Maybe I Shouldn't Say This. . .

But the posts that I think maybe I shouldn't post seem to be the ones that I get the most comments from. Sometimes, when getting ready to hit that publish button, I wonder if maybe I should not publish what I've written. But then I do it anyway, because I think that there may be others who can/will relate and maybe they will feel better knowing someone else is in the same ship o' fools (I have a place in the cargo hold on that ship). So here goes.

Why is the thought of suicide an almost constant companion for me? Now, before you all start calling the loony catcher and trying to get me EPC'ed, let me say RIGHT NOW that I have no intentions of acting on these feelings. Mainly because of my family. I don't want to hurt them, or leave that legacy to my nieces and nephews, but mostly because my little sister says she will put my dogs down and have me embalmed and sealed up air tight so my body will be around for decades. YUCK! I don't want my dogs put down because of my stupidity, but more than that, I do not want to be embalmed. The very thought of it makes my flesh crawl and my stomach sick. I want to be cremated. It seems natural and embalming seems the opposite of all things natural and pleasant. That is just me, and I respect every one's right to do as they please with their earthly remains. Being an earthly remain, I want to go back to the earth immediately. Not in four score and 7 years from now, not in a fortnight, not in half a fortnight. NOW! I don't think my carcass needs to be kept around and I know she would do it too. That keeps me far far away from any possible life ending things. I hope we are all clear on that. I don't want a bunch of touchy feely comments because they don't change how I feel about myself, even though they are sweet and give me warm fuzzies. Moving on.

Maybe it is this whole recent court thing. I got my "Unfavorable" decision already, no surprise there. Judge Moldy Twat decided that I could wait tables or go back to working as a sales rep in a department store. She pooh poohed my claims of pain because they are subjective and what do I know about my pain? Not a thing compared to her Most Honorable Rotten Crotch. So the process of appeals starts again. She did do me a favor by not dragging her saggy arse about getting her decision back to me, which probably strained her main butt plugged anus vein doing so, but I have to try and look on the bright side. The very thought of waiting 50 bajillion years for all the appeals to get moving makes me very tired and depressed. I'm going to file for SSI but I'm feeling so down about the whole thing that I would rather grab my little sister's 22 gauge and climb to the top of the court house, set my sights on a dried up old crotch yodeler and do it all for those of us who are taking it up the wazoo thanks to the SSA. My ex has a friend who's dad was dying of cancer and applied for SSDI to help out. When he got turned down, he went to the SSA and told them that he couldn't even wipe his own ass -- he was in a wheelchair -- let alone do the job they had come up with. He died 3 years after he initially applied and never got disability. Things like that fill me with so much hate and anger that it fires me up to beat the SSA and reminds me exactly why I won't bow out of this life and let them win.

I know my thoughts of suicide stem from my hideous depression, which is under control per Judge Old Moldy Crotch. I think my biggest mistake is not telling my shrinks, neurologist, neighborhood beggar, that I feel this way so much of the time. I hate admitting that sometimes I get so tired of having MS, that I would rather not have any life at all. I accept that I have MS. I cannot accept the limitations it imposes on me. I hate not having a say over my body. I hate being the way I am. My dragging leg, this damn fatigue that strictly limits my activities, the stupid hug that takes my breath away when it drags that hot knife down my body. The whole MS experience gets so old that I just want to be done with it some days. Other days, I have the strength to say, "F*ck it." In fact, most days I do have that strength, but I still have that nagging voice that is ready to pipe up at the first sign of weakness and tell me that I'm just a drain on my family and society, and maybe it is time to raise the white flag. As a sign of not having any intentions of doing anything to harm myself, I even keep razor blades in the house (they are great for scraping off hard water build up). I'm not going to cower in fear of what I may do and have nothing sharp in the house. I'm going to have the courage to realize that we all have options and I am opting to not act on any negative feelings I may have. I'm also opting to remember that my family would rather help me out and have me be here than save those few dollars and not have me here.

This is an ugly subject, but everyone has suicidal thoughts from time to time. Whether they are just a fleeting thought, or something that hangs out for awhile, they do surface. I don't like feeling this way. My family knows that I'm down, so I'm not allowed to be alone. I accept that I've made some bad decisions in the past and lost their trust, so I submit meekly to being babysat. If it keeps my dogs alive and me from being embalmed, it is worth it.

