My sympathies, Penny! A few years ago my neighbour had to have work done on her chimneys. Because of the odd shape of the backs of our houses, the scaffolding tower went up exactly where the workmen could look down through my skylight straight at me sitting on the loo! And they were there for about two weeks!
Friendly chat this morning when I returned her DVD. Window sorting was absolutely vital, and it was absolutely clear the thought of my room just had not entered her head. I didn't enlighten her, and had my afternoon nap on a camp bed in my study. I may, some time in the future, mention the matter.
Not sure whether to consign myself or them to Hell, and desperately missing the old banging-my-head-against-a-wall smiley. i checked my email to discover an invitation from my host congregation. Apparently money has been pouring in to the church to help with pandemic needs, and while a few people have been helped, they are sitting on a GOD-DAMNED SURPLUS. Which I mean literally, how is it that they have not shoveled this money back out the door as fast as shovels can fly? What idiot is not aware that there are people everywhere hungry, sick, in danger of eviction, in danger of utility cut-off, facing funeral costs, facing medical costs, facing childcare challenges as both parents are medical, and so on and so forth and WHAT THE FUCK why do they even still HAVE this money, for which they have issued me with an invitation to join a fucking GIVING CIRCLE and decide how it is to be spent. Along with putting in more of my own, fuck no, I'm giving already and damned if I'm going to tell you or anybody outside the family not the Lord exactly what my left hand and my right are doing, we're warned about that, aren't we? Not to mention being expected to VOTE on how to disburse this enlarged pool of funds, and the first ideas given are lamer than a lame thing that is unable to perambulate. Like, sending thank you notes to teachers and health workers, or ordering FUCKING TAKEOUT from a local restaurant. TRY BUYING OR SUPPORTING THE MANUFACTURE OF FUCKING PPE, PEOPLE! Or paying medical bills, or... oh yeah, i did that already. Anyway, I'm hitting the wine. Enough for one night.
OH Lamb Chopped I feel your pain. However if you could drag yourself to that
Giving Circle it might indeed help at least some of the money go where it is truly needed. For it appears the current caretakers truly do not have a clue what is happening in the real world. I had a similar problem when we had a forrest fire that just about wiped out a large part of our town. The good people in charge decided the best thing to do was to use the donated money to buy gift cards only good at a large chain grocery store. Never mind the nearest one in our area was a 60 round trip, and there were plenty of local stores near by struggling to survive.
No great help to you @Penny S , but that's where being very deaf and wearing hearing aids comes into its own. It does sound like the work isn't going to take too long so I'd just go with it.
All over, and scaffolding gone. It was the surprise in the first place, and that the work was almost as if it was on my own window, that close. Curtains wouldn't really have dealt with it. These are very big windows, over a square metre. I think it would be quite different with smaller ones.
No great help to you @Penny S , but that's where being very deaf and wearing hearing aids comes into its own. It does sound like the work isn't going to take too long so I'd just go with it.
Sometimes I get frustrated by not being deaf enough.
I have given in, signed myself off work for two days, and given myself wholly over to the clutches of the doctors--every one of which is bound and determined to get that mammogram, physical therapy appointment, ounce of blood, pound of flesh, whatever, out of me NOW because they've been so sorely deprived of me during the lockdown. It's the glaucoma doc for me tomorrow, before the boob squisher. Grrrrrrrr, what a lovely week I'm having.
But I came here to CTH the lovely, lovely disability people, who have just forced me to fill out a 14 page questionnaire on behalf of a young man who is mentally retarded (forgive me, I'm not up on the latest proper term) and incapable of dressing himself unaided, let alone answering the things they wanted to know--because "you did not supply us with enough proof of your disability last time," don't ya know, in spite of the fact that Medicaid took you on with no hesitations--and so we need to know if you can make change. Or pee on your own. Or brush your teeth. Because surely if we look hard enough there will be a job that's pantingly eager to have you in it, in spite of the fact that someone else has to adjust your shower temp for you, every single fucking time. And act inappropriately in public. And so on, and so forth.
There's another one of these fuckers just waiting for me to fill it out tomorrow. Because of course they have sent out additional, equally-long and detailed questionnaires to his loving friends and neighbors, just in case they may have caught him doing calculus on the sly. Or some similarly salable skill, like working a microwave (heh, not likely).
