Journal: 10/14/06

Everything looks better after a night’s sleep, so they say, and it might be true. A night’s distance and a hot shower help put things in perspective.

Feeling Better about Yesterday

Now that I’ve had my little flash of anger and fit of depression, I’m feeling much better. I get frustrated with the system because of my job situation and unavailability of services. I keep thinking that if I could nail some of my physical problems I would feel better and be able to accomplish more. At the same time, I also know that I’m caught in a poverty cycle that will be almost impossible to break in the near future. After all, I live in a town without opportunities other than picking lettuce or working a front desk.

Looking on the pragmatic side, I’ve got a doctor who will look after me, though she can’t do anything except give me the occasional free inhaler and write prescriptions I can’t pay for, but it’s a start. I have to figure out what to do next, maybe apply for some program at the county hospital in Salinas. Lately I’ve seen ads on TV about programs sponsored by drug companies that aim to reduce the financial burden for people who can’t afford medications; that is worth exploring. What I really need though, are some X-rays and other tests run to see how far downward I’ve progressed in the last nine years since my surgeries, and where I stand on my increasingly crippling neurological disorders. My doctor can’t order any of those without some support from insurance or the county though.

Still, I did achieve the final requirement for General Assistance and that $133.00 a month will help pay for some medications and the tools I need to get off cigarettes—again. I have a nice, stable place to live, my job isn’t as terrible as it once was and Bill provides the food. The rainy season is coming, so, it could be worse.

Dumping Cigarettes—Again

The first time I stopped smoking was on April 10, 2005. I stayed off cigarettes for a full ten months, until Joann became so sick the last month before she died—and required so much of my time and effort—that I returned to cigarettes because they were cheaper than the nicotine tablets I used and gave me something else to do with myself.

Nicotine tablets worked for me where patches and gum hadn’t. Nine years ago I tried to stop smoking prior to my back surgeries and, even with the aid of patches, couldn’t get down to less than three cigarettes a day, no matter what I did. Later I tried gum, but the technology was in its infancy and tasted so bad that I tried chewing tobacco until my mouth went numb, and then I went back to smoking anyway. At that time I was an "indoor" smoker and going through three packs a day.

A couple of years later, realizing that I had to do something about my breathing, I started smoking exclusively outdoors. This cut me down from three packs to fifteen cigarettes a day within a two-week period. I have managed to stay that way ever since.

When Joann, Bill and I lived in Snug Harbor, I began having trouble climbing the flight of stairs to our front door, and even more problems carrying up the groceries from our extensive shopping trips. Joann, moving ever closer to the end of her own life, became worried about my health and nagged me into trying to quit smoking once again. This time I used the new nicotine lozenges I read about and discovered that they actually worked. Within two days I was cigarette-free, and never looked back for ten months. I wasn’t actually following a stop-smoking regimen, I simply replaced the source of nicotine. I told myself that sooner or later I would actually quit the lozenges, but I guess the motivation was never really there. No matter, it kept Joann happy and I could haul myself up the stairs with greater ease.

Its been nine months since March of 2005 when I went back to cigarettes and though I’ve stayed an outdoor smoker averaging fifteen cigarettes a day, my body is screaming at me to at least get back on the lozenges. Propelled by the reality that I now have to use a heavy-duty inhaler twice a day and that things can only get worse, I’ve finally capitulated and decided to make a committed return to the nicotine lozenges.

I couldn’t have picked a worse time for this enlightened endeavor—the lozenges cost twice as much as cigarettes do—but knowing I will get General Assistance that I can use to cover part of the cost, moving back to lozenges seems feasible. Anyway, Joann is nagging me about my smoking again and I did promise her that I would take care of myself in her absence.

Moving On from Here

The events of the last couple of days illustrate to me the width and depth of the chasm separating my current life from that of life with Joann. There are so many differences, small and large, I have come to accept as normal now; that it takes something as derailing and exasperating as trying to get medical support, to remind me how contented I was before. If I were to look at it, I would have to say that I haven’t begun to remake my life. I am still sitting here in the same place I was the day after Joann died, and don’t seem to have the will to move on.

The concept of building my life again is as foreign to me right now as death itself, and equally as immobilizing. Even writing these pages is an exertion, where in the beginning it was a freewheeling act of liberation and renewal. That is one reason I quit writing this blog daily, though I should not have stopped, just to keep in touch with myself.

Maybe my being mired in this mud-of-life is because I’m still in Joann’s past, unable to move forward through an invisible wall of memory. I keep expecting things to get better, for myself to feel better, to become more active, more proactive in setting and pursuing goals. Instead, the farther Joann sinks into the past, the more distance there is between me and my present self.

I don’t know how to move on from here. A change of town isn’t the answer because Monterey is my home. Switching jobs isn’t attractive because I would lose my apartment and all of its perks. Every one of those things constitute "running" and this is a problem I will carry with me no matter where I go.

I guess that’s where I’m at.

Journal: 10/13/06

There are days that just aren’t worth waking up for—this was one of them. Moreover, Friday the 13^th doesn’t bode well either.

Appealing Denial at Social Security

Bill and I made the early morning trek out to Salinas today to file an appeal of my social security claim denial. This, I knew, would be a fruitless attempt, but I wanted some questions answered and I had to complete this step before I could qualify for general assistance from Monterey County. I chose the morning hour because I work today at the front desk in the afternoon and couldn’t afford to be late, and usually getting to the Social Security office early guarantees a quick in-out timeframe.

The main question I had to ask was: Why was my original claim application put under Joann’s name? The answer was surprising, if a little disconcerting. Apparently, since my original disability in June of 1997, I hadn’t been on the government’s radar. As far as they were concerned, I haven’t worked since then, and certainly at no job where taxes were withheld. Joann’s own social security was more recent, and I was entitled to it when I turned sixty anyway. To qualify on my own behalf, I would have had to work (on their watch) within a five-year time-period from the date of application.

As for the denial of my claim—no matter how sick I am I can’t be working at any type of job making any type of income. This puts me in something of a quandary. Social Security won’t even look at my medical results, which, (the doctors who examined me said) qualify me for disability payments and medical support (Medicare), unless I live in a shelter. Catch-22. I’m too old to start living on the streets and have adjusted to the concept that running water and a toilet are things no one needs to have to hunt for daily in city parks. Summation: I’m not giving up my home for the right to be sick. As it is, I already have to pay for taking a sick day because that day doesn’t go against my rent.

Frustrated and Ineffectual

So, the events of the day has left me feeling frustrated, ineffectual and a little angry. The frustrated part comes from knowing the end result of the endeavor, if not the reason. The ineffectual part comes from knowing I’m unable to turn the course of future attempts to my advantage without putting myself at a large disadvantage first. Obviously, having a stable roof and functioning toilet are going to win out over physical pain, leastways for the next couple of years or until something puts me in the hospital again.

The anger part is just the idea that I’ve had to go through all this in the first place. On a working day. On Friday the Thirteenth.

At least I did complete the last requirement for my general assistance application to the County and that should be coming through shortly. The additional money will help pay for some badly needed medications and other necessities I can’t get any other way without begging from friends.