Another day, another demand letter from a tax agency. It would be funny if it weren't so sad. I haven't been able to work in almost 2 years. I'm disabled and just waiting for the State to send the paperwork that shows they believe I'm disabled.
I went through the hearing. Their own expert, who is there to tell the judicial hearing judge that there is work that a person can do and go out of their way to keep people like me to get disability. After an hour, which my husband wasn't allowed to attend, their occupational specialist stated quite clearly that there is absolutely nothing I can do either full or part time to earn a wage. The judge looked stunned because the purpose of this is to keep people from getting the help they need. My doctor told me at least 6 years ago that I need to stop working because it was killing me. I didn't listen because I didn't want to be "one of those people." Not one of the kind they show on TV and demonize in magazines, TV shows and especially the news. A person who is just too lazy to work and expects the government to pay me to sit home on the couch, eat bon bons and watch Oprah.
Nothing could be further than the truth. I kept fighting until July of 2013. My last story was a murder preliminary hearing. The girl was my son's age. They went to school together and I was one of the mothers who would always volunteer to help out for anything the school needed. I've gone on field trips everywhere in the State. One morning, I was dropping my son off for a trip to a gifted competition. I pull up at the school and my son gets out. I tell him to call when they get back and I'd come pick him up. His teacher came running up to my car, asking if I was ready to go. What? I didn't know I was going, didn't know they even needed a chaperone. Luckily, I had my camera in the car ( I never go anywhere without a camera), so I parked the car and got in with the rest of the students and the teacher and we went to the trip. I had to call my husband to tell him where to find the car because we had other plans for the day.
That is the person I was. I covered court, meetings, local events, all things that you find in newspapers and magazines. At one time, I had 7 jobs. Yes, you read that right, 7 jobs. I wrote for two newspapers, a radio station and took meeting minutes for four different government bodies. It finally took it's toll on me and I spend more time in the hospital than at work. I had been hired as a full time staff reporter for a newspaper. It killed me to turn in the paper's camera. I called home and he told me to go wait at a convenience store. He and my dad met me there and dad drove me home. I was crying too hard to drive. I took a year off until another newspaper called and asked if I could go to one event for them. My head was exploding and I couldn't drive, so my father drove to the event. I covered the event, wrote it up and sent it to the paper. That sucked me back into the reporter's life. I never missed an assignment. Even when I couldn't drive, one of my kids or husband would drive me. They'd go with if it was a meeting where there was food or they'd take a nap til I was done.
When I had to sit through that final preliminary hearing for the poor girl who was slaughtered by her ex~boyfriend, I knew it was too much. I had been dealing with the pain and even got the paper an exclusive ~ an interview with the alleged murderer's best friend. The editor couldn't say enough about how wonderful it was, but the next day tells me he wanted someone who wasn't as dedicated to their family. What a joke. I missed so many family events for my job. He just doesn't like women and wanted to hire a "man" It was for the best. It made me see that there is no loyalty and I was killing myself for nothing.
My doctor was pleased that I finally listened. He sent in at least six inches of paperwork on my health conditions and surgeries to Social Security. That was two years ago come July. Now I can focus on my health and not have to worry about being called out to some fire or wreck at 3 a.m. in the middle of a snowstorm.
Why does the government make it so hard for the truly ill? It seems that the frauds get approved immediately because they are depressed. Don't get me wrong, depression can be debilitating, but it's also easy to fake. I don't want to need help, but there is not choice. My son is in college and is transferring to a larger college this fall. My husband doesn't make enough on his own to keep us going.
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