Today's Extended Update

I should mention that I FINALLY received the long delayed letter from SSI, confirming the conclusion of Sam's medical reevaluation. (You can go back and look at previous posts if you want to see what I'm talking about. I'm too burned out to go back and link to them.)

What's surprising to me, aside from having to wait five months to get a copy of this letter, is how completely uninformative it is. Other than some fairly standard SSI boilerplate language, it tells me almost nothing.

Near the end of the months-long struggle to find out Sam's status in this excruciatingly long process, I had finally managed to talk to his caseworker at (the other) DDS (she being the one who let me know that the reevaluation had been completed months prior - apparently by her). She's the one that said I should have received this letter directly from SSI months earlier and that I needed to call them for a copy.

But one of the things she also said was that she reclassified Sam. As I understand it (and I don't understand it very well), SSI has (at least) three general tiers, for some reason called "diaries". These tiers are based on the severity of one's disability and their prognosis. These tiers dictate, among other things, the frequency of these medical reevaluations.

Not that you need to know (but I'm going to tell you anyway), the three tiers are: Medical Improvement Expected (MIE), Medical Improvement Possible (MIP), and Medial Improvement Not Expected (MINE). 

MIE looks to be for so-called short term disabilities; issues that might be resolved through surgery and the like, where there is an expected recovery in the not too distant future (though at least a year away, since, again as I understand it, you have to be disabled for at least a year before you can qualify for any assistance). MIE cases have the most frequent medical reevaluations - at least once a year.

MIP is similar but longer term. This includes, among other things, certain types of mental illnesses and, for some reason which she bothered to tell me, it also includes Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Under an MIP classification, medical reevaluations generally happen about every three years.

And then there's MINE. This covers, among other things, autism. Medical reevaluations under this classification happen about every seven years.

All of these tiers can have reevaluations more frequently, but that, apparently, is the general outline.

When Sam was originally approved for assistance, he was classified under "Medial Improvement Expected". This was long before I had any awareness of the various tiers. But even back then, I knew enough to question how they could expect any improvement. Unfortunately, I could never get an answer beyond a terse, "We don't make those decisions in this office." End of discussion.

Now, even though you won't find it anywhere in this letter, according to Ms. Other DDS, she has reclassified Sam under the MINE tier - which is both a little bit heartbreaking and, for better or worse, pretty accurate. But the thing is, I wouldn't even know about it had I not talked with her.

Anyway, I realize this is way more than you need to know but, rest assured, I probably have most of it wrong and have therefore wasted not only my time, but yours, as well.

Oh, and P.S... If you're ever unfortunate enough to have to deal with these things, don't confuse medical reevaluations with re-determinations. That's a whole different thing. Sam and I have already been through that - three times, so far. 

I won't bore you with those details - at least, not yet. We've all had enough for one day.

Today's Brief Comment

Warm wishes for Ben C. and his family.

In the Dark

Sam and I are still trying to coordinate our before-dinner walks with these new, non-daylight savings, non-daylight afternoon hours. So far, it's going less than great.

The other evening, we decided to go for a walk on our rail-yard route. Assuming we don't get dissuaded by the stench from the nearby sewage treatment plant, this route consists of starting our walk at the rail-yard (hence, the name "rail-yard route"), following the bike path through the woods, crossing the Bridge of Death, going through some more woods, walking past an old mill-type building (which may or may not be housing illegal activities), down a side-street, up to the canal and then walking along the canal until we've reached a total one-way trip of about two miles (which one of us has decided is "our limit"). 

This, we have easily done (relatively speaking) in the long ago (as in, last week), still-daylight savings hours. In these new, non-daylight savings hours? Well, let's just say our preparation needs refining. Or at least, flashlights.

Here's a picture taken at the point of our turnaround...

Kind of pretty, right?

Here's another photo, this one taken about five hundred yards into the walk back...

Not much different, right? Right. (Actually, I only included it because I kind of like the picture.) 

Now, here's one taken at about the halfway point, approaching the aforementioned, once-upon-a-time-it-was-legit-but-probably-isn't-anymore "mill"... 

Kind of pretty in a let's-get-the-hell-out-of-here-before-someone-clubs-us-over-the-head kind of way. Note, as we did, the darkening sky.

Now, here's one taken about, maybe ten minutes later...

What you're looking at is the view as we approach the Bridge of Death. If you think crossing this bridge in broad daylight is fun (it isn't), try crossing it in the dark (FYI: even less fun).

At this point, we're about three quarters of a mile from the train-yard which means three quarters of a mile from the safety of our car.

But, obviously, we made it back, both of us pledging to bring flashlights the next time (which, if we hold true to form, we'll forget).

Wild Life

 

Sam and I came upon this deer while we were on our walk at the far side of the canal. This guy ended up walking along with us, always staying about fifteen feet away and keeping a few steps ahead of us. As we walked, he would occasionally stop and eat some of the brush growing along a chain-link fence. Sam and I would stop and watch.

We let him have his space and he let us have ours and each of us seemed to be fine with this arrangement. And though he was in no hurry, it dawned on me that maybe it was best to encourage him to walk further along, down to where there was an opening in the fence that led to the woods. 

On our walk down, Sam and I had passed some fishermen standing about ten feet from their car, their trunk open and filled with all sorts of sportsman-like stuff. I don't know if any of that sportsman-like stuff included a rifle, but I knew it was hunting season and I knew that seeing these guys shooting at the deer would definitely ruin our walk.

Needless to say, this was a possibility I didn't bother to share with Sam. Instead, I, like usual, (barely) played it cool.

We calmly walked along, getting closer to the deer with each step, gradually herding him towards the opening in the fence. Thankfully, the deer took the not-so-subtle hint, found the opening, and disappeared into the woods - where, we like to think, he's currently living a long, full life. 

Sam and I continued on, passing the fisherman on our way back to our car - Sam, happy that he saw a new friend, and I, happy that his new friend didn't end up strapped to the hood of their car.

My Treat

 

Last Saturday was Halloween and for some reason, I neglected to take a single picture (the one above is from 2019) - which is too bad because, for the first time ever, Sam went Trick-or-Treating with a friend. 

I can't tell you how happy this made me - not only because it made Sam happy ("It's a lot more fun with a friend"), but also because, when moments like this come along, I find myself thinking back to not-all-that-many-years-ago, when Sam didn't even like leaving the house. 

And I think about all the intervening years, each moment filled with coaching and encouraging and making it safe for him to be who he is - and to be proud of it. And I think about all the microscopic baby steps, each one feeling like a milestone, to get to where he is.

And I'm glad he has a friend.