Calling the Medicaid Office

Me to the lady at the Medicaid office: I turned in the receipts to show I met my spend down on the 12th. Yesterday, I spoke to a supervisor who told me my card had finally been released. But the pharmacy tells me when they try to bill for the medication I should have had Friday, your computer says I am still not covered. What's the deal?

Medicaid lady (after putting me on hold for six minutes): Your card has been released but it didn't get put in our state billing system.

Me: Why not?

Medicaid lady: I don't know. Sometimes that just happens.

Me: Well, how can we fix it and prevent it from happening again?

Lady: I can send the case to my supervisor to fix it.

Me: How long will that take?

Lady: They have 48 hours to do it but it might not take that long.

Me: You understand I turned in my receipts on the 12th. Then I called on the 19th to find out why my card had not been released and was told it would be fixed within 48 hours. Then I called on the 23, was told it still had not been released but would be fixed within 48 hours. Now it's been another 72 hours and I still can't use my Medicaid. And if you don't fix it in a few days, it will be June and then the pharmacy won't be able to bill for it because I won't have met my spend down for June.

Lady: Well, your card was released.

Me: But if it's not in the billing system, that doesn't help me, does it?

Lady: Well, I am sending it to my supervisor.

Me: OK. But what can we do so this doesn't happen again?

Lady: I don't know.

Me: Who would know?

Lady: Maybe my supervisor.

Me: Great. Can I talk to her?

Lady: No.

Me: Excuse me?

Lady: I can't transfer your call.

Me: Why not?

Lady: Our phone system does not allow us to transfer calls.

Me (not believing that for a minute): Then how about you go get her and I will speak to her on your phone? I'll wait.

Lady: All the supervisors are in a meeting.

Me (not believing that either): So you're telling me there is nothing we can do about my card not being released when it is supposed to be?

Lady: No, I'm not saying that. It is supposed to be released in 48 hours.

Me: But I turned in my receipts on the 12th. This is the 25th. You realize that is more than 48 hours, right?

Lady: Yes, but it should be released in 48 hours.

Me: speechless

$159

The food stamp people need me to provide proof that the junk yard paid me $159 for my old car AND receipts that show how I spent that money. Because apparently if I have all that extra cash on hand, it affects the amount of food stamps I receive. Can't have people with that much money just collecting $16 a month in unneeded food stamps, you know.

You see, once a year I basically have to reapply to proof I am still eligible. That's what I did this morning. In my county, that means turning in a ton of paperwork (copy of my lease, bank statement, last year's tax return, receipts from all medical bills including my service dog's expenses, a prescription for my service dog, etc). That has to be done at least a week before the reapplication interview. The interview is done over the phone and took a full hour this morning. During which I was informed I have 10 days to provide them with a copy of the $159 check and receipts to show what I spent the money on.

No, it doesn't make sense.  I have mostly stopped asking for the government benefit system to make sense.  I just said OK.  Because it's not like that $159 is going to stick around long.

What Would Jesus Do?

If Jesus came back today

as a carpenter, would he be poor?

Would he be forced to apply for food stamps?

Would he suffer the indignities at the welfare office

with grace and compassion?  Would he ever be tempted

to go back there with a gun and blow the place away?

The Lack of Logic Goes On

Since my medical expenses have suddenly increased by $105 per month, I contacted my landlord to ask about whether this might allow my rent to be reduced.  My rent is based in part on my income but also in part on my medical expenses.  He said yes, it should be cause for a reduction in rent, though he couldn't say offhand by how much.

So this morning I took the letter from Social Security over to the rental office.  And was informed that, in addition to a copy of that letter, I would need to provide about 15,483 other documents because they would have to totally recalculate my rent.  Even though they just did that a few months ago.  Apparently there is no way they can just add the $105 Medicare premium into their prior calculations.

So, in order to find out if my rent can be reduced and by how much, I need to provide a current bank statement (which is more trouble than it sounds since I do not get a paper bank statement, I have to print it out from the internet, but I have no printer because I am poor, so printing anything is a big hassle); a list of every doctor, hospital, pharmacist and other health care provider I've seen in the last year (complete with names, addresses and phone numbers); receipts documenting every medical expense I've had over the past year; a signed letter from Isaac's dog walker verifying how often he walks Isaac and what he charges (the one he signed in December not being recent enough, apparently); a written prescription from my doctor for all the non-prescription vitamins I take, verifying those are medically necessary (the one he wrote in December also not being recent enough); and probably a few other things I'm not thinking of at the moment.