Y. Bother

I'm going to change my name to that. After my SSA hearing, I think it is rather fitting. I would have written about it sooner, but the whole thing left me in a deep blue funk that I am still trying to claw my way out of. The next time I EVER have to go to any kind of SSA bowlsheet, I'm going to yell everything I have to say into the toilet and flush it all down, because it will have the same effect (is that the right effect/affect? I'm not sure, but I am sure that I don't really care right now.). After all the crap I had to say, all the questions I answered for her royal highness, all the "experts" throwing it their 2 cents -- regardless of whether it is true or not -- at the end of it all, the judge asked the vocational expert what a person who can stand and walk for 6 hours could do for a job. Why did I bother to talk at all?! I should have just asked them to tell me what my problems are, if any. And could they please tell me what my limitations are, again, if any. Dearest Judge, could you please tell me how it feels to live in this body? Please explain my fatigue to me, my pain, and ignore my gimping walk. I am breathlessly awaiting your answer, because living with it is nothing to what you have to say about it all. I left the courtroom feeling like I was wearing a neck brace and someone knocked a book off a table, and I whipped my head around to check it out, like in a TV show.

Did you know that the day after you get turned down for Disability (SSDI), you can file for SSI? If you no longer have the work credits for Disability, as I do not because this whole farce has taken so long, you can apply for SSI, which is for the poor saps like myself that no longer can apply for their full disability because they haven't worked X amount of years out of the last so many. Nobody told me this! I just found out about it earlier this year, when I reapplied and the whole mess got rolled into one huge mess. So if you get turned down, reapply IMMEDIATELY before the whole appeals process starts, so they don't get mushed together. The trick is to make sure they are separate. I am now impatiently awaiting my unfavorable decision so I can apply for SSI before filing my appeals, because I AM going to file an appeal because I hate them all and am not going to just shrivel up into a little ball of manure and go away. I am looking forward to what they come up with as a job I can still do. Marathon runner? Acrobat? Contortionist? Please make it better than a grocery bagger. A little creativity would be deeply appreciated.

Ugh! Other than all that fun, not much else has been going on. Well, nothing worth writing about anyway. Except maybe how now that it is getting colder and we are keeping the windows closed, the dogs seem to be gassier. Or a great story of how Sugarbowl sharted at work the other day and we have been singing the diarrhea song to her, but she can laugh at herself so she agrees with the whole "pants full of foam" part. Or even how the medium sized dog jumped on me in the yard yesterday and ripped a huge hole in my pants, showing off my unshaven legs to anyone who happened to be looking. Yeah, like I said, nothing interesting. Now I must go and get ready for my job as a marathon runner. Smell ya later.

How Could I Have Forgotten?!

All my blogging nonsense and I forget the most important thing that is going on in my life right now! I hope you are all sitting down or near a soft place to faint on to, because this is quite shocking. My new disability hearing/court date thingy is this Friday. I was surprised that it was so quick and when I called my lawyer, she said she was surprised too, which made me feel a little special and like maybe the government finally got my memo that I'm not going to slink away and let this whole brouhaha blow over. I do enjoy a good brouhaha and the government, or Social Security to be more exact, has gotten my hackles up and made me ready to fight to the death, either mine or the SSA's. Preferably theirs even though I will take one for the team if need be, and hopefully that need won't be. My lawyer said that because it was remanded back, that put me at the front of the line for a hearing. Sorry to all you poor saps behind me, but I've paid my dues and waited in that line for 5.5 years. And that is one sh*tty line. One anger inducing line. A line that only makes you that more determined to win.

My little sister is going with me. 1. To drive. Even though it is only an hour away, I don't do longer-ish car rides well. Especially if I am driving. It makes my legs more stiff and jumpy, which means I will be doing Cricket Legs later that day. (Note To Self, figure out a way to make music when rubbing legs together. I'm sure everyone in this house/neighborhood would enjoy being serenaded by a gimp trying to start a fire by furiously rubbing her legs together.) 2. She is willing to testify if the judge allows it. This is good and bad. She could really help my case by telling what she knows about how I am. Bad because I'm not sure I want to hear it. I hope the judge will let me leave the courtroom if she does testify. I know what I am, but I am not quite dying to hear someone say it out loud. I'm also afraid it will make me feel worse about myself.

I realized that I didn't have any nicer clothes to wear to the hearing -- why would I need dress up clothes to sit around the house? -- so I went to Goodwill and got a pair of khakis for 99 cents. It pisses my little sister off that I can get so many 99 cent clothes because she has to look in the fat girl sizes and says that I get to shop in the skinny scrawny ass hole sizes while all the other fat girls race in before her to get all the good clothes in her size. In fact, it pisses Princess off too. I am only 5 lbs heavier than she is and am 4 inches taller than her. Everyone was hoping that my being laid up with this damn knee would make me gain weight, but something about pain makes one not want to ransack the kitchen. I thought I would gain weight too, but I have actually lost a few pounds. Princess is saving her money to hire a hit man to come break my knee caps and force feed me. The other day, while doing my laundry, I wore a pair of her jeans and when she came home and saw me, she started counting her pennies to see if she had enough to hire that hit man yet. If losing 5 pounds would make my arse as firm and dimple free as hers, I would start fasting now. She doesn't get that what the scale says means nothing. It's all about what you look like, and I do not look like someone who is only 5 pounds heavier than her. Oh to have the flat stomach of a 12 year old! If I had her hips, thighs and butt, I would wear the tightest, most show off-y clothes I could find at Goodwill. Then Sugarbowl and Princess would pool their pennies and I would be laid up with 2 bad knees. I probably still wouldn't get disability though.

