WIC Made DHS Seem Like the CK

The Celestial Kingdom, that is.

I thought I had hit rock bottom last Thursday at DHS, but my appointment with WIC today proved one can go even lower than insane nightmares may suggest.

It all started with an intake worker requesting proof of my pregnancy...........................? "What would constitute proof," I finally asked after a very long pause and a puzzled look on my face failed to extract a response from her. "We usually need an ultrasound.....................but I guess I can go off of a visual confirmation."

If Oakland County WIC is hell than the dietitian known as Lorna is Satan. She noted in Hip's chart that he "has a diet issue" and "is at risk to be overweight." She noted in my chart that I am irresponsibly "anemic." These notations were made after she severely rebuked me over those issues in addition to thoroughly lecturing me about breast feeding, proper portion size while gesturing her head toward Hip every couple of minutes, proper consumption of fiber, and not allowing Hip to consume unpasteurized cheese (we like feta in our house, and unfortunately admitted to it).

While she lectured me Hip opened and slammed shut the metal cupboards over and over and over and over, he refused to play with any of the assorted toys or books I brought, he refused to play with the one toy provided in the exam room, he refused to sit in my lap, he screamed and yelled, he demanded, "Mommy, look at me" while climbing up into the window sills and then onto the desk, he pushed the "emergency" button calling the police to the room, he fooled around with Lorna's computer and mouse and papers, he tried to escape the room and when he failed he hit me. And yelled that he was "hungry" and he begged for "candy" or "a treat" every 45 seconds until Lorna said haughtily, "You shouldn't ask a dietitian for those things." He earned 3 time outs in the longest 20 minutes of my life. In response to what I think is pretty typical two-year old behavior after having waited through nearly a two hour process and a finger prick iron test, Lorna became agitated with Hip. Lorna made it VERY clear she was more than annoyed and did not try to hide her thoughts of severe judgement of us.

Then she offered me a nurse to come to our home. "For what purpose?" I asked with genuine interest. "To help you and your family," she answered vaguely. "I don't see a real reason why that would be helpful to my family but thank you for offering," I replied still trying. "Well, we have to offer it to everyone, you know the government makes it free," she said snidely making me suspect she hates everyone she meets in her job and that she may be the next Unabomber. She could have stopped there and I would have already felt stripped of all of my dignity and pride but then she added almost as an afterthought, "And you seem high functioning enough."

I've never been stabbed before but I imagine the emotions are similar to what I felt as this comment cascaded upon my consciousness. "High functioning enough" is code for, "it's evident you are not mentally retarded" and I know this because this is a P.C. phrase I use when writing up mental health assessments to be read only by other mental health professionals. I WOULD NEVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THIS TO THE HUMAN BEING AS IT IS PATRONIZING, JUDGMENTAL, AND CRUEL. And "enough" made me feel as if I barely passed. My pride told me to throw my credentials in her face and evidence that though Hip may be porky he is intellectually brilliant, but my common sense told me to shut the hell up.

So I blinked back tears of rage? of humiliation? I really don't know what to call that feeling. I do know two things: I felt more pathetic than I've ever felt before and I felt more compassion for the poor and under-privileged than ever (and I have a lot of compassion for the poor and under-privileged).

The wounds to my pride may never heal but at least Hip and I will share 7 gallons of milk and 72 oz. of dry cereal per month. L cannot eat any of it, they made me sign.

Sweet Nectar On A Bed of Heavenly Clouds

We have a set of neighbors from Minnesota. Her accent is so charming I strike up conversation just to hear it soothe my worries away. He is a final year Ophthalmology resident and is going to make her and their two children very rich in approximately 9 months.

Last night, while they are still poor, the neighborhood piled into 7-11 for 'buy one get one free' slurpees. While slurping down our treats in the front yard the soon-to-be Ophthalmologist admitted he had never had a slurpee before saying, "What's in this? Sweet nectar on a bed of heavenly clouds?"

"That's exactly what it is," all of us laughed and felt better that we were poor.

***

In other news, there's some sort of hold up on our food stamps that may require another DHS visit. I'll take a slurpee with me.

***

Stay posted for some awesome videos of Hip.

I Survived DHS

Barely.