And then, after several weeks, I'll find out by how much my rent will be reduced.  The change might go into effect in August.  Maybe.  Because the people in charge of calculating everything do not rush.  The fact that I am panicking over how I'm going to survive on $105 less per month does not constitute an emergency for them.  And I get that.  Kind of.

That does not change the fact that I wanted to smack the lady in the rental office when she kept rattling off item after item that they would need from me.

It's not reasonable.  It's not logical.  It's probably doable, but it's not easy and it's not simple and it's not fair.  Like anything ever is, right?

I spent a lot of the day sleeping.  Because I'm not panicking when I'm asleep.  My stomach doesn't hurt then and I don't feel like I'm going to throw up.

Panic and Depression. And a Lack of Logic.

Lately, I feel like I've been coping pretty well.

Yesterday, I found out why.  Because nothing stressful has been going on, really.  Duh.

And then, something stressful happened, and I am back to being a mess.

I got a letter from Social Security yesterday informing me that the state of Ohio will no longer be paying my Medicare premiums.  Instead, $105 will be deducted from my monthly SSDI payment.

Of course, the letter did not explain why.  It's possible it is an error, logically one might assume it has to be, since my income has not changed.  But one would only assume that if one was naive enough to think the system was logical.  Like if one had never been on any type of public assistance.  In reality, the reason is most likely either that the formula the state uses to determine whether they will pay one's Medicare premiums has changed and I no longer qualify according to the new formula or my recent increase in food stamps (I used to get $15 a month and now get a whopping $32) and decrease in my Medicaid spend down (which is like a monthly deductible I must meet in order to receive my Medicaid card) means I am now too wealthy to qualify.  Of course it is ridiculous that getting an additional $17 in food stamps would mean I can afford to pay $105 for Medicare.  But I learned long ago that you'll make yourself crazy if you expect the system to make sense.

I decided to call Social Security to ask why the change.  If you've never had the pleasure of calling  Social Security, well, consider yourself lucky.  After finding my way through an extremely long and convoluted phone tree and holding for a long time while enjoying some elevator music, I finally got to speak to a real live person.  Who informed me I needed to call the state Medicaid department to ask why the change.  Silly  me, I figured since the letter was sent by Social Security and the telephone number printed on the letter was that of Social Security, that was who I should call.

I did not have the energy to call the Medicaid people yesterday.  In fact, I have not summoned the energy yet.

If you have had the pleasure of calling Social Security, well, let me tell you that trying to call the Department of Job and Family Services (the welfare people in my state, where you apply for things like Medicaid and food stamps) is like that experience multiplied by at least five.  Maybe seven.

Last week I had a dentist appointment and I had a question about whether or not I could get a gas voucher from JFS for that appointment.  Seems like a simple question, yes?  So I looked up the number for the JFS office in my county and called to ask my question.  After listening to a very long message which informed me, amount other things, of the hours of my local JFS office, what number to call if I wanted to report child abuse or neglect, what number to call if I wanted to talk to someone about child support, and various other bits of info I did not care about, I was given an 800 number I could call if I had questions about benefits.  And that was it.  No way to reach an actual person.

So I called the 800 number.  Which is a state-wide number, not my local county office.  After holding a while, I was able to speak to an actual person, who informed me that she couldn't answer any questions about gas vouchers because those are administered by the county office, not the state office.  I would need to call my county office.

I told her I had done that first and was unable to speak to a real person but the recorded message said to call the 800 number.  I asked if she had a number for the county office that would reach an actual person.

She didn't.

I asked how I could get an answer to my question.

She offered to give me a fax number.

I have no idea if they would respond to a question via fax (I somehow doubt it) but it doesn't matter because, surprise, I do not own a fax machine.  I pointed out that probably most people that are poor enough to be on Medicaid and need gas vouches probably can't afford fax machines.

Silence.

I asked how I could get an answer to my question.

She suggested I go into my local JFS office to ask.  Yes, that's right.  Drive to the JFS office, using gas, to ask if I can get a gas voucher, which I might or might not actually be able to get.

There's logic for you.

So anyway.  I have not called yet to ask them why they will no longer be paying my Medicare premiums.  I simply have not had the energy.  And... I keep crying.  I'd prefer to call when I am able to complete the call without bursting into tears.

Plus, who knows if they will be able to give me an answer on the phone?  Maybe I'll need to fax them my question, on my non-existent fax machine.  Or maybe I'll have to drive there and sit in an uncomfortable lobby for a long time to ask my question.  I guess the benefit to that, if you want to call it that, is that occasionally if you burst into tears and look like a crazy person in a place like that, they actually try to help you, either out of pity or fear or just to get you out there as quickly as possible.  Of course, they might also respond by calling security, so that's the change you take, I guess.  It's a situation I prefer to avoid, if I can.