Who'da Thunk It?

Wow. Talk about being able to be knocked over with a feather. The other day I got a letter from the SSA saying that my disability case was remanded back to them from the district court and I get a new hearing. I had to call my lawyer to make sure that what I was reading was what I was reading, because I couldn't believe it. What I was reading was what I was reading and I think I passed out from the shock for a few minutes there. (Good thing Acorn knew it was just a swoon, because I have a horrible fear of needing someone to call 911 for me while I still live in this town. There is this HUGE, fat, nasty guy on the volunteer fire department here and I DO NOT want him cutting off my clothes and giving me CPR. That is a fate worse than death. And for the record, he is a total jerk besides being HUGE, fat and nasty.)

I had spent a few nights with my sweaty (and hairy) palms clutching my blankets, worrying that I would get a letter telling me that the district court decided that the judge was right and I do need to go start bagging some groceries (http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/ill-bag-their-groceries.html). Then I would have to file another appeal and wait that much longer. Apparently the courts decided that it may not be the best idea in the history of forever for someone with a chronic, progressive neurological disease to be bagging up peoples' groceries. And who has baggers anymore anyway? I can't remember the last time anyone bagged my groceries for me, besides the people shopping with me and they don't count. And I mean the old fashioned kind of bagging where they take your groceries to your car for you and load it up, too. (I wonder if I would have made any tips doing that? Maybe a pity coin here and there...)

Now I'm spending my nights with my sweaty (and hairy) palms clutching my blankets dreaming of being able to afford being alive. Of not having to go bag groceries. Of having more than $4 to spend on myself each month. I may have $5 and won't I feel rich then!

Dear Blindbeard

Ready for another round of my Dear Blindbeard column? I sure am! Please send me anything you would like for me to answer/talk about etc. because I would hate to run out of material.


Dear Blindbeard,

Jen,
my wife turned me onto your blog because I have MS and I am about to "gird my loins" and go into battle with the semi-simians myself. The root of the term legal is the Latin word legare, which means choose. The body of law is merely a pile of choices we have made in order to live with each other. No judge's word is ever to be considered as final. Its merely his latest opinion. Take that fact to heart and know that no law is ever carved in the stone that seems to occupy the place in the chest where a heart should be. You just have to appeal to their sense of the ridiculousness of the situation. I mean its like the old joke about a soviet heart clinic at the top of a long, steep set of stairs. If you could make it up the stairs to see the doctor, you obviously didn't need his services. If the judge had to decide on the fate of a quadriplegic, would the judge find against the quadriplegic because that person couldn't appear before him in his courtroom, because the court can't accommodate the bed into the court. In my own case, I should have a great deal of, uh, fun because if he tells me to go out and get a job, I'll thank him very much for his offer and tell him that I'll be reporting for work in his chambers in the morning. I've had two years of looking and wherever I've had an interview, I lasted until I shuffled in on my cane and then the prospective employer's mind closed as thoroughly as the judge's. In this economy, you have to be able to dance to the employer's tune, regardless of how much dancing the job itself requires. Part if the problem is that America hates its own citizens. America has a system of health-don't-care, set up for the sake of political expediency by Richard M. Nixon, a clinical paranoiac, and Humana Insurance as a very profitable Ponzi scheme, and as such is the last remaining industrialized country not to have universal health care. (Notice I wrote industrialized, not civilized.) Now that profits are drying up, now that the pool of insured is shrinking as companies downsize and the millions of people moved off of the books, and now that that the insurance companies' draconian methods of denying benefits are getting harder to justify, the need of the citizens of this country for some kind of universal health care is becoming undeniable.

Charles-A. Rovira


Dear Beautiful Charles,

Wow! Where do I begin? There are several things I'd like to say about your letter:

First: My name is not Jen, or Jennifer, or Jenny Craig/Jones. I actually have the same name as a certain hurricane that devastated New Orleans and other parts (I had it first!). My mom volunteered with the Red Cross after that hurricane ripped through there, because she in an RN, to give medical care to people who could not get it in those conditions. She didn't want to tell anyone that she had a daughter with the same name because there was a lot of (justified) animosity towards that name, even though I am not a destructive force of nature.

Second: What a great job you did of summing up the whole legal system! I am awed and give my most heartfelt respect to someone so informed and with such a fabulous way with words to nail the whole situation, and I hope anyone else fighting "the man" will read this. Good luck with that endeavor!


Third: I just read an article that made me think of this letter and really got my hackles up. It was talking about fatigue and MS and they said that when Provigil became so popular, the company raised the price of Provigil to 3 times what the price originally was. I am glad that I don't take Provigil because that is so wrong on so many levels I can't even talk about it without dissolving into a mass of obscenities.