After I was denied an appointment time and was told to stand in line with the rest of the government assistance applicants in Oakland County, MI I knew I should arrive early and plan to be there for a really long time.

I arrived and entered a large and spacious room, welcomed by a large security booth manned by a middle aged overweight woman with greasy hair and similarly ill-fitting blue slacks to FSA workers. Later it occurred to me that security would be most important in a place like this.

I thought I was lucky, being the 15th in line (there was no one in the "Appointments" line, hmmm). As I moved forward slowly through this line a large waiting room to my right came into view with approximately 125 seats. Half were occupied which stunted my feelings of luck.

I could feel my chest caving in and my airway feeling slightly restricted until the gentleman two people ahead of me turned to the elderly and disabled lady directly in front of me and offered to hold her place in line so she could sit down during this leg of the wait. I was thoroughly touched and encouraged her that I would also make sure she could have her place in line when it was her turn to be "NEXT!" The man then recognized that I am pregnant and offered to do the same for me. I thanked him for his kindness and said that it appeared we would be sitting for quite some time in bit and that I would like to stand while possible. He chuckled his agreement and we continued to wait in line. I felt a renewed hope in humanity.

Twenty minutes later, after turning in my 15 page application, I made my way to the back row of the nearly windowless and very stuffy waiting room. There I took up residence for the next three (3) hours. I read some of my book but was constantly distracted by the other waiting applicants:

Is that a girl or a guy is the game I played about the person sitting three chairs to my left. I am still undecided.

There was the various immigrants that I would attempt to guess where they came from.

There was a young teenaged male with his very obese mother who was acting more obnoxious than the 15 or so toddlers combined. It made me feel right at home and I affectionately thought of interventions I would use as his therapist.

There were many mothers with infants, which broke my heart until I remembered that I was there as an applicant too, 32 weeks pregnant. There was the mother whose 7 month-old boy was one of the cutest babies I've ever seen. He was spitting and she was getting annoyed with him but I didn't have the guts to inform her that he is developmentally appropriate and the spitting is his first attempts at language. I imagined if I would have said that to her she would have said back to me, "If you know so much about child development why don't you get a job?" something that was said to me in a slightly different way later.

There was the elderly. I cried, later, over those waiting applicants.

There was the disabled. I felt guilty over those waiting applicants.

Then there was "TRAMP." Don't think I'm being rude. She's the one who inked this into her skin on her lower back and then wore a belly shirt, low-rise jeans, and a g-string to DHS and sat two rows ahead of me. She must be a very literal person I concluded. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, is a very hung over person. This couple, knowing little about anyone else except their race, approximate age, gender (at least in most cases), and socio-economic situation, were the only two people who made me angry. Their behavior was acceptable enough (security, remember) but seriously, get off drugs (if you think I'm judging, I can sniff an addict out of a crowd with 97% accuracy) before you apply for government assistance.

There was the seeming gang-banger who vigilantly picked up anyone's dropped things and handed them back to their rightful owners.

There was the hippy girl with the longest hair I've ever seen on a person.

The lady with a neon red weave who was impatient with her 10 year-old son (I can't imagine having to wait there at age 10 for that long) who was behaving very well by my observations.

The girl in the black and white striped mini dress that looked like Pink, if Pink was down on her luck.

The dude wearing long sleeves. He must be acclimated, I figured.

And there was me. I felt glad I didn't dress up, and certainly glad I slept a little later rather than do my makeup. I was a little dismayed I didn't wear my pajamas, they would have been more comfortable and apparently totally acceptable. At one point in time, to calm another onset of panic, I told myself that this was an anthropological opportunity. Maybe an hour later I rebuked myself. I am no better/different than the folks there. Just because I have had opportunities/privilege(s) to better myself and a family that raised to to make good choices makes me lucky, not better. I then imagined how God would view this room of people and though I came up with little I did understand He would not be seeing it as anthropology.

My name was finally called.