I will call.  When I feel in control of my emotions enough.

Right now, I feel panicky and depressed.  I've cried a lot.  I know $105 probably does not sound like much to most people.  But it is almost half my rent.  It is a lot to me.  Plus apparently I don't cope well with unexpected news like this.

Disabled Veterans

It's Memorial Day and I am remembering the vets that make it back from the war but live the rest of their lives with disabilities caused by the war.  And I want to tell a story about a vet I had the opportunity to talk with the other day.

He joined the service soon after high school.  He hoped to make a career of it.  He is a very bright man and had a highly technical job in the service.  I'm not providing any identifying details in order to protect his privacy, so I won't say exactly what he did, but it was something requiring a lot of intelligence and skill.

He'd been in the service for 10 years when it happened.  He was in Iraq.  He was in a vehicle with nine other servicemen when an explosion occurred.  Eight of the 10 people in the vehicle were killed.  He and one other man survived, with serious injuries.

He carries a lot of survivor's guilt, partly because he was initially supposed to sit in a different seat in the vehicle but for some reason ended up switching seats with another guy.  The other guy died.  If he'd been in the seat he was supposed to be in, he would have died, too.  This was 15 years ago and he got all choked up telling me about it.

He received a medical discharge.  He came back to the states with physical injuries, requiring lengthy hospitalization.  He also had (still has) PTSD, although apparently the VA psychiatrist only diagnosed that about a year ago.  How could anyone live through that experience and not have PTSD?  He still thinks about it every day.  He still cries about it.  He still has nightmares.

Despite having severe PTSD and lasting physical disabilities, the VA only finally declared him disabled and awarded him disability pay a year ago.  It took 14 years for him to get disability.  For 18 months of those 14 years, he was homeless, living on the street.

His wife left him shortly after he came home from the war.  She said he wasn't the same man he used to be.  This was not what she signed up for.  Well, gee, I don't think it was what he signed up for, either.

After his wife left and he was disabled and living in extreme poverty, he became depressed.  Well, duh.  Who wouldn't?  He attempted suicide multiple times.  Obviously he was not getting good mental health care - the VA psychiatrist couldn't even figure out that the had PTSD.

This would be a terribly sad story even if the guy wasn't a veteran.  But he is a vet.  He didn't become disabled in an accident.  He wasn't just born this way by some twist of fate.  He became disabled fighting in a war that our government, on behalf of all of us, felt was so important that it was worth risking lives.  He agreed to take that risk, to sacrifice his health and maybe even his life, for other people, and for a principle.

I am a pacifist.  I am opposed to war.  I don't think we ought to be fighting wars.  What if they threw a war and nobody came?  I think we should all refuse to come.

But that is not the society in which we live.  We live in a society in which we send young men and women to war.  To fight for us.

And then when they come home disabled, we don't care for them.  I find that appalling.  I do not support war but I do support the troops that fight for something they believe in.

This guy lost his wife, he suffers pain every day, he is disabled, he has PTSD, and we allowed him to live on the street for 18 months.  Think about that.  In a Midwestern city, in the cold winter, we - this society, which includes all of us - felt it was perfectly OK for him to sleep in a doorway, on cold concrete, in pain, barely able to walk, having nightmares of an explosion that killed eight of his buddies when he did manage to fall asleep for a bit.

How is that OK?  How is it that we can allow that to happen?

It's easy to say well, that's not really my responsibility, it's not that I think it's OK but what am I supposed to do about it?  I don't work for the VA, it's not up to me to decide who gets disability.  What am I supposed to do, anyway?  Invite homeless vets into my home to live?

But really, it is my responsibility.  It's is the responsibility of all of us.

If it's not OK with me, I  need to do something about it.  If I just passively accept it, and allow it to happen, then it must really be all right with me.

What am I going to do about it?  I don't know.  I have no idea what there is to do about it.  But I'm gonna find out.

What about you?  Is it OK with you?  And if it's not, what are you going to do about it?

Financial Assistance for People with Disabilities

I wanted to provide links to a couple of articles about sources of financial assistance for people on disability.

Financial Assistance for People with Disabilities

Help for People Waiting for Social Security Disability Benefits

Finding some source of assistance while waiting for Social Security disability benefits is crucial because the process of getting disability from Social Security can take a long time.  It generally takes three or four months from when you apply to get a decision, but only about 30% of people get approved the first time around.  Most people have to appeal.  It can take a year or more before you start receiving benefits.

