One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

For the past week or two I've been hooked on Teen Mom. After watching a few of the episodes during random channel surfing, I watched Season 2 in its entirety on Comcast. Then I had to watch Season 1 of 16 and Pregnant, which is essentially Season 1 of Teen Mom, and now I am watching the real Season 1. Now when I yell at my roommate's cat Pixie I now feel like I sound like Amber, and when I state "No one helps me," I feel just like Farrah. But, let's back up a bit.

In a way I was a Teen Mom. My sister was born when I was thirteen, and I was mostly responsible for raising her during her first four years. Just like some of the girls on the show I had a non-traditional home life where I had to take care of myself. I wasn't encouraged or able to go off to 4-year college but instead find my own way in the world with bits of help from my family. When I left my sister at seventeen, I was filled with guilt at what felt like abandonment. I was her safe haven and I had no safe haven of my own, but instead greatly took what my extended family could give me and charged forward to make my own life. So when Farrah cries, "No one helps me" with her baby on her lap, and when Amber cries because her cheap car breaks down leaving her no way to get to GED classes, I completely sympathize. When they make breakthroughs against all odds, I cheer with understanding. (Though, to be honest, I don't have much understanding for Amber. See why here.)

Lately I've been going through a period of remission. Two years ago I had one that lasted six months, and I have no idea how long this one will last. Last week as I took out the trash, it suddenly occurred to me that I am probably well enough to work as a uniform attendant at the Space Needle -- a job I did seven years ago before going off to college (at the non-traditional age of 26). Before, the thought of work overwhelmed me, but with my bout of wellness it seems completely manageable, confirming my roommate's suspicion that my strong work ethic would return as soon as I had a strong body. With the trash taken out, I sat down at my computer, opened the Space Needle webpage, and saw to my surprise that there was indeed an opening for 10 hours a week. I sent in my resume and cover letter and got a call the next morning. Friday I had an interview, and today I got a call that I got the job.

I'd checked with my disability lawyers before applying, but I didn't check with the Department of Social and Health Services. Incidentally, because of that little bit of work, my cash and medical benefits will terminate at the end of this month. No matter that "uniform attendant" is the only job my body can handle and that it can't do more than the 10 hours a week. Instead I am being punished for not sitting home all day even though I can't be out full time. When I discovered this, and when I was also told that I'd be losing benefits anyway because of some sort mid-review failing, I got off the phone, chocked in my tears, and channeled Farrah by calling my lawyers. I then called my aunt and my public health counselor. A lawyer skilled in working the DSHS system will be calling me today, and my counselor, who has ever and increasingly been my rock, will send a letter stating that I need my medical benefits to last at least another six months.

Living as a single woman in these economic times is not easy, and living as a disabled one is even worse. Worse still is living as a single disabled woman without a correct diagnosis. Aside from the results of my sleep study which I'll get next week, all avenues geared toward finding out what's wrong with me have been exhausted. Either my remission will turn out to be a complete healing, or my counselor and lawyer will have to stress my need for benefits based on "psychological incompetency" and anxiety, even though the counselor -- and I -- are convinced that the anxiety is secondary to a real medical condition that hasn't been discovered yet. I'm fine with this, especially because I walk through the Seattle city streets and ride the city bus with a smile on my face, knowing that I am once again a productive member of society.

Next up on "Dating with a Disability" is a dentist with a fetish and Valentine's Day speed dating. Stay tuned!