Thanks for the great letter and I hope a lot of people read this. It is an eye opening letter and should be required reading for anyone who is preparing to "gird their loins and go into battle."

Love, Blindbeard


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Dear Beautiful (?) Colon xR,

So far my colon seems to be pretty happy because I don't have any problems with it, but thanks for the kind offer. Maybe you should try someone who does have the problems you mentioned in your letter. Try hanging out in the fiber/hemorrhoid medicine aisles in Walmart or a drug store and see if you can't find some people with unhappy, unhealthy, unclean colons (isn't it the nature of a colon to be unclean?). Happy phishing!

Love, Blindbeard

Old Hat

In news that will shock no one, the SSA has denied my request for a review and upheld the judge's decision. *Yawn* It is so unshocking I was expecting it. The only good news is that it can sometimes take up to 2 years to get a denial, so I didn't expect to hear so soon, even though I knew what the answer was. I'm glad they turned me down so quickly so that I can move (on up?) to the next stage: a civil suit. Even though there were material errors the judge made, they still came up with some cockamamie reason why they were going to uphold it. A reason devoid of any logic or reason, but it only adds to my determination to fight it. What else do I have to do besides shake an impotent fist at the SSA and make lewd gestures at them? Not much. All this reminds me of a friend of my ex's whose father had terminal cancer and was trying to get SSI. The man was in a wheelchair, on oxygen, home bound, and had a nurse to care for him full time, yet he fought the SSA for 3 years about whether he was disabled or not. When he got his first denial he wheeled his happy butt down to the SSA and told them that he can't even wipe his own ass, yet he was supposed to be able to do _____?! I can't remember what it was they said he could do. He died before he could win SSI, which I'm sure the SSA breathed a huge sigh of relief that one had died before they had to pull out the dusty, cobweb covered, rarely used "FAVORABLE" rubber stamp. I think they have a posse of trained monkeys to stamp "DENIED" on every application that comes in, monkeys that they buy bananas for with the money they are not giving to the disabled so they can have some semblance of a life -- the disabled, not the monkeys. Maybe I could get a job as a trained monkey. As long as I get a long nap break and can pull out the "FAVORABLE" stamp, I'm game.

If you are thinking you may need SSI any time within the next bazillion years, start saving your pennies now and get on the ball. It is a long drawn out process that has taken me almost 4 years so far and I see no end in the near future. I really want to file a suit against the SSA, against the judge, against the while process. They do not see MS as a disabling disease regardless of the evidence in front of their ugly, brain damaged, stunted reasoning processes, infuriating faces. I hate the whole lot of them, even though I hide it really well. I have a whole army of doctors who have submitted an encyclopedia of evidence to show that I did not find a crackpot doctor who was willing to say whatever it takes to get me disability so I can sit on my butt and do nothing all day. My little sister's ex's sister (still with me? Her ex sister-in-law.) never worked, never wanted to have to work, wanted to sit around and not brush her teeth -- seriously, her teeth are (what are left of them anyway) are rotten butter slabs -- and get paid to do so. She found a doctor in her town willing to say that she had a mental disorder. I don't find terminal laziness to be disabling, but what do I know? First they tried the bi-polar angle but when that didn't pan out and she got denied they changed it to schizophrenia. I've known several schizophrenics in my life and she is not schizophrenic. She finally got disability after 3 years for a diagnosis that changed more than Princess changes her unmentionables. I've had 2 respected neurologists submit their opinions that I can't work, a damning file from a psychiatric hospital, an ugly summary of my mental issues from a psychiatric nurse, the findings of my therapist who has been in the business of shrinking for over 25 years, and even a report from one of the SSA agents themselves, yet none of that meant a thing.

I don't want to start to rail against those who get disability when I may not be able to discern why, because I also know there are people who would think that about me. But I don't give a hoot what others' think. If I thought I could get a job and support myself, I would do it. But I know that I have a legitimate claim and I am not about to drop the case. I have to stop before I disintegrate into negative words and impotent threats that could get me into trouble.

