Bureaucracy Blues

Bureaucracy Blues
Dorcas Annette Walker

I finally got the official letter from the judge I had been waiting for six months. It was supposed to have arrived in six weeks. I carefully opened up the envelope knowing it contained either hope or despair. The words jumped out off the page at me. I had been denied disability. I tried to concentrate reading through three pages of explanation why I had been denied. Stunned I sat in my recliner as tears ran down my face. Almost four years have passed since I first applied. Anger at all the humiliation I have endured just to get to this point overwhelmed me. My faith in democracy and governmental fairness bottomed out.

It was a stressful step for me to finally acknowledge that my body wasn’t going to return to normalcy any time soon where I would be able to work. Every day I kept hoping, thinking that surely I’d be better the next day or the next week. But reality finally stared me the face. No matter how hard I struggle, most days I can’t get dressed or do simple household chores. My husband had to resign his pastorate due to my health and scramble around to find work for us to live on in our remote area of the Tennessee Mountains. As bills began piling up I realized I needed to see about getting medical coverage. Thus began my personal education with governmental bureaucracy.

I was informed at the local office in order to be eligible for any medical help I had to be single, pregnant, have under-age children at home, be a senior citizen, or declared disabled. I’ve been married almost thirty years so I wasn’t planning to divorce my husband. Being a grandmother with adult children I didn’t consider pregnancy an option either. And even though my body feels like I am in the senior citizen bracket my age doesn’t match so the only option left open for me was to apply for disability. I was sent several papers to fill out and had to send in proof that I existed, was an American citizen, and that I had no oil wells or off shore accounts in my name. I also signed several medical release forms and had my local doctor fill out a form saying that I was disabled. I was informed I’d hear back within thirty days. After six months I received a letter telling me that the state needed their doctor to evaluate me and was given a date and told if I didn’t show up I’d automatically be dropped. This involved traveling an hour away. I fervently prayed that I would have the strength to get dressed that day and popped extra pain pills as any traveling increases my pain.

Now I’m the kind of person who has spent my life hiding any signs of sickness or discomfort especially when I am out in public. As a minister’s wife I’ve learned to keep smiling no matter how I feel. To me it was embarrassing enough that I limped and had to concentrate to keep my balance. In a spirit of independence I had put away my walker. The state doctor told me (off the record) to put off having any surgery on my foot during my evaluation and I was informed I‘d hear back within thirty days. Three months later I received an official letter in the mail telling me that I had been denied. Even though it was obvious that I couldn’t do any hard manual labor they felt that I could do sedentary work.

I tried to figure out how I could work part time when I didn’t know from one day to the next if I was going to be able to get out of bed. I appealed and was told that my case was sent to Knoxville where it might be nine months until my case came up before a judge. Nine months later I found out that my case was still hung up as the court was two years behind on disability cases. After hearing from several sources that the only way to get a favorable decision was to have a lawyer represent me, I contacted our local lawyer’s office. An appointment was made to being paperwork. It was quite embarrassing to admit to our lawyer and staff how finically desperate we were. I had become an expert over the years at stretching our limited resources and hiding any signs of poverty. Even though they were kind and tactful, I still broke down under the stress of embarrassment wishing desperately that I could just forget about trying to get disability and be able to work.

I had been raised with the motto that hard work never hurt anybody and if a person didn’t work they shouldn’t eat never dreaming that I would get to the place where I would have to ask for government assistance. I always enjoyed the satisfaction of doing work whether it was physical or mental and living a very active lifestyle. Now suddenly I was struggling to accomplish basic things like get a shower, brush my teeth, or get dressed. My local doctor was frustrated as without any medical coverage I am quite limited in what medicine I could afford. I was already on a couple of low income pharmaceutical plans that sent me free medicine through the mail involving more paper work for my doctor and me, but am unable to have more specialized testing done. To add to my stress I was being bombarded with bills from the doctors I had already seen, lab work that had been done, and the local hospital where I had undergone testing. It didn’t alter the fact that I was working on trying to get the disability coverage that would pay my bills, they wanted their money now. I couldn’t blame them. We had always paid our bills on time and had good credit, but at this point we were barely surviving. Even so I started sending a small check to each creditor - money we could ill afford to spare and that wouldn’t get reimbursed. Despite faithful monthly payments, I began getting threatening letters through the mail. Then a couple of the accounts were turned over to credit agencies and evening and weekend phone calls. I quickly discovered that I couldn’t reason with these people. They flatly refused to believe that I couldn’t work and kept demanding payment, which only stressed me out and put me back into bed every time I talked with a creditor. My lawyer finally told me not to answer any more phone calls and tell them to contact him.

As another year went by I begin to wonder if the government hoped that I’d die before my case came up or I’d suddenly get better and be able to work so they wouldn’t have to bother with my case. After another year I received an official letter telling me that my court date had finally been set. It all seems like a bad memory to me now. I only remember that I was in a lot of pain from traveling, had to hold onto someone’s arm in order to walk, fought to stay awake to think, and couldn’t remember simple things that I should have known. Dana said that the police women, who searched me, told him that she hoped I’d get approved as I needed to be on disability. In other words I’d have been mortified if I had been in my right mind. My lawyer was convinced that I would be approved. The denial in my hand stated otherwise. The judge felt that there wasn’t enough medical evidence to support my claim of disability as my doctor failed to note the times I came to his office on a walker, when I had fallen at home, and the office visits of intense pain. The judge felt that if I was as bad as was claimed I’d be on more medication and would the doctor and specialists more often. Due to lack of medical evidence the judge ruled that there was no reason why I couldn’t do manual labor or work full time.

The irony of it all hit me. I am only able to get a shower every three days and dressed once a week, yet I am considered fit for fulltime work. My lawyer’s office called me to let me know that they are re-appealing my case. I was also informed that I can open up a new case and was encouraged to see my doctor more regularly. But why? What else can my local doctor do for me without medical coverage? And why keep running up medical bills considering I already have medical bills that my house is being threatened over. My husband is also angry at the system. Every day he drives people to the doctor and hospital, which are on disability, people who can get around without any problem. Some are known to be using the system having to shop around for a doctor to give them a prescription or find a drug store that will fill their prescription as they are black listed, yet they still remain on disability. Meanwhile I remain housebound rotating from my bed to the recliner. On good days I shuffle outside in my PJ’s hoping and praying that one day I will get back to normal where I can once again work. I try to remain focused on my blessings. Thinking about governmental bureaucracy only makes me blue.