Disability, Unemployment And A Big Fat Loophole

The man at Social Security told me he was sorry and to call  him if anything changes. “It’s the unemployment that kills it,” he said, talking about my son’s chances of getting disability benefits. Apparently, if I were bringing home that whopping $194 a week from working, it would be a different story. Why, I’m not really sure. Maybe to keep me from riding too far on Uncle Sam’s Free Ride Express.

In the language of Social Security, unemployment benefits are “unearned income.” Despite the fact that we all pay into that system for the occasional rainy day that is joblessness. No one gets unemployment if they quit their job. The job has to quit them, so to speak. My job certainly quit me, and unless I find another one, I will be getting all that free “unearned income” until July.

And this, my friends, is why my son is ineligible for SSI Disability benefits. Not because they question the severity of his Crohn’s disease, or his medical records. But because his mom lost her job.

Suddenly, I am thinking about Canada and their health care system. Because I know as soon as my son hears that, at best, he will one day be eligible for Medicaid, he will be too. 

Please Just Leave Britney Alone!!

So now the little starlett who has fallen from the sky is in the hospital. Maybe she partied a little too hard. Maybe she has serious mental problems. I really question the sanity of any mother who could let her children be taken from her, who has been so unwilling to comply with the courts, and otherwise, seems too overwhelmed by motherhood to cope properly. I actually have complex feelings about this rich girl who I have never met.

I pity her in some ways… watching from my anonymity as her life and career slowly crumble and seeing the crush of people around her. None of whom probably give a damn about her, including those on her payroll. Apparently, it doesn’t bother some people to stand by and watch a young mother come apart if they are getting a nice ride on her gravy train. And on the subject of motherhood, where is her mother? Maybe she’s at the hospital where she should be. Maybe now she will consider a book on how NOT to parent. Or maybe she will realize that her daughter is more important than making a few bucks telling stories from her childhood. What is wrong with her? Lady, there are people placing bets on the day your daughter dies, and I’m sure the odds just changed … get your priorities straight.

God!

In some ways I am also jealous of Britney… not because of the fame (I would hate that), or the money and the house, although they are nice. I certainly don’t envy her career because there isn’t much to envy. But being carted out of your house to the hospital for pity and pills in a cup… I’m in! If I knew how to snap, I would. Under the crushing weight of unemployment, marital problems, financial stress and my son’s health, I deserve at least a three day stay. And if they could throw in a back rub and a mud wrap, that would be great.

If It Weren’t For Bad Luck…

…I’d have no luck at all. That’s how the song goes.

Back in 2005, my life was a lot different. I didn’t know my son was sick then. I was in a rut at my job with the newspaper, but still had a great job, and I was getting published a lot. My husband was doing well in his career with heavy machinery. We thought we had it all planned out. We were clueless. 

There is no way I could have prepared myself for the ass-kicking we would take after the newspaper closed. I wouldn’t have believed life could do such a 360 degree turn. First my job, then Dylan’s diagnosis, and then my husband’s job relocated to Ohio. The year of being apart was hell, being back together still weird, all the while trying to help our son get well.

So now is the first week of 2008, and I am already using a personal day. The lab seems to have lost my son’s paperwork, so we have to go back and have his blood drawn again. Thanks to the answered prayers of many, he was approved for a program that will provide Humira at no cost to us! Sweet! We were just about to reach the cap on what our insurance will pay for prescriptions. It will be delivered early next week… and we have an appointment on Thursday so he can learn to give himself the shots. I’m sure he’ll do ok — he is brave and stronger than most. My biggest dread is the side effects. I wish it was me instead.

At work, everyone seems to be taking vacation before we close down. Almost no one showed up today. Honestly, it is all I can do to drag myself in there… there is just a black cloud of hopelessness hanging over us. We have around two months left. I know I will probably use most of my vacation time in doctors’ offices: Dylan isn’t the only who needs to go. As a matter of fact, I wish I could work part time for some good family health coverage. In our situation, insurance is the same as a salary.

I know I’ll be saving one of my personal days for my birthday, so I can be alone and think about life, or mourn the passing of my youth. This year, I’ll be 42. I don’t know where I expected to be at this age, which is probably a good thing. That way I am not disappointed in all the stuff I haven’t done yet. At one point, living in my car, I didn’t know if I would even survive to be this old. So kids, the moral of the story is not to have goals. That might lead to midlife self-scrutiny, and who needs that? 

Before ADT decided they didn’t need us anymore, I liked my job. And I know after being downsized in 2005 that I will miss it. I’ll miss the people. The routine. Feeling productive. I already know how I’ll feel because I’ve been through it all this before. It is insane. A good friend and former coworker, another casualty of the newspaper closing, is also looking at her second downsizing in 2 years. What the hell are we supposed to do? I say go to Florida for a week this summer. Stay drunk. Maybe find a couple of younger men. I don’t think I have relaxed in over two years. Surely I can still fall asleep in on the beach…

Then there’s the part of me that says no way. The last two times I was in Florida with Dylan he was too sick to enjoy it. He barely went to the beach… how could I go without feeling guilty? I wonder if I will ever be able to allow myself little things, like my toes in the sand, without thinking about him? I hope not. After all, he’s my son. I can only hold on to the hope that one day, when he feels better, we can fall asleep on the beach together.