An Envelope Full Of Crazy

The other day, Friday to be exact, I got a letter from my lawyer with the copy of his letter to the Appeals Group Of Something Or Other For Wrong Judgements Made By Retarded Judges. It made me glad that I had a lawyer who knew so much legal stuff and could reference so many laws that *%&!# judge had not bothered to use in this case. It also contained information that the judge had not bothered to consider or decided to throw out, which it turns out was unlawful for him to do so (scurvy bastard!). It always interests me how others view me and I am always curious about what doctors write about me but don't want to tell me. And then I get an envelope full of the stuff they don't tell me and I realize why they don't want to tell me any of that stuff. I know I am a mal-adjusted, crazy person, but to see it in print?! Wow. I didn't realize:

A. That I am that mal-adjusted.

B. That my simple conversations with them could reveal so much about me. And

C. That they are so darn perceptive to pick up on the little nuances of my words and body language.

I had an exam by the SSA shortly after being diagnosed. I think I had only had one attack at that point -- but it was a major one. The findings of the examiner were rather astute. He opined that I would have major difficulties with adjustment to having MS and a high probability of "major depressive episodes" (they will always be nervous breakdowns to me) in the future -- he used a different term for the "major depressive episodes" but I can't remember what that term was; I just know that is what he was saying in fancy talk. This came a year before my suicide attempt and I am wondering how I acted that clued him in on all of this or if he had a crystal ball, it being so accurate (and, yes, that hurt to admit that about the SSA). The judge didn't take any of that into consideration when he found me to be not-insane-in-the-membrane, even though it came straight from the SSA's horse's mouth. Both my therapist and the woman I see for my psychotropic medicines, who is a highly respected mental health nurse practitioner, said the same thing without knowledge of anyone else's findings. My findings on finding out about this are disturbing, to say the least. Maybe I am more transparent then I thought because I am the poster child for mal-adjusted MSers. They predicted that I would have major problems with adjustment way before those problems started to manifest themselves. The psychiatric hospital that I spent 5 days of non-luxury in, diagnosed me as having a mood disorder and severe adjustment disorder. Severe? Really? I wanted to take issue with that but my little sister laughed and said they really nailed me with that one, so I had to accept it as truth as much as it irritated me and made me want to pull out my soap box and contest it on the nearest street corner. The psychiatric nurse also found me to be suffering from a severe mood disorder, secondary to MS of course. (Not sure exactly what a "mood disorder" is. I'll have to look that up later.) Among the other things that they said about me that I wanted to call BULLS*IT on, but my little sister agreed with 100% were: I have a very short attention span; short term memory problems (I can't remember what I was talking about 5 minutes ago and ask the same questions over and over again -- good song!); am easily distracted (my little sister says I will run off to chase something shiny before she can finish a sentence); will distract others with my lack of focus (if I was in the work place -- oh look! Something shiny!); have difficulties with change and do not adjust to said change well; and am at a high risk of further major de... de... can't remember the word right now. Decomposition? Deflation? Decompensation? Detraction? Detention? I don't know and I don't want to look at that letter again to find out. I know I'm crazy, but I really don't want to linger over my craziness in black and white. I find it de... de... demanding? Delicious? Detestable? Degrading?

I'm A Legend In My Spare Time

Yesterday I woke up with an idea that can only be chalked up to divine inspiration. Being a true child of the late 80s and early 90s (even though I can't stand cherry chap stick -- all medicines growing up were always cherry flavored) I loved In Living Color, especially Handi-Man. His catch-phrase of "never underestimate the powers of the handicapped" was rolling around in my head and giving me ideas that were too good to ignore. I also have a deep love for alter-egos and dressing up. I decided that it was time for me to embrace my inner superhero and become Handi-Girl. I have a cape that only needs to be attached to an acceptable shirt and I have commissioned my mom to make me a suitable skirt. There is no way I am going to wear spandex pants -- I gained too much weight from steroids to scare the women and children (or maybe I should say men) of this town! It has to be black because that is the most slimming (and I really need that!). I am working on a symbol for my shirt, one that is recognizable, respectable and can easily be ironed on (I have those things where you can make your own stuff to iron on to clothes).

I will be the defender of the gimps, a symbol of the injustice we suffer at the hands of the non-ataxia challenged. With my cane and reaching tool I will stop those who want to park in handicapped parking "real quick" when there are those who really need it. When we have to fight to get decent medical care I will be at the forefront to protest the injustice of "the rich stay healthy and the sick stay poor." When the SSA plays the how-long-can-we-drag-this-out game, I will be there fighting to have our voices heard and to help those who need help find the resources to continue the good fight. Handi-Girl is going to join the ranks of the MS advocates (at her local NMSS chapter, of course) to show that we will not take the SSA rewriting our disease and telling us how our disease is regardless of what respected neurologists say about it. She will not tolerate their unfounded beliefs that our symptoms are not disabling and will work to get better representation for those suffering from what the SSA deems "mild and not disabling" diseases. Even if she has to gimp her way to every political figure or become a lobbyist herself (which I have been considering) she will not let those in power ruin her brethren.

Be prepared to see me make an ass of myself (nothing new there) by going about in my Handi-Girl outfit. I have beautiful plans for what I will do in it, like go to MS walks, advocate in it, maybe even start to attend some MS support groups in it, go to rallies (and if there are none, start one), the opportunities are endless! I know I said this before, but it bears repeating: The SSA messed with the wrong crackpot! I am not going to crawl away quietly with my tail between my legs and the more they f*ck with me the more determined I become.

