Trudging Through the Mud

Pretty flowers.

I know I said I wasn't going to talk about those forms again - at least, I think that's what I said. If that was what I said, apparently, I lied. Again. (For those keeping score, Ha! Good luck!)

With that disclaimer out of the way, here's today's update... So, I made copies of the forms and have been working on them all week. I filled out these copies as best I could, in pencil, scratching off words here and there, rearranging sentences to try and form something semi-coherent, while also attempting to at least give the illusion that I might know what I was talking about. These copies are my dress rehearsal. 

While I've made it most of the way through the fifteen pages, there were a few questions I couldn't answer. I met with Sam's aforementioned caseworker and as I aforementioned, these forms were indeed all new to her. Luckily, the outfit she works for has a resident SSI expert that she said she could get in touch with "for clarification" (her words) and hopefully, "for enlightenment" (my words). This meeting was on Wednesday. 

Today, Friday, the caseworker got a response and relayed it to me. While it was helpful on a couple of the questions. It opened another potential can of worms. And I hate cans of worms.

My question was whether or not SSI might ask (i.e.: "demand") that Sam have another neuropsychological evaluation. It's been four years since his last one, which would make that particular evaluation the most recent of three, possibly four of them (it's hard to keep it all straight). 

It makes no sense to me that SSI might want another one. After all, none of the evaluations contradicted anything on the previous ones. Rather, each one built on the one before, offering more clarity.

In all the years, nothing has changed (drastically) in Sam's core issues. Nothing has changed (drastically) in Sam's core behaviors. He is, like pretty much most of us, who he is. Testing Sam further would be like testing me to see if I was still color blind (I am). It would make no sense - which is why it bothers me. Very little of this ever makes sense.

Anyway, I asked the question about the prospect of yet another neuropsychological evaluation, and this, in part, was the response...

"I would advise his family to request a BPQY or a benefits planning query. That will tell you the dates of physicals. And yes fill it out if it applies to when he was disabled and collecting."

Physicals? Who's talking about physicals? And what's this about filling out something else - something that I was, apparently, insane enough to request? Not to mention the, "when he was disabled". What are you talking about? He's always been disabled. 

The explanation went on from there but it did the opposite of clarify anything for me. To quote one of my long ago former employees, "I'm confused".

Reading and rereading this response, I found my mind wandering back to an old job supervisor I briefly knew. This would have been about twenty-five years ago. His name, as best as I can recall, was Don. Don and I were working together on the same job. For me, it was my first job at my "new, old work" (as opposed to my "old, old work").  For Don, it was his last job at however long he had been working for the company he was then working for. 

After this particular job was finished, Don would be finished too -permanently. It would be retirement for him - if the job didn't kill him first. He hated that job. Maybe he hated all of the jobs he ever worked on - but this was the only one I ever worked on with him. 

I'm guessing Don was around seventy at the time, though he looked closer to a hundred and thirty. He spent most of his day trudging slowly back and forth through the late winter mud,heading from his job trailer into the job site - and back again - all the while hunched over, puffing on a cigarette which was permanently balanced on his lower lip - always with a half inch of ash arcing down from the tip. And always muttering to himself, saying, "I hate that f'***in' guy" over and over again.

This was Don's mantra. (The "f***in' guy",  as I quickly found out, was the impossible to please owner of the project.)

Inside Don's job trailer, Don had a sign pinned up. The sign had been enlarged and printed out on one of those old fax machines - the kind that over-pixelated everything, making it look like a bad photograph of a bad cave painting.

I once made a comment about the sign and Don thoughtfully ran off a copy for me. 

While I long ago learned that the sign, at least in terms of the words, was not original to Don, I often think of it, and I think of Don. It read...

We have not succeeded in answering all your questions.

The answers we have found only serve to raise a whole new set of questions.

In some ways we feel we are as confused as ever,

but we believe we are confused on a higher level and about more important things.

It's been over twenty-five years since I worked with Don. But from time to time, there are days when I'm reminded of him. I picture him hunched over, trudging back and forth endlessly through the late winter mud, grumbling under his breath the entire time - but still going. Still fighting.

 

And I think of his sign. 

 

Today was one of those days.