And since both I and my husband are listed as acquaintances on the form the young man himself is supposedly filling out (not that he can read or write, let alone comprehending what the questions are about, but never mind), I can expect to get yet a third fucking questionnaire asking the same things in the mail. And if they aren't convinced this time, they may force him to visit a doctor for further evaluation, as they warn us in the cover letter.
{{{{{{{LC, young man, everyone else involved}}}}}}}
Gaaaa! I have a hard enough time filling out those things about *myself*. I don't envy you. If I may ask, is this a renewal or his initial application?
Gov't services tend to assume you're lying, unless you can convince them otherwise--or prove that enough doctors and lawyers and such believe you that it's in the gov't's own best interest to approve you. Especially with disability claims.
You probably have far more experience with this than I do; but you might see if any of Nolo's legal self-help articles and books might help. I've found various ones helpful, in the past. Sometimes, Legal Aid can help, too. If they can't solve the problem directly, sometimes they can open a door for you to talk to whomever, or even pressure whomever over the phone and make them cry. Literally.
It's an initial application, and to be fair, it's one of the chores I signed on for when we became missionaries among the Vietnamese community here in St. Louis. I am the paperwork fairy (much to my dismay) and I wave my magic wand (when I'm not inserting it up various orifices) in order to make necessary social supports appear. I have a beef with God for putting me in this role, as I loathe and despise paperwork, and never for a moment envisioned it as my major contribution to what we're doing here. Gaaaaah.
I expect he will be approved, after suitable amounts of paperwork are wrung out of this stone. And no doubt we'll have it all to do again a year from now. Which is why I'm keeping copies--I've learned, over the years!
On the off chance that he is NOT approved, I dive into my "time to file the appeal" arsenal, which generally gets the mess turned around for another year--at the cost of another several hours' worth of paperwork.
If THAT doesn't work, I resort to making a Major Stink, either by running it up governmental channels or by involving local media, or both. Usually the threat is sufficient. I pull out my doctorate and beat them about the head (odd how impressed they are by a PhD in English--not that they ever stop to ask my subject, heehee) and write stiff letters in Victorian phrasing, copied to suitably scary major figures in officialdom.
Who knew bitchiness could be an asset as a missionary?
A force of ... something. (smells brimstone) Ah, I'd better be off to my cozy bed. Before someone comes by with a pitchfork and chases me into it. Night, all!
One of my distant relatives has been caught up in something similar, LC. He keeps being called back to see if a disability he has had for over 50 years has improved. And they keep finding things he can do; and extrapolating. For example, his left hand / arm are paralysed, but he can use his right hand. So they suggested shelf stacking. And, indeed, he could, if provided with appropriate seating, shelf stack the third shelf from the ground. But he can't shelf stalk upright because when he's moving he uses his right hand to hold his walking stick. On another occasion they suggested he could get a job as a cold caller, despite the fact that his speech is slightly slurred and a small amount of patience is required to understand him. Apparently they thought that people are generally kind, and that random members of the public interrupted by a cold call would be prepared to listen carefully and answer politely.
LT - honestly you sound like a knightess in shining armour. Were I in a tight corner I can't think of anyone I'd prefer to help me fight my way out. I think you are just brilliant.
North East Quine. Good grief! How insane. That is absolutely awful.
On a much less awful scale, TICTH the omnipresent DUST.
Whether it's the dry weather, the East Wind (still!), or the fact that the Ark's coal-fired range is still going, I dunno - but every flat surface is covered in the stuff.
No matter how often I wipe it away with a damp cloth, 30 seconds later it's back again...
Commiserations BF, we get the same from a combination of dried mud on the road and being on the main route for a quarry, hence bookshelves having doors. We dust once a week on a Saturday morning so we get 2 dust-free days: other than that, 10 minutes before guests arrive.
A large part of my job involves detailed reporting on exactly what a person can and can’t manage with a disability. This is nearly always in relation to care needs rather than benefits.
I’d rather be purely in the position of advocate, but I also have to be strict about the council’s criteria; budgets get tighter every year, and the local councils’ social care departments don’t get the outpourings of affection or politically expedient handouts that are sometimes offered to the NHS in times of crisis. I don’t begrudge the NHS anything, but there’s a hell of a lot of healthcare that is provided (on somewhat lower salaries) by council employees.