Plan B

*Author's Note: Wow. I have been in a foul mood the last few days and this blog shows it. I was interrupted while writing it, but am going to leave it as it is. We all have days where a black cloud hovers over our heads, and in the true Blindbeard spirit, I am going to post this and let the chips fall where they may. I have to admit that I rather enjoy those days from time to time. It feels good to be crabby once in awhile and vent the negativity the builds up in me. So without further ado, here is my blog.



Due to the fact that the employees of the SSA were all dropped on their heads as babies and forced to eat paint chips, I have had to come up with a back-up plan for when I can no longer afford to be alive -- and that day is looming. Besides my brilliant plan for filing a lawsuit against the SSA for ruining peoples' lives by dragging out the process and forcing people into poverty, I have come up with another way for me to survive. I pondered and pondered what I could do. I found out early on that I can get no public assistance (it was a dark day when I had to go see if I could get any help) because I have no children and the government has not declared me disabled yet. The requirements for public assistance, where I live, are that you need to fall below a certain income level, have kids and have been in this country for at least 90 days. I paid into the system for more than 15 years and I can get no help. Those who never paid into the system can squeeze out a kid, be here for at least 90 days and get money handed to them. Where is the justice in the "Justice System?!" But that is a different post; I want to talk about my Plan B, because it is inspired and pure genius!



I finally came up with the solution to my money problems. Where can a citizen of the good ol' U. S. of A. get the best medical care and decent representation? There are only 2 places that I know of, and I am considering both. First, is jail. I have been trying to think of an offense that would get me enough time in jail to get caught up on medical bills, while taking care of the ones I would need while in there, and get me a lawyer so I can have a voice. I do not want any violent crime or anything that would put me away for good, so this is a tough one. I would also need a tin cup because the whole time I am in there I intend to rattle the bars and loudly protest against the system that forced me to become a degenerate. I am enjoying the idea of sleeping all day, reading as much as I please, and b*tching so much they want to get rid of me. I want to stand before a judge and tell him/her exactly why I did what I did and offer no apologies. The biggest problem is what I could do to get there. I would appreciate any and all ideas for this. It cannot hurt another person in any way, yet still guarantee at least 30 days. My mom said they would take my tin cup from me, but I am prepared to take the fillings out of my teeth to fashion a new one if need be.



My second idea is going back to the psych ward. While in the psych ward I got a free MRI (to see if I had any lesions in the frontal lobes that could have caused my craziness), free meds (except Copaxone, they had never heard of it and couldn't order it quick enough for the short time I was there so I used my own from home) that they played around with the dosages of, and free bed and breakfast. I am not dying (HA! Get it?!) to go back there. They put me on Zyprexa (is that the correct word and spelling? I can't remember), which is an anti-psychotic med that increases unsteadiness and dizziness -- not the wisest choice for someone with MS. That only lasted 2 days because the neurologist came in (I chose a bad day to go crazy, right before the weekend so I was at the mercy of less-informed medical personal) and said that I was not psychotic, I was only suffering from a mood disorder secondary to MS. When they admitted me, they stripped me of EVERYTHING and made me enter the ward and do the admittance interview in a hospital gown; they even made me go in in a wheelchair, I was not even allowed to walk in by myself. They took my wedding band and my bra -- those are the two things that offend me the most. What am I going to do to myself with my wedding band? Scratch myself to death with the diamond? And my bra? Hang myself with it? Smother myself in the cups? Use it to start a ladder to escape their clutches? We were on the top floor of the hospital and only given one blanket; my bra could not have done much harm or made much of a ladder. And when I finally left, I was shackled and escorted by 2 sheriffs to my hearing in front of the mental health board. What did they think I was going to do, limp away from them? Go crazy and try to scratch them with my wedding band or strangle them with my bra? I do not want to go back, especially as I have a deep fear of them trying to keep me this time. I don't want to go back to the land of lukewarm showers and edible deodorant, which I was the only one who used, judging by the stench of my fellow crazies. You could eat the whole tube of toothpaste they gave you and the deodorant and maybe get indigestion. Maybe. The heat was way too hot for me so I draped myself over the furniture with little energy. I wanted a room to myself to keep cold, but no such luck. I shared with a woman with no top teeth -- which reminded me of a goat -- who was always cold and forever turning up the heat. She hated the group home she was in, so she drank bleach to get out of there. DRANK BLEACH! That blows my mind, and as much as she could get on my nerves by forever chattering, I had to give her my respect for being able to do such a thing. She was thrilled when her mom and boyfriend broke up because she wanted him to be her boyfriend so they could have another kid together. I just can't relate to that. It makes me sick, but she drank bleach so I let it go.

I'll Bag Their Groceries!

