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“Surely I MUST Have Money In The
Account…I STILL Have Checks!!!”
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06/15/13
To my very, very dearest friends, and
ever-kind and loyal readers,
This is for everyone who has to try to live on a fixed
income, such as SSDI--like me--who have no secondary source of income, and
are too ill to work.
I am so very grateful for my SSDI, which--after all--is a
sum arrived at by Social Security, who calculate your last, best 40 quarters (10
years!) of your past employment.
This means, of course, that this limited income is
not--as many have said to me--'free money'; no, no, no, it is the sum I would
have been given when I would have retired at age 65.
The fine folks at Social Security must—perforce--calculate
this amount by reading tarot cards, or divining sheep entrails, or...most
probably… by throwing darts at a target.
These wonderful people (and yes, some of them have been
extremely courteous and helpful), apparently read the Farmer's Almanac, so that
they will not only be able to arrive at some sum you hopefully will be paid
each month; it also tells them the best time to plant soy.
For weeks after my disability, I received SSI, which was
$158.00 a month. Granted--then--that our little family unit consisted of
myself, my late mother (who was 85 at the time, and beginning to have health
problems for which I was her caretaker); and--not to be left out--my best,
'dog-on the planet', “Daisy”, who is now over fifteen years old.
Financially, we died, as my SSI and my mother's social
security was simply not enough to survive on. It was then, that I began
to ramp up my Visa card to pay for groceries, utilities...everything beyond
which our combined incomes would cover; until....I owed Visa thousands of
dollars in unsecured debt.
Even so, I did not go on shopping blitzes, and still, the
order of our comfort and living levels dropped precipitously.
When I could no longer make the payments to Visa, good,
old B.O.A closed the account (even though I had taken out insurance that should
have covered debt accrued after my disability), and--please keep this in mind, as
it is important--let loose the ravening hounds from hell, who are collection
agents.
I fully believe that these agencies look for, and hire
sociopaths and criminal minds to do their dirty work. They proceeded to
launch into a campaign which I might refer to as, “those who cannot pay, should
die!” Now I realize that people need jobs; however these collection
agents seemed to take especial pleasure in being telephone Nazis. I was alternately threatened, sworn at, and harassed
at least once, twice, or, three times a day, every day.
And, when I once mentioned--as I always did--that
although I never denied my indebtedness--that was why I had insurance, who
often assured me that all would be made right, I was always ignored by
these 'sub-humans'.
On one occasion, a
woman I spoke with stated, " I don't give a goddamn about your
insurance...I just want my money"; and, one call that actually made me
laugh, when a young man telephoned me, and told me that ," Well,
ah...$12,000.00 would make it sweet for me."
I mentally composed a picture of a nickel con, with
a fifty dollar, slicked back, and greasy haircut, a shirt opened to the waist
to display yard, and yards of 'gold'; and pants with dirt on the cuffs from
dragging them on the sidewalk as he stood, flipping a quarter, whilst
lounging against a lamppost, truly a 'fourth-tier' member of organized crime.
Just the thought still makes me laugh. When I
stopped laughing at him I replied, "Honey...if I had $12,000.00, I would
make it sweet for ME.", even as I deleted him to the twilight
zone on my caller I.D.
Two years after B.O.A closed the account, the
indebtedness was passed from collection agency to collection agency (sort of
like the coterie of prostitutes who always seem to trail-behind marching
armies), and, with each change, the settlement buy-out amount lowered), and I
was weary of playing hide and seek.
I finally--although I hated to do so--borrowed the money
from a friend, and accepted their settlement amount, after which B.O.A wrote
the account off as paid, but not to the fullest amount.
Somewhere along the way, B.O.A claimed I had missed four,
lousy payments, which, as you might know, wrecked my credit.
I did have two savings accounts for my 'old age', but in
2006, my mother (who stated she didn't want me to bathe her, or dress her, change
her, or feed her (which I could understand, as few 88 year old mothers want
their past, middle-aged sons to in any way, cause a loss of dignity), she had
to be admitted--perforce--to an excellent, though extremely expensive long-term
nursing facility.
She had long since run out of Medicare, and Tricare days,
and so, from after the first week in June, 2006, I had to pay for her stay in
cash until the end of November of that year, until we could get her on
Medicaid.
Friends, that was about $395 per day; you count the days,
and do the math.
