Suffice to say, I was spending a good portion of my paycheck on weekly or bi-weekly doctor visits. At that time, I took home about $330 every two weeks--about $5.00 an hour for a 40-hour week. I took every overtime possible. A doctor's appointment was $40.00 plus prescriptions, shots, and extra procedures. The doctor had me on a different antibiotic every week. The pain just got worse and worse. Pretty much I was working, worrying, and sleeping the rest of the week. It was a drag and I was uninsured. There was then, just as now, no credit at the doctor's office: I paid cash on the barrelhead.
This went on for months, until I passed out in the storeroom of the 7-11 on my way to use the head. I woke up with a lump on my forehead and the floor exhaust from the back-room freezer blowing on my skin. That was some scorching hot air in a very hot room, but I was shivering cold under the draft and all the sweat. Never fainted in my life before. Never have again.
I dragged my butt up and finished the shift. And I determined to get a second medical opinion. This doctor was a specialist. When I showed up with my empty pill bottles, and he saw the number of things already tried, he admitted me to the hospital the next day for surgery. Did I say I had no insurance? I was three weeks short of the entry for insurance at my employer.
After abdominal surgery, you are not allowed to lift anything heavier than five pounds for six weeks. I don't know if you've thought about this, but at 7-11 you lift things all the time. Milk crates. Beer cases. Shipments. This meant I could not work. Plus I had medical bills out the Whaz.
7-11 kicked in my insurance early, but that was months later. In the mean time, I had no idea they would be so good to me. I also had no income and I soon had no food. Every time I stood up I felt like the shit had been kicked out of me. Finally an older friend, at whose house I was eating dinner twice a week (but no more, to save my pride you see) advised me to go get Public Assistance. It took her a week to convince me. Finally she said, "I'd a hell of a lot rather have you getting my tax money than some deadbeat."
That partially bolstered my sore pride, and I went down. I qualified for Food Stamps, people! Unbelievable. The Social Worker was a nice lady. She said I was able to get $45.00 worth of food stamps, but they wouldn't ship for 30 days. Unless I said it was an emergency.
Okay, I said (kick me now) "No, no, it's not an emergency. I just need a little help."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes, yes, thank you. Not an emergency." I could not wait to get out of there.
If I had been more amenable to public assistance, I would have survived a little better in the short-term, don't you think? Or perhaps it was just denial, even at that stage of the situation. I can tell you that not eating has a way of prolonging your weakness and slowing your recovery.
As it was, I nearly became homeless. In six weeks I returned to work, still feeling like crap but medically cleared. When those food stamps came in, I was sure I was rich. I made a list and bought $45.00 worth of staple groceries which I then kept under the bed, in case of future emergencies. There was a beer box with flour, sugar, dried beans and macaroni, all carefully sealed up with wax paper and Scotch tape. I forget what else: I think canned goods and oil. But you talk about a near thing. Perhaps at that stage, I should have returned the Stamps. But no, I spent them. I was too afraid that I might get stuck again. Starvation was no longer an abstract idea.
To deal with temporary situations is as much work as constant ones for Social Services, maybe more. For one thing, the administration can't forecast its workload very well. And yet what we are wishing for is a system for self-help people getting assistance for acute situations. To get public assistance where we want it to be, it must encourage that "get up and get with it" that fortunately I had--and that S.S. reinforced by giving me a "temporary need" status.
In the previous post, I showed (faintly) how public assistance diminishes the capacity of those who use it. In this post, I show (faintly) how NOT having it can diminish capacity for individuals in society. I don't think I'm a representative case. But I do think I have had experiences that illustrate some part of the dilemma.
At this point, I remind you that I was single, childless, and had a correctable illness. For many, it would not be a one-time slump or confluence of situations. How can we afford to pay for twelve new S.S. hearings a year, for monthly food stamps, on a family perennially down on their luck? If we saw this family twelve times a year, what opportunity for training and counseling would we have? Budget counseling, for one. Reinforcing good behaviors. Yet it's cheaper (up to a point) and less government just to send the damn checks in the mail or (nowadays) credit the food stamp PlastiCard by computer.
But it's worth a thought when trying to divine a new solution. How many more S.S. personnel would we need? Do we want to pay for that instead--and unfortunately--in addition, at least for awhile?
The system is broken. For sure. But what will we do to change it? I offer my tiny examples as a starting point for new ideas. Otherwise, I would never tell you that once I accepted public assistance.
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