I "approach[ed] the intake door" as commanded over the loud speaker. A. Connely, my new caseworker, came to greet me. She was nicer than I thought. When she asked for clarification on my education I sheepishly told her I hold a Masters of Social Work. The irony was thick and the elephant in the room was impossible to ignore. "Are you looking for work," she questioned probably nicer than most would have. "I am a bit discouraged by that because you see I am 32 weeks pregnant." She nodded and I was uncertain if she understood my point of view. She asked for every official document that I have ever acquired, which I handed over quickly (I am a professional and even though I am "unemployed and NOT seeking work", I am able to be prepared). She ended by saying that she would get back to me about whether I get any aid--via mail. She also said I do not qualify for the child-care subsidy because I am not working. "Of course," I laughed, "I will take care of the kids when I don't have a job. I checked that box to apply in case I get a job." She said seriously, "Call me when you get a job." I asked her for a card and she said The State doesn't have money for cards. I sure hope they have money for my food stamps...

And then it was over. I broke out of there into fresh air. I hope I will NEVER have to return.

***

L is stripping a vintage bed we bought Hip at a garage sale and texted me, while I was waiting, that he would rather wait than strip the bed. I told him to not challenge hell on earth, and at this point in time he would be considered, by DHS, a dead-beat. I think he's lucky DHS didn't make him establish paternity...at least yet.

Our Street and House

I'll get some indoor shots in a few days when we have more things put away.

MI Or Bust

On the road. At a rest stop in Nebraska (see all of that corn...1000 miles of it)

Here's me 30 weeks pregnant and wearing the outfit I've been wearing for now 7 days straight.

Here's a sampling of the Hobo Spider that bit L. Did I mention I found one walking around in my hair the night before we left Utah? That was a fitful night of sleep.

I'm posting excerpts from a couple of emails as an update instead of thinking of new ideas--too exhausted to think:

We made it, the people (and the cat) are all alive but a few of our belongings were destroyed in the journey. The cat had a panic attack during the first leg of the journey but calmed down when she was moved to the cab of the moving truck. There she stayed the next 72 hours and apparently loved every minute of it. She has settled into Michigan like she owns the place.

I endured the journey well, considering being massively pregnant. Henry did too, he would "earn" opportunities to ride with Luke in the moving truck and so he stayed motivated to be a good boy. Since we've been here a few days he has started to struggle--the sleep deprivation has caught up to him and the reality that this is our new home, and not some vacation, has started to settle in. He has asked to "go home" a few times which breaks my heart. He has regressed in potty training just as I thought he would, but it's nothing a few weeks won't fix.

The weather here is super humid which makes us super sweaty. There are noisy bugs called cicadas that buzz all day long, sounding sort of like electricity. Our house is old (yet remodeled) and small but we think we will like it. Our bed would not fit into the house not matter what was tried, and so that will need to be sold.

The neighbors are very friendly. In fact, they are by far the most friendly group in a neighborhood I have ever lived in. We've been provided for, at least offers have extended, each night for dinner in addition to being helped to move in, our lawn mowed, invitations to various community events, and gifts of tomatoes and jalepenos. Our street is lined with tall/mature maple trees which is a very nice change to the nearly treeless Utah neighborhoods. It's also quiet, we love that.

My dad, who drove me and Henry, saved the day on more than one occasion. He kept things on-track (because we need help in that department in any scenario) and helped problem solve any issue that has arisen. He is currently visiting a cousin in Ohio and so I hope he has a lot of fun to compensate for all of the work he has done and all of the aid he has given us.

The garbage company is unionized and so they are old school trucks with the guys holding onto the back and throwing the garbage into the truck! Apparently we committed the cardinal sin of not sorting our recycling adequately enough sending the recycle-throwing-guy into a rage in which he chucked our bins across our lawn. If it wasn't so funny and if I didn't think he needed a job so badly I would have complained. I appreciated the comic relief that day. Our neighbor saw the rage too and came over to tell us what they've learned about sorting recycling. Next week we'll do better.

We are still working on getting government assistance, which is no easy task. Henry and I do have Medicaid now and I have a referral for a women's clinic from a neighbor who just gave birth 2 months ago. Cross your fingers they take Medicaid.

Luke's arm is doing really good, from as far as we can tell. He's supposed to get it checked out again but being insurance-less has prevented that so far. He still has several more days with the PICC line which is annoying but certainly not a problem anymore. All of his symptoms have subsided and we think that as long as the wound continues to heal he will be back to normal. He says he is doing really well with the move and continues to feel really excited about his future. For that I am glad because this should be a time of accomplishment and development for him.