I was really lucky when I had to stop working and applied for disability.  It took only four months for me to get approved and I did not have to appeal.  I was approved on the first try. 

I also had a retirement fund that I was able to cash out.  Because I was not at retirement age, I had to pay a penalty.  I don't remember how much it was, maybe 10%?  Also I had to pay taxes on it, so I did lose a good bit of it by taking the money out early, but if I hadn't had that, I would have been in serious trouble.  I was able to live on that retirement fund money for the four months until I got my disability.

I talked to a lawyer that specialized in disability claims when I was applying and I asked him what people live on while they wait.  He told me  many of his clients ended up homeless, living in shelters or on the street, while they appealed denied claims for disability.  That was really scary to me.

Why You Only Get Four Days Notice When You are Poor and Disabled

Two days ago, I got a letter informing me that in four days I have an appointment with the agency from which I get subsidized rent, for the purpose of verifying I am still eligible, along with a list of about 2,000 documents they want me to bring. In four days.

Do you know why people with disabilities on low incomes only get four days notice for things like this? Because it is assumed that since you are disabled and poor, you have no life. Therefore they do not need to give you more than four days notice. Surely you have nothing to do between now and then but track down all those documents. If you do have other things to do, just don't do them because they can't be important things, anyway. The people at the agency, now, they are real people with real lives and important things to do, so you should be happy to be at their beck and call. But you are poor and disabled, so you have no life and nothing important to do, ever.

Yeah, I'm angry.  It's just disrespectful.  I don't like being treated that way and I don't like the fact that I really have no choice.

Another Visit to a Food Pantry

There is a food pantry in my town that provides fresh produce once a month.  Apparently it's very popular.  They give out produce from noon until 3:00 pm, unless they run out sooner; it's first come, first serve.  I arrived at noon and had to wait in line for an hour to get my produce.  I got a bunch of sweet potatoes, a bunch of onions and five avocados.  I also got some raspberry Greek yogurt, which I am thrilled about, although I'm not sure why Greek yogurt is considered produce.

I'm not sure what I think about waiting in line for an hour, though for potatoes, onions and avocados.  There is something sort of demeaning about waiting in line for a really long time for food.  And to be honest, I was kind of disappointed not to get a bigger variety of produce.  I was hoping for some fruit of some kind.

I also have no clue what I'm going to do with all these avocados.  I'm thinking avocado, tomato and cheese sandwiches would be good.  I have some spicy mustard and I have bread that I got at the food pantry Wednesday.  But I have no tomatoes and no cheese.  I'm not sure I want to spend my $15 in food stamps on tomatoes and cheese.  I have to figure out what to buy with that $15 that will stretch the farthest and I'm not sure cheese is the answer.

I have a box of jambalaya mix in my cupboard.  I normally make it with vegetarian sausage.  But I was thinking I could buy a can of beans (less than a dollar if I buy the store brand) and throw those in there.  Some avocado would be good on top of that.  I could saute some onion and put it in there, too.

I have some homemade salsa that I canned over the summer.  I could buy a can of black beans and put some salsa and avocado on those.

Maybe I'll save one of the avocados, though, and buy stuff to make sandwiches when I get my SSDI the beginning of next month.  Will avocados keep that long?  I have no clue how long they keep.

Visited the Food Pantry Today

Today I visited a local food pantry.  Between Cayenne's vet bills and my dental bills this month, I am totally broke.  I have $15 in food stamps and that is my grocery money for the rest of the month.  I have about $30 in the bank and that is for gas money and for buying cat food.  So I decided to hit the food pantry.

If you've never visited a food pantry before, well, you never know what you're going to get.  What you get depends on what people have donated.  It is not always what you need to put together a balanced, nutritious meal.  However, you might be surprised to get name brand products and even snack foods.

Today, I got:

• graham crackers
• teddy grahams
• iced animal crackers
• Lorna Doone cookies
• Fig Newtons
• Poptarts
• chocolate brownie Fiber One bars
• microwave popcorn
• rosemary olive oil bread (like from a bakery, beautiful and really yummy)
• whole wheat sandwich thins
• Great Grains cinnamon hazelnut protein cereal
• two cans of green beans
• one can of tomato soup
• one can of chicken noodle soup
• frozen pancakes
• two frozen dinners (both of which contain meat, which I don't eat)
• beef jerky (Isaac will eat that)

Notice how I got more dessert and snack items than actual food to make a meal from?  And I am supposed to be on a low carb, low sugar diet.  But beggars can't be choosers, right?

