I was kind of hesitating to go this avenue, but what the heck. A friend of mine suggested I try the Salvation Army for help. Besides, it's the holiday season and long ago I spent one afternoon as a bell ringer. And, to use the corny worn-out phrase that all parents use at one time or another, that was up north in the cold outdoors in a blinding snowstorm ... yep, it really was.
So I called the local office, but the whole conversation lasted less than 45 seconds. I barely got past stating my name and a brief overview of my situation, and the man (he did not even give his name) asked me if I was pregnant or if I had children under 18. Uhm dude, those questions do not usually pop up after at least the third date! I answered no to both of course and he said that they could not help me then.
He then told me to go to Department of Social Services and surely I could get help and health care there. Nope I said, same deal: they only give life preservers to pregnant women and children, everyone else is left to swim, or sink with the boat. Of course I did not put it that way. But now I am starting to understand why pregnancy is so appealing to some.
In A Nutshell
- In A Nutshell
- Despite being diagnosed with Fibromyalgia about a decade ago, I was able to work and lead a "normal" life, until I became severely ill with MS type symptoms one month after being laid off in June 2009, which meant no health insurance to properly address the problem. I spent 3 days in the hospital but since they initially did not want to keep me (one doc said I may have MS, but was overruled), I did not qualify for the financial aid for hospital bills because they did not think I belonged there. I was misdiagnosed with Labyrintits and sent on my way. I was told it would go away in a few weeks, that was 3 years ago and I have had the symptoms of dizziness, balance problems, vertigo, and pain every day since then. I went to a local free health clinic until they told me they exhausted all their options and could not help me any longer. I cannot drive nor work outside the home and only walk briefly with the aid of a cane, but also can't get disability because I have no real diagnosis for these particular symptoms. These are the chronicles of my (so far) dead-end journey riddled with bodies of good intentions.