I got the decision from my disability hearing and they decided that I am perfectly capable of bagging groceries still. I wanted to write about this yesterday, but I was so furious that I would only have spewed out obscenities and would have been incapable of having any kind of reasonable response. Now don't get my wrong, I am still angry but I want to share this enlightening experience so others may benefit from it. My family was concerned that I would try to off myself, but there is no way I am going to let Social Security win. I do not feel that I am out of line asking for disability and if they think I am just going to give up the fight, they have gambled with the wrong gimpy crackpot! It only brings out the stubborn mule in me and makes me that much more determined. I have now girded my loins (a bygone phrase, but one that is too good to let die out) for a long bitter battle. Okay, enough of my battle cry, here are the highlights of the judge's decision:

My MS is mild and under control. Where have I been? I am so glad this judge told me this! I thought 5-6 attacks in the first year and having to do the steroids 4 times in 10 months might have been the opposite of mild. And what do my neurologists know? Even though my first neurologist is a highly respected doctor and one who SS has sent patients to for evaluation, they still know better than him. He wanted me to avoid any kind of stress due to the aggressiveness of my MS and said that he felt if we didn't get my MS under control I would probably enter the secondary progressive stage within 2-3 years. Also that fact that I never recover completely from my attacks worried him. Even on Tysabri I'm still having a, albeit more slowly, decline. It was also not considered that Tysabri is a last resort for treatment; that you have to fail or be unable to tolerate any other treatment to get Tysabri. But what are facts to the SSA?

A psychiatric nurse's records and opinions are not good enough. Even though my psych nurse was recommend to me by 2 different doctors, her records and diagnoses were inadmissible because she is not a doctor, so all that was thrown out. She can write prescriptions and is highly respected but her opinion is not good enough for the SSA, which leads me into the next one.

My depression was not considered because it did not fall into their strict criteria. Okay, I am going to be 100% honest here. I have had 2 major "depressive episodes" (they are not called "nervous breakdowns" anymore) but they were not considered because they have to last at least 2 weeks and of be of such severity that I am unable to function in even the most basic way, ie bathing, eating (which I didn't do for a week during my first nervous breakdown) etcetera. One must lose touch with reality and descend into the depths of believing their cucumbers look better in spandex than they do for the episode to be recognized. Even though I cut my wrists and had to spend 5 days in a psych hospital, it was not considered bad enough because I wasn't suicidal for at least 2 weeks. And because my psych nurse practitioner is not a doctor, all her records of my depression were thrown out and they only recognized that I cut my wrists once (heck, that is such a minor thing!) and that I take psych meds that they deemed to be working miracles for me. Good thing they let me know that! I thought fighting with depression and anxiety daily was pretty major, but I am just one little crackpot who doesn't know her own problems as well as the SSA.

I do not have a record of my functional capacity. Herein lies my biggest mistake. I never had anyone do that functional capacity test (is that what it is called? For some reason I can't remember right now.) where they test how long you can sit, stand, walk, kneel, crawl, how many times you can lift something, how much weight you can repetitively lift, how much repetitive motions you can do, and so on. I never wanted to do it because I knew it would wipe me out for the rest of the day and I hate that feeling. That is where I messed up. I now have on my very short list of things to do that stupid evaluation, that and finding a psych doctor to confirm what I already know about my mental instability.

Even though my future prospects are not good and at most I could only work a 6 hour day, per SSA, I can still bag groceries. In the report the judge concedes that my future prognosis is dim and my continued deterioration is highly probably, but I am still able to work 6 hour work days with accommodations and periods of rest. Wow. Where do I start with that one?! First, what employer would touch me? I am a limping liability. And would a grocery store would be willing to accommodate a 34 year old bagger that needs more rest breaks than her 16 year old co-workers? For some reason I don't think the offers would pour in. Second, how would I ever support myself doing that? Tysabri alone is over $50,000 a year (when the infusion center charges are added in) and then add my 9 other meds into the mix and I just don't see me making it.

I think one of my biggest mistakes was trying to downplay my MS and assuming that they would understand that when I said I have overwhelming fatigue, limited sensation on my right side, have lost visual acuity in both eyes, have optic neuritis in my left eye, pain in limbs, face (TN), and around my left eye that they didn't need me to spell out what that all added up to. The judge even says that I am a believable person and came across as credible, yet all my symptoms from my MS are not documented in the way that he would recognize them. Again, my BIGGEST mistake of not going through the ordeal of testing my abilities bit me in the behind. I would love to bag his groceries and replace his Preparation H with battery acid, his bottled water with douche bottles of Low Tide scent, his pimple cream with Vagisil... are you sensing a theme here? But I'm not bitter at all.

