24.
.
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HIPPO FETUSES:
It’s weird, but there’s an apricot tree on the corner of my street that has been dropping the last of its’ fruit on the footpath. The apricots rot in such a way that, I kid you not, make them look like a Hippopotamus has come along and emptied its’ egg sacks of fetuses.
Yes, I know they don’t come from eggs (…right?) but seriously. It’s quite disturbing to walk past that every morning, knowing full well that it’s just rotting fruit, and yet seeing dead hippo babies everywhere… Cereal. What is one supposed to DO with that image everyday…
.
NEW MELROSE PLACE:
How come the new cast is all 12?? Except, of course, for the washed-up has- been former residents who must be, like, 50 now. And with whom the new residents are all banging. Please. As IF Ashley Simpson-Wentz would be rooting old old Thomas Calabro. Mind you, he’s actually lookin’ pretty good for his age. I’m not looking forward to haggard, alkie beast Heather Locklears’ eventual “grand” entrance. Why oh why didn’t she just stay on her desert island with Peter. Ha! I hope they don’t even try and explain that away. Like they did with Sydney’s death/resurrection/murder. See, that should have been Amanda. Having Sydney back permanently would have RULED.
Anywho…
.
FUN WITH WINZ AND THE HEALTH SYSTEM:
I really, REALLY wish I didn’t have to have anything to do with either of these evil, EVIL systems. I believe I will eventually be able to cut free from them forever, but in the meantime, reluctantly, unfortunately, I need them.
My latest round of paperwork hoop jumping has been a long, drawn out process, but I’m determined to see it through to it’s conclusion. As opposed to giving it up, which is exactly what they want me to do.
It began when my Invalids Benefit expired and I had to go to my (relatively new) doctor and get it renewed.
It’s weird, but there’s an apricot tree on the corner of my street that has been dropping the last of its’ fruit on the footpath. The apricots rot in such a way that, I kid you not, make them look like a Hippopotamus has come along and emptied its’ egg sacks of fetuses.
Yes, I know they don’t come from eggs (…right?) but seriously. It’s quite disturbing to walk past that every morning, knowing full well that it’s just rotting fruit, and yet seeing dead hippo babies everywhere… Cereal. What is one supposed to DO with that image everyday…
.
NEW MELROSE PLACE:
How come the new cast is all 12?? Except, of course, for the washed-up has- been former residents who must be, like, 50 now. And with whom the new residents are all banging. Please. As IF Ashley Simpson-Wentz would be rooting old old Thomas Calabro. Mind you, he’s actually lookin’ pretty good for his age. I’m not looking forward to haggard, alkie beast Heather Locklears’ eventual “grand” entrance. Why oh why didn’t she just stay on her desert island with Peter. Ha! I hope they don’t even try and explain that away. Like they did with Sydney’s death/resurrection/murder. See, that should have been Amanda. Having Sydney back permanently would have RULED.
Anywho…
.
FUN WITH WINZ AND THE HEALTH SYSTEM:
I really, REALLY wish I didn’t have to have anything to do with either of these evil, EVIL systems. I believe I will eventually be able to cut free from them forever, but in the meantime, reluctantly, unfortunately, I need them.
My latest round of paperwork hoop jumping has been a long, drawn out process, but I’m determined to see it through to it’s conclusion. As opposed to giving it up, which is exactly what they want me to do.
It began when my Invalids Benefit expired and I had to go to my (relatively new) doctor and get it renewed.
The difference between the Invalids and the Sickness is this:
The Sickness benefit is designed for temporary sickness, and also designed to get you OFF it as soon as that sickness is over by being so low that you can’t really exist on it and are forced to go back to work.
The Invalids benefit is designed for people who are blind, can’t walk, or have an incapacitating birth defect that is likely to last longer than two years, and is just enough to exist on without accumulating further debt just from existing. If you get my drift.
Is my spine fucked? Yes. Have I had it forever? Yes. Is it going anywhere? No. Can it be fixed? No.
It’s all fairly to simple to me, but that’s because I have the “luxury” of living in this body and understanding what it can and can’t do. But I understand that to the outside world? I look fine. I stand, I walk, I talk, why can’t I stand behind a counter all day, all carry shit all day, or sit in a chair all day HMMM?
Because you can’t see the crushed nerves, or the cracking neck vertebrae’s, or the tension headaches, or the feeling of gravity itself being a problem, that your shoulders actually feel like the weight on your shoulders, and the answer to that is More Morphine you say??? And THEN I’ll be able to function in the real world??? Good one.
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh… ANYway…
The Sickness benefit is designed for temporary sickness, and also designed to get you OFF it as soon as that sickness is over by being so low that you can’t really exist on it and are forced to go back to work.
The Invalids benefit is designed for people who are blind, can’t walk, or have an incapacitating birth defect that is likely to last longer than two years, and is just enough to exist on without accumulating further debt just from existing. If you get my drift.