I would consign to heaven every single home carer in our team. They work unsocial hours, in ones and twos in people’s houses where they have nobody to advise them - just an unqualified coordinator on the end of a phone - and they deal with everything, and keep smiling, and genuinely care about the people as they hoist them and clean them and listen to their worries. I have some tough cases to deal with, but my work isn’t as relentlessly pressurized most of the time, and my pay is reasonable.
If you can track down the recent BBC Wales programme “Rhod Gilbert’s Work Experience” and find the episode about working as a home carer, it’s well worth watching. It was filmed shortly before Covid.
{{{ @Lamb Chopped }}} It's a rotten job, and the system stinks to the stars. Thank you for undertaking it, though, and saving the innocent from being devoured by the system.
A large part of my job involves detailed reporting on exactly what a person can and can’t manage with a disability. This is nearly always in relation to care needs rather than benefits.
I’d rather be purely in the position of advocate, but I also have to be strict about the council’s criteria; budgets get tighter every year, and the local councils’ social care departments don’t get the outpourings of affection or politically expedient handouts that are sometimes offered to the NHS in times of crisis. I don’t begrudge the NHS anything, but there’s a hell of a lot of healthcare that is provided (on somewhat lower salaries) by council employees.
I would consign to heaven every single home carer in our team. They work unsocial hours, in ones and twos in people’s houses where they have nobody to advise them - just an unqualified coordinator on the end of a phone - and they deal with everything, and keep smiling, and genuinely care about the people as they hoist them and clean them and listen to their worries. I have some tough cases to deal with, but my work isn’t as relentlessly pressurized most of the time, and my pay is reasonable.
If you can track down the recent BBC Wales programme “Rhod Gilbert’s Work Experience” and find the episode about working as a home carer, it’s well worth watching. It was filmed shortly before Covid.
I found the Rhod Gilbert very effecting... his constant puns sometimes get on my nerves, but this time they rather dried up after a while, and he was genuinely moved by his patients and what they went through. I recommend it too.
{{{ @Lamb Chopped }}} It's a rotten job, and the system stinks to the stars. Thank you for undertaking it, though, and saving the innocent from being devoured by the system.
Thank you! It's no credit to me, I'm called and can't do otherwise (grrrrr), but I'm so glad to be able to be rude about it on the Ship. It takes the edge off, and probably spares my family members, heh.
Lamb Chopped and all like her are heroes of the highest order in my book. It all seems so inhuman. Can we skip the paper work and just have a person to person sit down and talk though the needs with a person whose job description is to be kind and helpful to those struggling in life and do their very best to make their life better? No of course we can't. Having done a very wee bit of this for other person, I found that the fill in the blank, check the box paperwork did not fit the situation and there was to place to write in any explanation, and all of this was mailed to an unknown gate keeper who would be reading it and deciding what the outcome would be. I am sure that these gate keepers are often also struggling with the constraints put upon them by the broken system. Again blessings on Lamb Chopped and all who venture into this tangled web. I so wish we could assign our tax dollars to where and how we want them to be used.
I remember at a very stressed out time in my life having an assessor suggest I work at a call centre - brilliant, so no stress then? And having a hearing disability will make it so much easier,
Today ICTH the owner of a dog, which, I am led to believe, was allowed to chase a deer on to railings outside The Dowager's house (still unsold, as we await Probate) where it died, whether from its wounds or from shock, I know not.
And who then simply left it as it was, making no attempt to contact me through any of the neighbours who know how to reach me but leaving it for the poor cleaner to alert me.
And not coincidentally leaving me with a bill for probably the best part of £1,000 for removal and disinfection.
Mrs. S, struggling to contain her fury and disgust
I so wish we could assign our tax dollars to where and how we want them to be used.
Just to point out that this is why we have a tax system where the government gets to distribute the money rather than relying on people sending the money where they want: if left to our individual selves, I imagine that we would have a very well funded health system (hooray!) and a very poorly funded prison system (err...)
My previous printer.
After expending a goodly amount of money on a new one, more than I anticipated, and spending the morning initiating it, installing software and so on, while waiting for the addition of it to my upstairs computer, I gave it one last try with the maintenance program.
And Lo! After failing to respond to repeated cleanings yesterday, and using up practically all the new coloured cartridges, it has finally found it possible to print in heavy black as if there had been nothing wrong!