Something else about getting food from a food pantry is that you don't always get stuff that goes together.  You get one element of a meal or dish, but not the rest of the stuff to eat with it. 

Like, I got bread.  However, I am out of butter at home.  They did not give me any butter.  What am I supposed to put on my bread?  I don't want to use part of my $15 in food stamps on butter.  Fortunately, I have plenty of olive oil at home and rosemary olive oil bread dipped in a little olive oil is really yummy.  But it would be nice if food pantries gave out butter or peanut butter or something that you could eat on your bread. 

Same with the pancakes.  I don't have any syrup.  I'm not using part of my $15 in food stamps to buy some.  But who wants to eat dry pancakes?

This isn't necessary something that food pantries are doing wrong.  They can only distribute what is donated to them.  But it can be a challenge to put together a meal when, for instance, they give you a box of mac-n-cheese but no milk or butter and you need both milk and butter to prepare the mac-n-cheese. 

I don't know what the solution is.  I guess it would be good to donate food that doesn't require added ingredients to prepare, unless you can donate all the necessary ingredients.  But you know how there are often donation barrels for food pantries at grocery stores?  You can put a box of mac-n-cheese in there, but you can't put milk and butter in there.  I guess you'd do better to donate a box of pasta and a jar of pasta sauce or something like that.

Anyway, I now have breakfast, dessert and snacks to last me a good while.

Dinner at the Soup Kitchen and Free Groceries from the Food Pantry

The church that is going to be doing the fundraiser for Isaac next month has a food pantry that gives out free groceries once a month.   They also serve a free meal.  They don't call it a soup kitchen, but that's pretty much what it is.  The idea is that you go in, sign up for groceries, then eat a free meal while you're waiting for your turn to get your groceries.  The pastor told me that they serve about 120 families each month, so it takes awhile to put together the box of groceries for each family.  What you get is based on your household size.

I decided to go because, for one thing, I can use some groceries.  It's the end of the month, which is when many people have already used up their food stamps (the $16 in food stamps I get each  month is long gone by now) and when many people have already used up any cash benefits they get at the beginning of the month (no matter how carefully I try to budget, I always seem to be a bit short of cash by now).  For another thing, I thought it would be good to get involved with the church a little, to get to know some people there, since they are doing this fundraiser for Isaac.  I talked Mike into going with me because I felt very anxious about going alone and I didn't have anyone else to ask to go with me.

It's not exactly the first time I've gotten food from a food pantry.  Mike's brother is a pastor and his church operates a food pantry and he used to bring us food sometimes.  But he brought it to us.  We didn't have to go there and wait in line for it.  And we used to get food from a program called Angel Food Ministries, when my teenage nephew lived with us for a while a couple years back.  Angel Food Ministries is no longer in existence, which is too bad because it was a good program.  It wasn't exactly a food pantry, but was a program that purchased large amounts of food in bulk and then sold them to people in need for a very low cost.  We spent something like $40 for a box of food that would include things like some chicken, some pork chops, some hamburger, some rice, a dozen eggs, a gallon of milk, some potatoes, some oranges, some apples, some frozen corn, some frozen green beans, a box of cereal, a box of pancake mix, and a box of brownie mix.  It was supposed to feed a family of four for one week, I think.  Anyone could order as many food boxes as they wanted, there were no income guidelines to meet.  Food was distributed at local churches.

This was the first time I've ever eaten at a soup kitchen or anyplace serving free meals like that, though.  I think it was done in a nice way.  It's set up like a cafeteria line and you go through and get your meal.  Last  night they were serving pulled pork sandwiches (I passed on the sandwich so I don't eat meat; they did not offer any type of vegetarian alternative), carrot and celery sticks with ranch dip, melon, potato chips, and a big sugar cookie for dessert.  The dining area has big round tables that seat about eight people and you sit down with your meal and church members come around and serve you drinks at your table.  They had Kool-Aid, milk, coffee, or ice water.  Church members also bus the tables when people are done eating.

They also had live dinner music.  There was a trio of men playing and singing gospel music while people ate. 

I took Isaac with  me, of course.  He did really well.  He went right under the table and lay down.  At one point he was really stretched out under there.  I had to tell him to move closer to me because he was hogging all the foot room.  I thought the music might be a bit loud for him but he seemed OK with it.  At one point a woman came and sat down across the table from me and she didn't even realize there was a dog under the table until another woman sitting next to her pointed it out to her.  She was tickled to look under the table and see a dog lying by her feet.

