sized briefcase, usually reserved for the elementary classroom and students' homework. I was so pumped up I could hardly contain myself. I felt like one of John Grisham's hotshot idealistic lawyers.

Only 90 minutes before I was to be in court, the phone rang. The voice identified himself as the state's M.D. witness. He chatted with me briefly about why I preferred a power scooter over a power wheelchair. He then echoed, "You know the insurance company feels you are in denial and not willing to face the facts of your disease." I could feel the blood rushing to my face. I've spent the last 11 years speaking on behalf of MDA in hopes of educating the public about living with a neuromuscular disease while I do just that. And now, I supposed, this stranger was going to set me straight. Thankfully, I was wrong.

The doctor said he'd just spoken to my physician. "Your neurologist told me that the scooter is exactly what you need and furthermore, you'd wear it out, just like you've done to your existing one."

"Well, praise God," I replied. "Someone there has finally come to their senses and called my doctor for his opinion."

He said he didn't know why no one had called earlier and was sorry it had come to this point. "I'll advise the state that I've received new information which justifies your purchase of the scooter with an elevator seat. I'll advise the court that this matter has been settled and the hearing is no longer necessary."

I couldn't believe it. After all the headaches, sleepless nights and wasted days, everything was over with just a few minutes of phone conversation.

The next day I received a letter from the judge confirming that my appeal had been resolved in my favor. It said my case was thereby closed and the file retired. Then she added, "Ms. Blaustone, I wish you all the best in the management of your medical condition. Very sincerely yours..." That letter is framed and hanging above my desk.

While my witnesses were greatly relieved to avoid testifying, and I was pleased to have won my case, I was a little disappointed not to have been able to finish what I had started after putting so many hours into it. I'd been looking forward to starring in my own courtroom drama.

But even without my Grisham-like performance, great things were accomplished. Five months after it all began, a sparkling new scooter with a custom elevator seat is resting in my living room. When other people hear my story, they'll have the knowledge and confidence to "stand up" for their rights and not be intimidated into giving in to insurance companies. I hope they'll disregard the pressure to take the easy way out, compromising their sense of right and wrong.

On this brisk winter morning, I went down our driveway without a worry during snow flurries to retrieve the newspaper. On my ride back up the driveway, I was able to go so fast the wind chill factor must have been zero degrees ... and I laughed all the way.  

Te - na - cious