I am trying to maintain a positive attitude because on the outside looking in, it appears things are going very well. And they are. But I am having a hard time adjusting to my new reality which seems all turned around from my old one. I am pretty lost here and very nervous about traveling on the freeways--which are CRAZY--or getting lost, because you DO NOT want to get lost in Detroit, MI if you know what I mean.

***

Michigan is fine so far, the humidity is something new and a force to be reckoned with. My street has an assortment of wildlife: rabbits, squirrels, rats, and large squawking insects. The neighborhood is VERY friendly; I'm so un-friendly that I am experiencing serious culture shock about it. Although it is pleasant to have neighbors who are interested in chit-chatting over fences even if they are chit-chatting about things I have no clue about and often find myself nodding stupidly. Prices are more expensive here, except gasoline, which is frustrating in light of the very poor economic climate. Michiganders have that northern midwestern accent which I find charming though I hope to avoid it myself. I like the diversity I have seen here so far--a lot of cultures represented and I look forward to meeting people across these cultures.

Tonight, as things happen around these parts, the neighbors were hanging out in our front lawn and a family I haven't met before came over. They have an 11 year-old girl. She was very interested in my pregnancy and was bragging that she was born 9 lbs 2 oz. After I was duly impressed I asked her if her brothers or sisters were also big. She said, "Oh, I only have one brother and no, he was not big...my mom was supposed to be seduced the day after he was born but obviously she didn't need to be seduced." I giggled, politely, until she was distracted and I have been laughing to myself since. Awesome. Another neighbor told me that same girl came over to their house a few days ago to announce that her mother has consented to her beginning to babysit. "She said that once the kid is off the teet then I can babysit them." This 11 year-old girl is going to be my best friend I think.

***

We traveled through Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, and Indiana to get to Michigan. There was a lot of corn and there is not much else to say about the drive or those states, from our perspective on the interstate.

No more DRAMA 2010!

This theme had not worked out very well for us this year. Definitely not at all this last week. My good luck this month and last has been no were in site. In-fact non-existent! You all heard about my Camaro blowing up, and some little punk kid taking a dump and throwing pudding in my car.

Well, this week it became real personnel. Last Tuesday I woke up for my last day of work as an RN at the U of U. I was proudly of to CRNA school. When I woke up my arm hurt. I saw there was a red lump and a small white head. Figured, an ingrown hair. Maybe a small spider bit me. So I pulled the hair and popped the white head and threw on some bacitracin. I was on my way to my last day

That "bite" or whatever it was, was festering all day. By night it was really bugging me. I should all the RN's that I worked with. They thought the same as me "not a big deal". Right! The next morning it was the size of a silver dollar. So like any nurse I marked to make sure the swelling was not getting bigger. By mid-after noon the redness and swelling was the size of a dollar and by evening it was half way up my arm.

Just a little side note. The whole day we were out doing errands and Myndi my caring loving wife kept telling me what a wuss I was. But in more exuberant words. She kept telling me how she has had so many spider bites blah blah blah.

I work in the Burn Trauma ICU. I see a lot of bad things happen from this sort of thing. I was starting to freak out. So I decided to seek medical attention. I told Myndi that I needed to go to the U. She then thought I was stupid for needing to go there.

I decided to go there to see one of the MD's that I work with on the burn unit. He is an amazing DR. Just a little gruff. When I told him that I think it was a spider his comment was "Its always the spider. Spiders just don't go around bitting people. But, I do think you need antibiotics. Come see the burn on Friday".

ER pictures Wednesday night

Friday morning I woke up and went to the Outpatient burn clinic. Dr C saw this and said "you need IV antibiotics". I said what? A PICC (this is a tube that goes from the outside of your arm and sits right above your heart)? She said Yes. I then began to tell her that I am moving to MI in 2 days. Luckily the U has an awesome outpatient program and since I am an RN I am my own home health. (Need to call my insurance to see if I can get reimbursed for saving them money).

Friday morning pictures with my picc

Friday night.

Today is Sunday. The day we are supposed to leave for MI. Well, here is what happened instead.

So tomorrow I am going back to the Burn to see if I am good to go.

I would like to say that M has been amazing. With a gimp husband and 30 wks prego she has managed to pack most of the things we own.