Everyone liked Isaac, of course.  We saw the pastor as soon as we walked in and she recognized me right away.  I guess they don't get many people with service dogs.  She remarked that Isaac as much calmer or better behaved or something than he was when she visited my apartment.  I said yes, this is how he behaves when he's working, and he knows the difference between working and not working.  He was behaving badly when she visited, really, but he did climb in her lap and lick her face and I don't think she really wanted any doggie kisses.  Isaac thinks everyone loves his kisses, though.  I was glad she got to see him in "work mode," though.  And he really was good.

I had to wait a long time to get my food.  They give out  numbers when you first arrive and then call people in ten at a time to complete some paperwork and then get your food.  I got there at 5:00 pm and got number 94.  It was 7:00 pm before I got called in.

I thought it was handled in a really nice, respectful way.  People do have to fill out a form, but it's a short form, just name and address and how many members in the household, and then sign something saying your income is below the amount listed in the chart on the form, indicating you qualify for services.  They asked to see some sort of identification but not proof of income.  I guess they figure there aren't a lot of people that want to wait in line for two hours for free food if they don't really need it.  I think they are right.  There was a woman in line in front of me that didn't have her ID with her and they said that was OK, just bring it next time, and went ahead and served her.

It was more respectful, more dignified, than applying for food stamps or even subsidized housing.  The church members working there were all really nice.  It's still sort of humiliating, though.  When we finished eating, we sat at the table for a while, then went downstairs to wait by the room where you get your food.  There were not many chairs so people ended up sitting on the floor in the hallway to wait.  Sitting on the floor waiting for over an hour for free food is just sort of humiliating.  It's humbling, at least.

There was a little boy, ten years old, and his mom waiting next to me.  The little boy asked to pet Isaac and I said OK.  I let everyone pet him there that asked.  I didn't know who, other than the volunteers working there, belonged to the church and who didn't and I wanted to be friendly and make a good impression with all the church members since they are going to be doing this fundraiser for Isaac.  The little boy asked me about Isaac and I told him some of the things Isaac helps me with, like picking things up if I drop them and taking clothes out of the dryer.  The little boy looked at his mom and said, "Maybe we should get a dog like that!"  Isaac really liked the little boy, of course.  He ended up rolling over and getting a belly rub, looking like a very dignified service dog, the silly doggie.  He did demonstrate how he picks up my car keys very nicely, unlike the time at Hobby Lobby when I tried to show a little boy how he does that and he ended up making me look like an idiot.  The boy was suitably impressed.

Most of the people I saw there were older folks, but there were some younger people and a few families with kids.  I thought about what it would have been like when I was a kid, to go to some church for a free meal and to wait in line for a couple of hours to get free groceries.  I really can't imagine it.  I also thought about what it would be like to have to live like that all the time, you know, to eat at soup kitchens regularly, to stay at shelters or things like that.  I just can't imagine it.  And I know how lucky that makes me.

I was asked twice if I was training Isaac, asked three times what he does for me, asked once what kind of service dog he was (which is sort of the same as asking what he does for me), and asked once if he was a Seeing Eye dog.  That was the first time I've ever been asked if he was a Seeing Eye dog.  I said, "No, he is a service dog."  And then I couldn't help myself, I added, "I can see all right."

Here's something you might not know.  A Seeing Eye dog is a specific brand name.  It's a dog trained by a specific program as a guide dog for the blind.  Not all guide dogs for the blind are Seeing Eye dogs.  It's like an Oreo is a cream-filled cookie but not all cream-filled cookies are Oreos.  And of course, not all cookies are cream-filled cookies.

Anyway.  I know you can't always tell by looking at someone if they are disabled or what their disability is, but I don't think it's likely anyone would mistake me for being blind.

I tried to be extra polite.  A couple of the people that asked about what he does for me were volunteer church members and I may speak to the pastor about it.  They did not mean to be rude or intrusive, I know, but I did not want to explain what my disability is and why I have a service dog while I was in line to get my free food.  I also hate that I felt like I had to be extra polite because they were giving me free food.  Like I somehow have fewer rights, like I have to give up some of my privacy or self-respect in that situation.  And they didn't tell me I had fewer rights or that I was less entitled to my privacy there than I would be at the grocery store, that's just how it felt to me.  And I think that's common.  The experience of receiving charity engenders those feelings in people in this society.