@The Intrepid Mrs S I was so sorry to read about that - what an horrible experience for you & your family (& of course for the deer....) That dog owner sounded horrendously irresponsible, in all respects.
@The Intrepid Mrs S I was so sorry to read about that - what an horrible experience for you & your family (& of course for the deer....) That dog owner sounded horrendously irresponsible, in all respects.
A reputable company is going in this morning to remove it - the poor creature obviously didn't see the black railings and charged straight though them, so it got halfway through them - so so sad.
Luckily the house is unocccupied, @caroline444 , so we weren't there to see it.
I need to apologise for bitching about the price - I wouldn't have done it for what Margery Allingham described as 'mink and millions'! and the grandchildren won't go to bed without their supper, because The dowager's estate can stand the cost. Sorry.
But there are so many places I could have spent it better...
Seems perfectly reasonable to me. Besides, you can't go on and on about what is probably the true basis of your distress without making us all lose our lunches. So by all means!
TICTH the creature - probably a fox or badger* - who got into our food-scraps bin last night and deposited its contents on the front lawn. The same thing happened to our neighbour's bin the other day - I wonder if the current reduction in traffic has emboldened the animals who allow us to share their habitat?
* In a general way, I think foxes and badgers are rather cute, but not when I have to clear up after them ...
I guess that with the closure of so many takeaways/fast-food joints etc., the amount of waste available to Wild Animiles must be very much less than it was a few months ago.
However, I can't say I miss the litter left by the wretched Humming Beans who casually strew their leftovers around the town (or, more specifically, the Church grounds... ).
Online adverts. I had noticed I was getting a lot of adverts for baby stuff - clothes, toys, "gifts" and I was puzzled. I'm way too old to be having a baby, I haven't bought anything for anyone else's baby and I couldn't figure out what sort of google algorithm made them think that I was in the "having a baby" age bracket.
Tonight, the penny dropped. Three adverts appeared - ridiculously expensive clothes, a "footprint" kit and a roll of paper calling itself a height chart costing £20.
"Weird" I thought "Even if I had a baby I wouldn't be buying any of this troc. This is the sort of stuff grandparents buy..."
Fuck.
The algorithm thinks I'm now in the "potential grandparent" category.
TICTH the infusion room and personnel at the World-Renowned Cancer Center I patronize. Part of it is known as the "Center for Advanced Medicine;" I call it the "Center for Advanced Waiting." And today was the worst ever.
I needed a blood transfusion, because my treatments were making me notably anemic. I'm not a fan of the infusion area (a little on the tired side; absurdly long waits for said infusions; a music channel of 80s pop hits plays constantly; no privacy; many of the nurses are pleasant, and many are decidedly not), which is in marked contrast to the one I used to patronize - but it's a pair of study drugs that are keeping me alive, and they have to be dispensed at CAW. I figured I could put up with in order to continue breathing.
I did ask if I could have the transfusion at my old place, but my oncologist is not on their list of docs. Like a fool, I forgot to call my internist, who is, and ask if he could put in the order. And I paid for it.
I was skedded for 8:30, and arrived a few minutes early. I had explained (cheerfully, sunnily) that my aides did their changing of the guard at noon, and that I need to be out of there by 11:30. I knew that a transfusion takes two hours, plus a few minutes to flush out my port. I thought that it should be doable.
The Bad Music was blaring. I got the snotty boss nurse I'd had on Monday (who made me late then, too) and a very friendly trainee. I got my bag o'blood at a few minutes before 10, as the trainee apologized. I called the agency to explain, and ask them to resked the afternoon aide for 1, just to be safe.
Then I looked at my nice black sweater, the left arm of which was suddenly streaked with reddish-brown stripes: The cleaning guy is now using undiluted bleach on everything - even the blood-pressure cuffs! - and allowing it all to air dry. The trainee was beside herself. Snotty Boss said, "Sorry," in a tone that said, "I don't give a shit." Things went downhill from there.
And they couldn't figure out why my blood pressure was suddenly through the roof...
Yes, both dismissive and inaccurate. That takes a certain kind of both arrogance and ignorance. I do hope they don't find out the hard way how wrong they are.
TICT a very gentle H the poor, undernourished, starving souls, currently causing traffic jams in the town centre whilst queuing for murderburglers McDonalds...