Is my spine fucked? Yes. Have I had it forever? Yes. Is it going anywhere? No. Can it be fixed? No.
It’s all fairly to simple to me, but that’s because I have the “luxury” of living in this body and understanding what it can and can’t do. But I understand that to the outside world? I look fine. I stand, I walk, I talk, why can’t I stand behind a counter all day, all carry shit all day, or sit in a chair all day HMMM?
Because you can’t see the crushed nerves, or the cracking neck vertebrae’s, or the tension headaches, or the feeling of gravity itself being a problem, that your shoulders actually feel like the weight on your shoulders, and the answer to that is More Morphine you say??? And THEN I’ll be able to function in the real world??? Good one.
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh… ANYway…
.
As it turned out, the Carterton Medical Centre had recently come in for dinner at the restaurant I have a part time job at. When I asked my doctor for a renewal, he was surprised I was on it at all, and didn’t I work at the restaurant?
Having to explain my entire medical history with him, that the specialists have written me off as unfixable, that the pain clinic has talked a lot about help for me and followed through on nothing, that I only work part time hours during the quiet time of the day because my bosses are family friends and understand my position and very graciously give me those hours even though they should probably just close up instead, and that even those three hours a day leave me fucked, the doctor then signed off a form and gave it to Winz.
The form he signed said I probably wasn’t a candidate for the Invalids, but definitely for the Sickness.
What happens then is my pay is immediately reduced by $120 a week – over six grand a year. Not only that, I now have to go to the doctors and pay $40 every three months (maybe more, depending on what the doctor signs) so they can sign a form that says Yes, Scorpion’s back is still fucked.
So now, I am basically incoming less than my outgoings. Neat.
But you know, I’m not ungrateful. I’m glad to get something, and if I’m stuck on the sickness then so be it, but what frustrates me the most is the ignorant judgments about it, and, obviously, the stress of accumulating debt just by being alive isn’t great fun either, and oh, neat, stress actually inflames my back pain, hoorah! It also frustrates me that the whole system balances on the opinion of a doctor, which unfortunately has never been a consistent thing with me having moved up and down the country a bit, and differs from doctor to doctor anyway.
After that happened, I went to go back to my doctor only to learn he was away on holiday, sorry. Gee, nice for some. I decided to change doctors because a. the doctor simply wasn’t there, and b. the doctor I’d had wasn’t a great listener and his answer for everything was another pill.
The new doctor listened to my case, had a look at my x-rays and even asked if I could leave them behind for him to look at closely, he agreed with me, signed off some forms, and I went back to Winz with them.
Sidenote: Winz now have a new system. No-one gets a case manager anymore, they just get seen by whoever’s available. This, of course, works really well for consistency in ones case… insert blank fucked-off look here.
“But these forms are written by another doctor.”
“Yeah. My doctor was conveniently on holiday so I had to see someone else.”
“But this box here it says you’re working.”
“Yes, I have a part-time job.”
“But you can’t work on the Invalids.”
“If that’s true then why are you allowed to earn up to a hundred dollars?”
“Hmm, that is true…”
Eventually, after much discussion and me using big words like “CONTESTING PREVIOUS DECISION”, I was assigned another appointment by a – dreaded – designated doctor. In other words, a doctor hired by Winz whose job it is to say No to me.
Fine. Whatever. Sure, I’d love to get a bus to Greytown in 2 weeks time for your appointment.
“Hello Carterton Medical Centre. I need my x-rays back from doctor 2 please.”
“Oh I’m sorry, he’s away on holiday at the moment…”
Are you fuckin shitting me?? Is this a joke???
No. It really isn’t. And bitch receptionist couldn’t care less about my predicament. So I ring them. Every day for four days until I know that my x-rays are waiting at reception for me to pick them up. They finally are.
So, I’m finally seen by the new doctor – doctor 3, but who’s counting...
Having to explain my entire medical history with him, that the specialists have written me off as unfixable, that the pain clinic has talked a lot about help for me and followed through on nothing, that I only work part time hours during the quiet time of the day because my bosses are family friends and understand my position and very graciously give me those hours even though they should probably just close up instead, and that even those three hours a day leave me fucked, the doctor then signed off a form and gave it to Winz.
The form he signed said I probably wasn’t a candidate for the Invalids, but definitely for the Sickness.
What happens then is my pay is immediately reduced by $120 a week – over six grand a year. Not only that, I now have to go to the doctors and pay $40 every three months (maybe more, depending on what the doctor signs) so they can sign a form that says Yes, Scorpion’s back is still fucked.
So now, I am basically incoming less than my outgoings. Neat.
But you know, I’m not ungrateful. I’m glad to get something, and if I’m stuck on the sickness then so be it, but what frustrates me the most is the ignorant judgments about it, and, obviously, the stress of accumulating debt just by being alive isn’t great fun either, and oh, neat, stress actually inflames my back pain, hoorah! It also frustrates me that the whole system balances on the opinion of a doctor, which unfortunately has never been a consistent thing with me having moved up and down the country a bit, and differs from doctor to doctor anyway.
