Sorry its been so much time since my last post. My computer is on the fritz and only lets me on the internet when its conveinent for itself... Funny how its never when i would like to get on!
So I promised I would tell the story of my disease, and will do so in the next few posts. I am in the process of trying to get some help with my medical bills by applying for Medicaid. If any of you have ever done this you know there are literally booklets and booklets of paperwork to fill out. They ask a million questions on my "current" activities, how and what my days are filled with, can I cook or clean, and so forth. At the end of all those questions they gave me 3 little lines to tell them anything else that I felt was important about my disease. Needless to say, 3 little lines wouldnt do me any justice, so during one of my sleepless nights I wrote Medicaid a letter telling them "a little about my disease"... The story they didnt see and remains hidden to the average person.
It goes like this....
When i walked into the Department of Human Services (DHS) office last Thursday to pick up the medicaid paperwork, the lady at the counter was rather rude to me. Because I looked pretty normal she probably assumed I was another case of accidental pregnancy or a highschool dropout looking to the state for some "free hand-me-outs". What this lady didnt see was the fact that I pushed myself to shower and look halfway presentable, serach out the directions to the DHS office - only to get lost and make it there five minutes before it closed -- just to get this application. She also didnt spend that evening with me as i exhaustingly filled out the booklet so i could be prepared to return for a walk-in interview the next morning.
Friday morning I returned to the DHS office, paperwork in hand, and was greeted by a different lady at the window, who was very nice and gave me my instructions to wait for the next available case worker. I didtn have to wait long before they called my name and the woman that took my case was very kind and efficient. However, i guarantee both of thse women could see no physical problem with me. Nor did they know that i fought myself trying to shower and get ready because i had to wake up 3 hours ealier than usual - a concept my sleeping pill, Ambien, doesnt grasp. They also didnt know that this was a good day for me - one where the aches and pains didnt plague me as bad. Nor did they see me the rest of the day as i lounged around the house because my energy level was shot just from doing this one task that day. I suppose my point is that if you see me out of the house, its only because im having a descent day and chances are i havent been out for long and im probably headed home soon. Looks can be pretty deceiving...
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