I
am literally teasing matted locks of my greying and now wiry hair out of my
scalp, ever slowly, and to my mortification, it looks like Gilda Radner's worst
day of chemotherapy, the original anti-prime timer, and yet persisting, slowly,
tackling the worst before I let a cosmologist do what they can with it, but as
it is now, it perfectly symbolizes what 14 weeks of being at the mercy of
Medicare has done to me, and this is what Paul Krugman champions, how long and
punishing this has been, trying so hard to fend off the iron jaws of “means
testing,” my case is now under review at County Assistance. No idea why, as my
savings were depleted by 2014. I held off reapplying for Medicaid as long as I
could, but knew I would need it (late in the day) for another power chair, but
all of a sudden, I am “under review,” in order that the Commonwealth can ensure
it protects itself. No one is willing to ensure I am protected from it. The
dynamic nigger duo, Trudy and Debra, contracted with Liberty Health to at first
pressure me to comply, and then Tom of Liberty Health did his damnest to talk
me into signing myself away, but didn’t know his job, that Hahnemann University
Hospital couldn’t put me away. I had no condition they could treat me for, but
Hahnemann and the Visiting Nurses association, and Mike's bucket seat
ingenuity, have virtually incapacitated me. Libertarian political philosophy,
perhaps traditional conservatives, as well, may not have an answer for
disability, dependence, and rationed care, but the system has some serious
dystopian fissures. Maybe it will right itself after boomers have their mass
die off, but I am not so sanguine about Western medicine’s market correction. My father cannot afford to
let his wife die in the most compassionate manner, my body has taken fourteen
weeks of a prolapse break down, to the point even my arms are now affected by
tremors, and these are my options:
a) Hang on until I can
manage a better power chair fitting and ditch hospital bed and hope for partial
recovery
b) Attempt suicide and hope
I don’t fail
c) Give up and allow Inglis
House or equivalent facility to torture me into hospice
The
Medicare medical equipment model failed me from 14 forward. The Trump
Administration had nothing to do with it. I did not have a primary care doctor
or practice that met my needs, and still don’t. The VNA is an outsource model
staffed by nurses and other therapists near retirement. Mike and I are in
agreement here. They know jack shit, this VNA, but private contraction failed
too. Hiring Karina from Craigslist was a mistake, and utilizing Mr. Wheelchair
broke my strength, my resilience, and the fucking liberal majority insisting I
need an attendant has taken 98 days to put my Medicaid eligibility under review.
I’m sure Krugman would blame austerity, but that would be too linear. I was in
the beginning of needing to curtail and be cautious, in September 2017, but I
wasn’t failing; Pennsylvania seems determined to rectify that. I should go lie
down, as the grease monkey is coming early evening. Should you pray all goes
well for the dowager’s scathing mouth? All I ever wanted was a career, to make
something of myself, to have some freedom to achieve certain things, maybe have
a good man, but no, 32 years ago, I moved into an accessible 811, and that
anguish and rage permeates this one wee blogging platform.
No comments:
Post a Comment