What that did (and I’d do it without hesitation again had
I had to, as I loved my mother dearly, and this facility was renowned for
its excellent, and compassionate care ), was to vaporize two, savings accounts
which included almost a dozen years of savings from my former place of
employment; our, 'joint', account; and, anything by way of cash that I could
lay ready hands to.
I would have to say without equivocation that May, and
June of 2006 were about the worst years of my life, prior to my mother’s death,
and my subsequent diagnoses of Lupus, Diabetes, Fibromyalgia, and, you name
it...its all on my, “MDJunction profile.
Also--in just that ONE month of June, 2006-- my
then-shrink took me off ALL of my medications, in favor of others which he
thought might work better.
I should have known (as should he), that in
stopping all the meds. abruptly, that I would lapse-into severe withdrawal;
plus--that week--my mother and I were both food poisoned, sent to hospital. I
left as there was one to take care of my dog. My dearest mother was admitted.
You might know, that, had I stayed in hospital, they
would have discovered the pneumonia that I had already had for some time.
So flipped out was I, that I very nearly lost P.O.A. of
my mother, to a distant cousin, who threatened to take Mom back with her to
northern Florida, where I knew I probably would never see her again. I
should have been admitted to a psychiatric hospital--for between the withdrawal and
the pneumonia--I was so delusional I hardly knew if I was on horseback or on
foot.
For if I happened to pass a mirror, I dared not look, as
what I saw was not me, but a monster. I thank God that a dear friend stepped
in to right things, dropping the incompetency hearing against my mother (as she
mentioned to them that she no longer wanted to live!), and transferring her
from a psych. hospital to an A.L.F., where--during her first night there--she
slipped on her way to the bathroom, and broke her hip.
Luckily, my former meds were restored sufficiently to
allow me to go into hospital to be treated for the pneumonia. I apologize for
going on so long, but I will get to the point soon, I promise!
Fast forward to the Present, in which I am now on an SSDI
that is easily a third less than of what I used to earn when I was employed.
Instead, most of us--including retirees—depend upon
miniscule c.o.l.a’s (sightings of U.F.O.s have been more frequent!), while in
almost every aspect of our lives, the prices of everything have doubled, or
more.
To my electric bill has been added not one, but two fuel
adjustment increases; my telephone cable bill, which allows me to write
these plangent diary entries to you, my dear friends!
BTW, a dear friend gave me this computer for my last birthday!
Else—considering that I no longer watch or have a television, I would be
staring at the four walls in a pique of indignant hopelessness).
Food and gasoline, and insurance have risen into the
stratosphere. And since I am not, 'old
enough', to be eligible for, “meals-on-wheels”, or other, county and State
senior program. We are in an enormously large County, and it is a poor County,
besides. And so I depend upon the, “Volunteer Way”, for one, small carton of
food every month; or use the County’s, “Medicare Transportation” in order to be
able to visit my various medical Providers.
So I am denied whatever services that might exist just to
help me survive now. Anytime I need the yard mowed, or my laundry done, or the house
straightened up, or groceries, or prescriptions that have to be picked-up for
me, (as I no longer can drive, and—in fact—no longer even have a car) I have to
pay people out of my own pocket, to the tune of whatever they tell me the price
is. What choice do I have?
I HAVE to have my medications, as--frankly (and, please do not think me somehow melodramatic)--often,
I think I would rather die, than have to live in unrelieved agony and despair.
Maybe I am weak-willed...call it what you like, but for
those of you who know exactly what complete days of unmitigated agony, and of
drifting from med time to med time, even pushing the times forward sometimes in
order to obtain some semblance of relief; even when both the constant pain AND
the medications conspire to leave one listless, immobile, bereft of interest or
desire, and when a kind of total mind fog, makes one careless and forgetful.
And this affects relationships all around you--about which--you can do little,
if anything.
Gradually, that little, mostly reliable income check became
less and less able to get me through the month. And little indignities pile
upon one another, and somewhere along the way, everything formerly held dear
comes into question: Morality, Fairness, Justice, and Reason, culminating in
crises of Conscience and lapses of Faith.
As the body and mind wearies, so—eventually—does
the Soul.
Once--in going to a visit at my Pain Management
Primary--I neglected to bring my wallet along, and even though I was in major
pain, and on fumes for medications I still had left, the receptionist would not
allow me to see the doctor, because I could not pony up the $12.80 co-pay.