Status Report

Gimp's Log. Stardate, who knows? After attending a recent court hearing to determine whether or not I am able to work, I have been able to established that there are no intelligent life forms working for the Social Security Administration. Upon submitting my current status as a certified gimp and showing evidence that I am a deeply depressed/anxiety ridden/disturbed gimp, they still felt that I would be able to be a "bagger," of which I could not help but snigger at. These strange life forms felt that even though my right side is seriously impaired, I can't stand for very long, can't walk very far without support, cannot lift much weight if both hands are needed, and my vision is foggy and dim, I would still be able to bag their groceries. When shown that I would be unable to work even a month straight without calling in, they had to concede that maybe I would not be able to bag groceries. Due to the teleconferencing nature of this hearing, where both the judge and I were on TV screens, and with my short attention span, my focus wandered and I was more interested in the roundness of my face on TV. (Note to self: do not pursue a career in television.) Luckily for me the chairs were of an extremely hard and uncomfortable nature, which added to my leg cramps, overall stiffness and caused me to liss to the right side even more. If the chairs had been of the La-Z-Boy nature I would have been comfortable and looked better than I am. Adding up all the evidence I have been able to conclude that 60 to 90 days is a long time to wait to see what these... creatures final decision will be. As my observations showed limited practicality on their part, I can only hope for the best and not start looking for a job as a bagger -- especially as I am sure no employer wants a bundle of liability trying to bag groceries for their customers. This concludes my status report and unless proven otherwise I must stand by my original conclusion that the Social Security Administration only employes those that are shortsighted and always looking for a way to deny deny and hope they die.

Is Hitler Ice Skating?

In general I don't like to speculate where someone goes after they die, but I feel that Hitler is a sure bet. To my overwhelming shock/surprise/elation I am finally going to get my day in court to argue whether my disease is disabling or not. I go to court in 9 days, and I am as calm and relaxed as an iron bar. Due to the vast number of people filing for disability, I will be doing my court date via satellite with a judge in CA. I was reading about the average time it takes to get a court date, and I think it was somewhere around 550 days. I am over 800 right now. They said they are trying to get to the requests that have been pending the longest, which should have moved me up a little more, but what do I know? I was also reading about the whole disability process and some one who had worked for the claims department said it was all about, "deny deny and hope they die." While that makes me mad, I think there is a lot of truth to it. I went through the first 2 denials as quickly as possible because I just wanted to get to the point where I could get a lawyer and get this thing moving. I filed for a court hearing in March of '06, and am finally getting my day in court. I have been fighting disability for over 3 and a half years! (!!!!!) If you are not one of the few that has such a mild disease that it hardly, if ever, affects you, I would suggest filing for disability ASAP. It is such a llllllooooooonnnnnngggggg process that you will need to be able to wait and try to find a way to survive. I feel like it is waiting game, they want to see how tenacious you are and see who will give up first. But they are gambling with the wrong crackpot here. I know I have a legitimate claim and I am not going to just gimp away from this. Even the lady in the SSI office told me to not drop the ball on this. She said they would deny me and try to drag it out so that I would let it go, but not to give up because MS is a progressive neurological disease (I already knew this, but she was so kind and the advice was so welcome, especially coming from some one who worked for Social Security, that I thanked her as warmly as I could). So after this long and frustrating wait, it is finally nearing an end, and all I can think of is Hitler trying to find a partner so he can enter the pairs competition.

Side Note: One of the best parts of this whole crappy thing, is the jobs they come back with that you can still do. They told me that I was still able to work in retail. Never mind that my balance is off kilter, or that my right leg is numb and stiff so I limp, or that I can't walk very far without some kind of support, and my vision has "lost acuity," or that no employer would want me because I am a gimping liability, I can still do retail work. Whew! Glad they know more about my physical condition than my neurologist.

Darn The Government, Darn The Government, Thank You

One of my all time favorite Far Side cartoons, where the cow is doing poetry and talks about the lush green grass on the other side of the fence and he ends it with, "darn the electric fence, darn the electric fence, thank you." I am feeling that way now. I filed for disability almost 3 years ago and am still waiting for my day in court. I get so frustrated when I start thinking about it--almost to the point of rage. I know that I am not going to make a fortune off of it, I just want a little help with all these bills. A way to improve my life and give me some freedom. I hate being unable to help out in any way. I wish I could write a nasty letter to the government to crab about it but some how I don't think that would get me too far. I get so angry when I see people who got disability for lesser things than what I have and I start to really understand the meaning of "going postal." I know I probably should not bitch about not getting my free money, but daggonit, it is based off of what I earned in the past. I don't know how people without someone who makes decent money make it. I asked my lawyer about it and he said they aren't--they are slipping through the cracks. So I know I should be thankful that my husband makes a modest income that keeps our heads above water, but I hate this lack of financial freedom or the ability to help out even a tiny bit. Arg! I just had to bitch about this. I feel so hemmed in and trapped by not having my own money to spend and really want to say a bunch of negative things about the whole SSI system. But I have a feeling that most of us feel the same way so I don't think I need to give a laundry list of all the reasons I want to go throttle the people in charge of disability for being slower than a herd of salted slugs.