Comments
Giving Circle it might indeed help at least some of the money go where it is truly needed. For it appears the current caretakers truly do not have a clue what is happening in the real world. I had a similar problem when we had a forrest fire that just about wiped out a large part of our town. The good people in charge decided the best thing to do was to use the donated money to buy gift cards only good at a large chain grocery store. Never mind the nearest one in our area was a 60 round trip, and there were plenty of local stores near by struggling to survive.
At the risk of stating the bleedin' obvious, couldn't you just close your bedroom curtains?
Sometimes I get frustrated by not being deaf enough.
But I came here to CTH the lovely, lovely disability people, who have just forced me to fill out a 14 page questionnaire on behalf of a young man who is mentally retarded (forgive me, I'm not up on the latest proper term) and incapable of dressing himself unaided, let alone answering the things they wanted to know--because "you did not supply us with enough proof of your disability last time," don't ya know, in spite of the fact that Medicaid took you on with no hesitations--and so we need to know if you can make change. Or pee on your own. Or brush your teeth. Because surely if we look hard enough there will be a job that's pantingly eager to have you in it, in spite of the fact that someone else has to adjust your shower temp for you, every single fucking time. And act inappropriately in public. And so on, and so forth.
There's another one of these fuckers just waiting for me to fill it out tomorrow. Because of course they have sent out additional, equally-long and detailed questionnaires to his loving friends and neighbors, just in case they may have caught him doing calculus on the sly. Or some similarly salable skill, like working a microwave (heh, not likely).
And since both I and my husband are listed as acquaintances on the form the young man himself is supposedly filling out (not that he can read or write, let alone comprehending what the questions are about, but never mind), I can expect to get yet a third fucking questionnaire asking the same things in the mail. And if they aren't convinced this time, they may force him to visit a doctor for further evaluation, as they warn us in the cover letter.
Fuckity fuckity fuck.
Gaaaa! I have a hard enough time filling out those things about *myself*. I don't envy you. If I may ask, is this a renewal or his initial application?
Gov't services tend to assume you're lying, unless you can convince them otherwise--or prove that enough doctors and lawyers and such believe you that it's in the gov't's own best interest to approve you. Especially with disability claims.
You probably have far more experience with this than I do; but you might see if any of Nolo's legal self-help articles and books might help. I've found various ones helpful, in the past. Sometimes, Legal Aid can help, too. If they can't solve the problem directly, sometimes they can open a door for you to talk to whomever, or even pressure whomever over the phone and make them cry. Literally.
Good luck!
Good luck too with your medical appointments.
I expect he will be approved, after suitable amounts of paperwork are wrung out of this stone. And no doubt we'll have it all to do again a year from now. Which is why I'm keeping copies--I've learned, over the years!
On the off chance that he is NOT approved, I dive into my "time to file the appeal" arsenal, which generally gets the mess turned around for another year--at the cost of another several hours' worth of paperwork.
If THAT doesn't work, I resort to making a Major Stink, either by running it up governmental channels or by involving local media, or both. Usually the threat is sufficient. I pull out my doctorate and beat them about the head (odd how impressed they are by a PhD in English--not that they ever stop to ask my subject, heehee) and write stiff letters in Victorian phrasing, copied to suitably scary major figures in officialdom.
Who knew bitchiness could be an asset as a missionary?
North East Quine. Good grief! How insane. That is absolutely awful.
Whether it's the dry weather, the East Wind (still!), or the fact that the Ark's coal-fired range is still going, I dunno - but every flat surface is covered in the stuff.
No matter how often I wipe it away with a damp cloth, 30 seconds later it's back again...
I’d rather be purely in the position of advocate, but I also have to be strict about the council’s criteria; budgets get tighter every year, and the local councils’ social care departments don’t get the outpourings of affection or politically expedient handouts that are sometimes offered to the NHS in times of crisis. I don’t begrudge the NHS anything, but there’s a hell of a lot of healthcare that is provided (on somewhat lower salaries) by council employees.
I would consign to heaven every single home carer in our team. They work unsocial hours, in ones and twos in people’s houses where they have nobody to advise them - just an unqualified coordinator on the end of a phone - and they deal with everything, and keep smiling, and genuinely care about the people as they hoist them and clean them and listen to their worries. I have some tough cases to deal with, but my work isn’t as relentlessly pressurized most of the time, and my pay is reasonable.