I want to stress how nice everyone was.  They didn't mean to make me feel that way.  They didn't mean to be inappropriate.  They were curious about the doggie.  One of the men that has helping to give out food said something about they didn't have any dog bones there and he seemed genuinely sad about that.  I assured him that Isaac has plenty of dog food and treats and bones at home.  People remarked about how pretty he is, how well-behaved he was, how calm he was, how they wished their dog was so well-behaved.  One lady insisted on helping to carry my food out to the car, even though I said Mike could carry it for me.  They were really helpful and kind and caring people.

It was an interesting experience.  It made me think a lot, which is always good.  And I was really happy with how well Isaac did.  He was patient and quiet and well-behaved.  And I got free groceries - sweet corn on the cob, peaches, oranges, yogurt, peanut butter, soup, oatmeal, grapefruit juice, vegetable oil, frozen blueberries (three pounds!), and a frozen pizza.

Dealing with Housing - and Other Benefits for People with Disabilities

Let me start by saying I am grateful there are benefits available to people with disabilities, like subsidized housing, Social Security, food stamps, Medicaid, etc.  Without such benefits, I would be living in my car.  If I even had a car.  I purchased my car way back before I went on disability; I have no clue how I will manage to afford a new car when this one dies, which it will eventually, because cars don't live forever.  But anyway, without benefits, I'd probably be living in my car, eating at soup kitchens, unable to afford the many vitamins and supplements I need, unable to access any health care, without a service dog.  My life would suck big time.

But accessing these benefits is not easy.  Consider yourselves lucky that I was not blogging back when I first had to stop working and apply for disability.  All you would have read about every day was how stupid the whole system was, how it made no sense, how stressful and confusing and exhausting it was, and so on.  I think that's all my therapist at the time heard, every week for about three months.  But I'm going to share a little of it with you now.

• There was the time I got a seven-page form in the mail from Social Security, with a letter instructing me that the information had to be received by the Social Security Administration in ten days from the date on the letter.  Well, I received the letter on a Thursday afternoon.  According to the date on the letter, the information had to be received by Sunday.  Of course, mail doesn't run on Sunday.  I tried to call the claims specialist that sent the letter to ask if I could have more time, but didn't get an answer.  In order to make sure the information was received on time, I needed to put it in the mail on Friday.  I had to stay up all night long completing that form.  The form consisted of seven pages of essay questions, seriously, like "What do you do all day on an average day?" and "What things do you need help doing in your daily life?"
• There was the time I hand-delivered some paperwork to the local Social Security office, to make sure it got there safely.  A full month later, someone called me from Social Security to tell me they'd never received that paperwork.  I insisted I'd taken it there myself, the person looked again, and found it had been misfiled.  That meant it would take a full month longer to process my claim.  Some idiot at the Social Security Administration did not know their alphabet and could not file papers correctly, so my benefits ended up being delayed by a full month.
• There was the Department of Job and Family Services office, otherwise known as the welfare office, in Cincinnati, where I used to live.  I would arrive on time for an appointment with a caseworker, which I had to do in order to get food stamps and  Medicaid, and sit in a crowded, noisy waiting room for a couple of hours waiting for the caseworker to get to me.  The room would be crowded with noisy kids, crying babies, exhausted and frustrated parents screaming at them to shut up.  Just the place someone with severe anxiety and PTSD wants to hang out for a couple of hours.
• There was the ridiculous amount of information Social Security wanted in order to consider my application for disability.  They wanted a list of every job I'd had for the past 15 years (since I was 31 at the time I applied for disability, that meant they wanted to know about every job I'd every had, except for a few babysitting gigs I had as a young teen), including the name of the company, when I started working there and when I stopped working there, how many hours a week I worked, how much I earned per hour, my job title and job duties.  They wanted the name, address, and telephone number of every health care provider that had ever treated me for my disability (and you realize doctors sometimes move, right?  It can be quite a challenge to track down current information about them).  They wanted medical records (and do you know how hard it is to track down medical records from a doctor that moved ten years ago?).

Sorry.  I kind of got off on a tangent there.  See how frustrated I am about it still, ten years later?