After that happened, I went to go back to my doctor only to learn he was away on holiday, sorry. Gee, nice for some. I decided to change doctors because a. the doctor simply wasn’t there, and b. the doctor I’d had wasn’t a great listener and his answer for everything was another pill.
The new doctor listened to my case, had a look at my x-rays and even asked if I could leave them behind for him to look at closely, he agreed with me, signed off some forms, and I went back to Winz with them.
Sidenote: Winz now have a new system. No-one gets a case manager anymore, they just get seen by whoever’s available. This, of course, works really well for consistency in ones case… insert blank fucked-off look here.
“But these forms are written by another doctor.”
“Yeah. My doctor was conveniently on holiday so I had to see someone else.”
“But this box here it says you’re working.”
“Yes, I have a part-time job.”
“But you can’t work on the Invalids.”
“If that’s true then why are you allowed to earn up to a hundred dollars?”
“Hmm, that is true…”
Eventually, after much discussion and me using big words like “CONTESTING PREVIOUS DECISION”, I was assigned another appointment by a – dreaded – designated doctor. In other words, a doctor hired by Winz whose job it is to say No to me.
Fine. Whatever. Sure, I’d love to get a bus to Greytown in 2 weeks time for your appointment.
“Hello Carterton Medical Centre. I need my x-rays back from doctor 2 please.”
“Oh I’m sorry, he’s away on holiday at the moment…”
Are you fuckin shitting me?? Is this a joke???
No. It really isn’t. And bitch receptionist couldn’t care less about my predicament. So I ring them. Every day for four days until I know that my x-rays are waiting at reception for me to pick them up. They finally are.
So, I’m finally seen by the new doctor – doctor 3, but who’s counting...
It's very obvious to me that doctor 3 has already made up his mind about me before he's even called out my name.
He doesn’t really look me in the eye when he’s talking to me, or while I’m talking to him, he doesn’t ask to see my back AT ALL, and even says No to my offer of looking at my x-rays.
He doesn’t really look me in the eye when he’s talking to me, or while I’m talking to him, he doesn’t ask to see my back AT ALL, and even says No to my offer of looking at my x-rays.
And trust me, I was practically shoving the bag in his face. But no… doctor knows best, as always.
So after – I suspect vainly – explaining my situation to doctor 3, he asks me if I’m depressed.
I tell him I have been. That I have been at suicidal rock bottom before. That it totally sucked, and that I never want to go there again and that although I do get frustrated and down about my situation, I believe I’m on top of my depression and that that isn’t my biggest concern, and that I am actually trying to work towards a better future through writing and such, and that I try and keep busy by babysitting and writing, and that I don’t believe I’m suffering from uncontrollable depression.
….
The doctor then concludes that I’m suffering from depression and should be on medication, but if I don’t want to comply with that then he can’t force me.
So after – I suspect vainly – explaining my situation to doctor 3, he asks me if I’m depressed.
I tell him I have been. That I have been at suicidal rock bottom before. That it totally sucked, and that I never want to go there again and that although I do get frustrated and down about my situation, I believe I’m on top of my depression and that that isn’t my biggest concern, and that I am actually trying to work towards a better future through writing and such, and that I try and keep busy by babysitting and writing, and that I don’t believe I’m suffering from uncontrollable depression.
….
The doctor then concludes that I’m suffering from depression and should be on medication, but if I don’t want to comply with that then he can’t force me.
...
Er... what??
I ask for him to be clearer.
He tells me I’m depressed, that I’m not on top of it, that he is offering me a way to get back into the work force but if I don’t want to take that up, then he can’t make me.
I ask him again, I’m not quite sure what he means, does he think that if I’m not depressed I’ll be more able to work?
He tells me I’m depressed and that he’s offering me a way out of that by counseling and medication, but he can’t force me to do it.
I leave somewhat confused, and not really sure that he’s assessed me adequately or in my favour at all, but I’m hardly surprised. I guess summarising a person’s physical condition doesn’t actually require a physical examination of any sort OR looking at x-rays…
But then I’m no doctor…
…
…
…
GRR.
He tells me I’m depressed, that I’m not on top of it, that he is offering me a way to get back into the work force but if I don’t want to take that up, then he can’t make me.
I ask him again, I’m not quite sure what he means, does he think that if I’m not depressed I’ll be more able to work?
He tells me I’m depressed and that he’s offering me a way out of that by counseling and medication, but he can’t force me to do it.
I leave somewhat confused, and not really sure that he’s assessed me adequately or in my favour at all, but I’m hardly surprised. I guess summarising a person’s physical condition doesn’t actually require a physical examination of any sort OR looking at x-rays…
But then I’m no doctor…
…
…
…
GRR.
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