If you can track down the recent BBC Wales programme “Rhod Gilbert’s Work Experience” and find the episode about working as a home carer, it’s well worth watching. It was filmed shortly before Covid.
I found the Rhod Gilbert very effecting... his constant puns sometimes get on my nerves, but this time they rather dried up after a while, and he was genuinely moved by his patients and what they went through. I recommend it too.
Thank you! It's no credit to me, I'm called and can't do otherwise (grrrrr), but I'm so glad to be able to be rude about it on the Ship. It takes the edge off, and probably spares my family members, heh.
And who then simply left it as it was, making no attempt to contact me through any of the neighbours who know how to reach me but leaving it for the poor cleaner to alert me.
And not coincidentally leaving me with a bill for probably the best part of £1,000 for removal and disinfection.
Mrs. S, struggling to contain her fury and disgust
Just to point out that this is why we have a tax system where the government gets to distribute the money rather than relying on people sending the money where they want: if left to our individual selves, I imagine that we would have a very well funded health system (hooray!) and a very poorly funded prison system (err...)
After expending a goodly amount of money on a new one, more than I anticipated, and spending the morning initiating it, installing software and so on, while waiting for the addition of it to my upstairs computer, I gave it one last try with the maintenance program.
And Lo! After failing to respond to repeated cleanings yesterday, and using up practically all the new coloured cartridges, it has finally found it possible to print in heavy black as if there had been nothing wrong!
A reputable company is going in this morning to remove it - the poor creature obviously didn't see the black railings and charged straight though them, so it got halfway through them - so so sad.
Luckily the house is unocccupied, @caroline444 , so we weren't there to see it.
Bill is £1080 inc. VAT
I am so sorry this happened.
AndI ll happily cth all daft owners of dogs
But there are so many places I could have spent it better...
It seemed to me that the tangent about words and phrases we don't like could probably fly in its own right, so I've split it into a thread in Heaven.
Thank you.
Piglet, AS host
Now, back to the toasting-forks ...
* In a general way, I think foxes and badgers are rather cute, but not when I have to clear up after them ...
However, I can't say I miss the litter left by the wretched Humming Beans who casually strew their leftovers around the town (or, more specifically, the Church grounds...
Tonight, the penny dropped. Three adverts appeared - ridiculously expensive clothes, a "footprint" kit and a roll of paper calling itself a height chart costing £20.
"Weird" I thought "Even if I had a baby I wouldn't be buying any of this troc. This is the sort of stuff grandparents buy..."
Fuck.
The algorithm thinks I'm now in the "potential grandparent" category.
I needed a blood transfusion, because my treatments were making me notably anemic. I'm not a fan of the infusion area (a little on the tired side; absurdly long waits for said infusions; a music channel of 80s pop hits plays constantly; no privacy; many of the nurses are pleasant, and many are decidedly not), which is in marked contrast to the one I used to patronize - but it's a pair of study drugs that are keeping me alive, and they have to be dispensed at CAW. I figured I could put up with in order to continue breathing.
I did ask if I could have the transfusion at my old place, but my oncologist is not on their list of docs. Like a fool, I forgot to call my internist, who is, and ask if he could put in the order. And I paid for it.
I was skedded for 8:30, and arrived a few minutes early. I had explained (cheerfully, sunnily) that my aides did their changing of the guard at noon, and that I need to be out of there by 11:30. I knew that a transfusion takes two hours, plus a few minutes to flush out my port. I thought that it should be doable.
The Bad Music was blaring. I got the snotty boss nurse I'd had on Monday (who made me late then, too) and a very friendly trainee. I got my bag o'blood at a few minutes before 10, as the trainee apologized. I called the agency to explain, and ask them to resked the afternoon aide for 1, just to be safe.
Then I looked at my nice black sweater, the left arm of which was suddenly streaked with reddish-brown stripes: The cleaning guy is now using undiluted bleach on everything - even the blood-pressure cuffs! - and allowing it all to air dry. The trainee was beside herself. Snotty Boss said, "Sorry," in a tone that said, "I don't give a shit." Things went downhill from there.
And they couldn't figure out why my blood pressure was suddenly through the roof...
"Only"?
(I'm pleased for the McD staff, though)