Dealing with all the red tape of getting subsidized housing is bringing that all back.  They want a ridiculous amount of paperwork and won't accept what I think would be reasonable documentation.  For instance:

• They want proof that I am disabled, but the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development will not accept the Social Security Administration's finding that I am disabled.  Oh, no.  They need a form filled out by my doctor saying I am disabled.
• They also want proof that my dog is a service dog.  They want to know that I have a disability and need a service dog, and they also want to know that my dog has been individually trained to perform tasks that mitigate my disability.  However, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development will not accept a copy of the paperwork my doctor filled out just six months ago when I was applying for a service dog.  They need their own form that says I'm disabled and need a service dog.  They also will not accept any of the paperwork from the program that trained my service dog.  They need my doctor, who had nothing whatsoever to do with the training of my service dog and probably doesn't even remember the things I told him my service dog was going to be trained to do, to fill out a form saying the dog has been individually trained to perform tasks to mitigate my disability.
• They need proof of how much money I have in the bank.  However, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development will not accept a copy of a current bank statement showing how much I have in the bank.  Oh, no.  They need a form filled out by someone that works at the bank which will show the same thing a current bank statement would show.  

And there is a whole bunch of stuff like that.  And who knows how long it takes all those people to fill out all those forms and fax them back?  And I can't move into my new apartment until that happens.  In fact, they can't even calculate exactly how much my rent will be until that happens.

See why I have a headache?

Housing for Disabled People

Sometime in the next month, I am going to be moving.  That has been the plan since Mike and I ended our relationship several months ago.  We've still been sharing a home up 'til now, partly for financial reasons, and partly because it's taken me a while to find affordable housing.

You see, most people that are on disability, whether that's SSI or SSDI, can't afford the market rent on most apartments.  The last time I lived in an apartment, which was nearly ten years ago, I paid $425 a month in rent.  I also had to pay utilities, of course.  It would be very difficult for me to afford that on my current income, supposing I could even find a decent apartment with such low rent today.

The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) has a number of programs to help people with low incomes afford housing.  One program involves subsidizing rent for people with disabilities that meet specific income guidelines.  They way it usually works is that a private management company has a contract with HUD  that allows the company to rent apartments to people with disabilities and base their rent on their income.  HUD pays the remainder of the rent.  (By the way, if you want to look for apartment complexes in your area that offer subsidized housing for people with disabilities in your area, check out the HUD website here.)

In many ways, it's a great deal for people that otherwise couldn't afford housing.  You get cheap rent and HUD requires the apartment meet certain criteria and pass an inspection by HUD (so it can't be a total dump).  The downsides are that there aren't enough of these apartments for all the people needing affordable housing, there are usually long waiting lists (sometimes two years or more), the apartments are usually small and not the nicest you've ever seen, and you have to deal with all the red tape typically involved with getting benefits from a government agency to get into one.

I applied for an apartment at two different apartment complexes at the beginning of December.  I expected it to take at least six months to get an apartment.  However, I've now been informed that I am at the top of the waiting list and I expect to be moving sometime next month.  I'm both excited and overwhelmed at the prospect.

Last week I had to go complete some additional paperwork for the apartment.  It was a reminder of why I hate having to deal with government agencies in order to get benefits I need.  They never make it easy.  It's almost like they go out of their way to make it as difficult and stressful as possible.  They give you a bunch of forms to fill out and the forms are so confusing that even I, with a college education, have trouble figuring out how to fill them out.  When I ask questions, the person that gave me the forms has trouble figuring them out, too.  They ask for documents at that last minute that I don't have or don't know how to get, and say they need those specific documents even though I have other documents that seem like they would serve the same purpose or even work better. 

They do not tell me in advance that I'm going to need certain things; for instance, they told me four days ago that I could claim the costs of my vitamins as a medical expense, which would reduce my rent, if I had a letter from my physician saying they were medically necessary and receipts to verify the cost.    Well, I saw my doctor two weeks ago and could have asked her to sign such a letter then, but I didn't know then that I would need such a letter.  I have purchased plenty of vitamins since I applied for housing in December but I didn't save the receipts because I didn't know I was going to need them.  Do you save all your vitamin receipts?  Who does that, if they don't have a specific reason to save them?  I suggested that in the future it might be helpful to give people a list of documents they will need when they first turn in an application, which I thought was a very helpful and reasonable suggestion, but the person I made the suggestion to did not seem to appreciate my input on the matter.

The whole experience reminded me of when I was first applying for disability and other benefits, how stressful it was, and how dehumanizing.  That's what prompted me to post my poem, "Confession," the other night.

I don't actually like the apartment I will be moving to very much.  I will write more about that later.  I like where it is located, I like the fact that it is super affordable, I like the fact that it  has a locked security door with buzzer and intercom, I like the fact that there is onsite laundry, etc.  I like plenty of things about it.  Just not the actually apartment.  It's small and ugly.  But you don't get many choices about where to live when you are disabled and have a very limited income.