All they could do for me is to call up a ride to take me
home. Although I think I remained to be polite (as this PM will as likely
drop you for any infractions, sort of like elementary school!) inside I was
seething, sad, depressed, sorry, regretful on top of the pain.
While there, I died a thousand times inside, as I asked
another patient in the waiting room if--perhaps--she could loan me the money,
that I would pay it back; of course, she looked up, and past me, sort of
smiled, but said she couldn't.
And this was after my PM's assistant said my records
showed that I was out of pain medication. He asked me what bank did I
use, and I replied, B.O.A, he said, "...well, there's a BOA branch right
across the street. Maybe you can get the money there."
Now, my very dearest friends, I walked into that office
wearing my portable oxygen, and had difficulty walking, even with a cane; AND,
I'd have to try to cross six lanes of traffic, in the rain, no less, and
besides, ' Tears of Christ ', I hadn't brought my wallet along (the PM won't
take checks), and they knew my wallet and debit card were at home.
There are tears of joy, tears of sorrow, tears of
sadness, and tears of loss; but there are also tears of anger.
Think about it, there I was, clearly in
need, yet was turned away at the gate for a lousy$12.80!
And so, from now on, that sum is burned into my
brain. For in that brief instant my need and wont of treatment, and of
those lousy little pieces of paper that are blessed prescriptions, for the
first time, my medications made me beg.
And while I know it isn't so, I felt like I was a junkie,
pleading for the next fix; and, in a way—I suppose—I was; and maybe am still to
this day. Sigh.
Last month--when my little check came in--I arose early
to begin paying bills, so that—by the end of the week—I was not only
broker-n-Hell, I was again overdrawn…for the third month in a row.
This included a trip to the grocery store, made for me by
a kind neighbor (as by then, I was out of everything, and had prescriptions to
be picked up); I now have exactly $10.00 in the account, and will be overdrawn
again.
I've already had to borrow money from a friend.
Several years ago, or, maybe a little longer than
that, my SSDI managed to carry me through the month; now, my checking account
and my also-overdrawn savings account lie lifeless before me. I've had to ask
kind persons to hold, ‘my’, checks until I get more money into the account. I
hate that, too.
For when I was younger, and working full time, and making
decent money, I had more than enough to survive on; whenever I wrote a check,
it was as good as my word.
These days, I could easily use another $5-750.00 (as...who
couldn't?) coming into the house each month; But even if it did, I would still
be beneath the national poverty level, but can guarantee you that I would still
be grateful for, and could use that money a month, and could probably even put
a fair amount of it in savings.
In all—since I became, ‘disabled’, in about 2005—it has
been a nightmare ride; previously, I had been employed almost thirty-four years
at a number of jobs, of course. Illness
has piled-upon illness, and I have become all too familiar with bouts of
absolutely, unutterable pain.
After a botched dental procedure, and the infection and cellulitis
that followed, my whole life, and everything I might have hoped it would be was
torn-apart like wet cardboard. Had you
shown to me (when I was forty-eight years old) what today would be like, and
all the yesterdays before, I would have called the whole thing a lie; an
impossibility perhaps part and parcel of some alternate universe.
If I can just hold out until I turn sixty, I should-by
then (should the county still have program funds!)—be eligible for, ‘Elder
Nutrition’, good, old, ‘meals-on-wheels’. In-home nursing care should be
available.
Still, I cannot help but pray for some much-desired, ‘Deus
Ex-machina’, to descend and make everything all pretty, all new, all better,
and more safe and secure.
And for you, my friends at MDJunction who have families
and children, the going must be near impossible, and that, on top of your
distress, suffering, and pain. To you, you have my utmost respect.
You also have what strength I can lend, a ready ear, and--I hope--an open, and
honest heart.
I most sincerely hope that pain shared,
is pain better understood, and pain perhaps a little better tolerated.
I wish with all my heart for more well days, than ill.
And I wish you peaceful, and untroubled nights; and whilst I am wishing, I
wish for you serenity, strength against adversity, clarity of thought, and
purpose, and that you and yours may never have to do without.
I know I have gone on overlong, maybe making it
impossible to read…but my feelings remain the same. And I hope they
always will.
My dear, dear friends, please know that
I think of you often, and that I love you dearly!
'Zahc'/Charles
