Lerner Rowe and FML

6.19

Today was a BIG day for me; a lawyer's office was going to call me and help me re-apply for SSDI or SSI. AGAIN. This office was different. It was motivated to really help me! Unfortunately about thirty minutes ago they called, and about fifteen minutes ago I ended the call intears, because it was completely pointless.

A friend asked me what the name 'Neptune Fallen' was from, or if it meant something, once. It is not from anything in particular, but it does mean something to me. Neptune is also known as Pluto, and was seen as the god of the underworld, or even heaven in ancient times. Also sometimes Neptune was viewed as the god of the waters, seas, and rivers. Neptune fallen is literally a depiction of a fallen god, of the heavens and or the seas. Especially today.

-Cops arrive and interrupt me writing.-

Then forty five minutes after they called the cops leave... Lovely. Where was I? Um, yes, the person at the lawyer's office who is helping me is a fucking idiot... I was beginning to feel better, but now I want to throw something hard against concrete and watch it break...

"Your claim is still active, he wants you to know that," the cop told me. No, not the claim from before, but the claim that I haven't even begun... The claim that is upsetting me. The claim that I haven't even gotten a chance to explain in my blog why it is upsetting me, because cops literally burst into my home and interrupted me! Ugh! I suppose he is a kind guy, and means very well, but his intelligence is something that is really lacking from the little I've dealt with him. Reminding me of the woman from Fry's and the cop Jams dealt with.

So I hear a firm knock at the door, and I assume that it is probably someone of the family I rent from, asking something from me, or notifying me of something... and I open the door to, a buncha cops. The cherry on top is that Maria Sr. the crazy Spanish speaking-only grandma is here, along with the army uncle who is nearly stalkerish in how much he follows people online, including me. Hope he likes this post, he isn't bad looking tbh, and is actually pretty cool and fun to hang out with.

I nearly run outside to the front yard, out of earshot of everyone inside, so we can talk there. Even if I had a giant room that could fit dozens inside, with how thin our walls are, I would choose the same spot. Immediately, but delicately, I am asked how am I doing, and I totally bomb it.

"I'm not doing too well," I blurted out, sitting on the grass, picking at some shoots. "I uh, well my back is hurting, I tweaked it trying to rush out here... But I am feeling better emotionally than I was. I had called a crisis line."

"Alright," the cop replied, I assume happy I admitted that I'd called a suicide help line. I wasn't going to try to pretend that I was totally happy for the last few hours. "Did you tell anyone in the last few hours that you would hurt yourself?"

"Uhhh... yeah on the crisis line, I had pills in my hand, and I was wanting to take them," I answered frankly, glancing nervously up a couple times. "After several minutes I was feeling better and didn't feel like that anymore."

The cop looked almost as if a fish had crawled out of a fish bowl and run away or something. I guess he wasn't used to people just admitting things so plainly. So he asked me more questions like about me hurting myself in the past.

"I used to, a long time ago. You can see scars on my arms, but it's been well over a year since I've actually done it. I might have urges, but I've not actually hurt myself in a long time." I explained.

"Yeah... I can see some of the scars," he glanced at my arms and gestured with a finger at the pale slices intermixed with the slightly darker skin. "When was the last time you did that?"

I scoffed slightly nearly a laugh, "Pff.... I don't even remember it's been so long," I shook my head. "Before I moved here, and I've been here a year."

"Okay," he nodded. I'd been very frank, he seemed to believe me so far, or at least seem to think I was being mostly truthful. My scars obviously are not from days ago, but do look like they could be weeks old I will admit. "Have you ever been to a mental health facility?"

"Like a clinic... or?"

"Like admitted. Have you been to Hillmont?" he asks this. I shudder and the cops notice my reaction. I laugh loudly.

"Yeah, I've been to Hillmont," I answer with a grin, "One of the last times I was there I needed to get my gallbladder out, they were giving me liquid antacid, as soon as I was released I had to rush to Santa Paula for emergency surgery. Hellmont just let it fester inside me. No offense to them, but that wasn't the first time they've injured my physical health. They make me worse than I feel, hehehe." I chuckle and shake my head.

"What about ....?" They mention a place I'd never been.

"Nope, I've never been there... and I was feeling depressed earlier, and I have been feeling down off and on recently. My psychiatrist lowered my dose of one of my meds, I wouldn't be against being admitted to a facility if it weren't Hillmont." I replied.

Again the cops stared at me as if I'd grown a third eyeball or something. I was just being so mellow.

"Heh I bet I could also get a shower, too!" I added with a grin.

"You can't get one here?" the younger male who's been silent asks.

"Uh.... nope," I answer, my voice still friendly, with a smile.

"Why not?" the main officer asks me, his eyes wide.

"I waste water apparently. I'm not supposed to take showers, cause I fall, and I can't take baths cause of our drains, and then I also waste water, but everyone else can bathe...." I explain with a sardonic smile. The officer finally is beginning to get a read on me, that perhaps though I seem mellow that there is more behind it.

"You need to find another place to live." he tells me. "But before that, can I see your cell phone?"

"Sure, no problem... and I've been looking for one."

I go and get my cell phone, while one of the cops watch me, and they are shocked by my messy room. The biggest contention of me living where I do. Before the cops left one of them jokingly laughed to me, "Yeah, and you should probably clean your room," with a kind smile. My landlords claim fire department people and police will fine or issue other things if they see it, but so far cops, paramedics, police chiefs, and more have seen my room in worse states than it currently is messy and are totally chill with it and only have parentaly suggested I should clean it up, with a smile and often a chuckle.

Anyways

The main cop has my cell phone and asks me, "Did you tell anyone that you might kill yourself today?"

"When I was online with the crisis hotline, yeah, I was talking about it. I did send a text insinuating it to my best friend, but other than that no..." I answered and then kind of fell onto my side.

The young man cop immediately reached his hands out towards me in worry, "Are you okay? Do you need a chair?"

"Oh no, I'm fine, well not fine... I hurt, but lying on my left side like this is best. Thank you, though." I reply with a smile. The main cop is looking through my phone and the other cops who are closer to my age are looking at me weird, as if how could I just hand my phone over to a cop? I didn't fight, try to erase things, try to explain things?! Nope, just gave him my phone. He can lol over funny texts between me and Jams.

Finally he asks me, "What did you say to... the crisis team... and to Dustin from the lawyer's?" I realize that he's gone through my texts and call history, and likely might have checked my skype and facebook and internet, too, in just that three minutes. I don't use them much.

"Dustin I admitted that the SSI application was pointless, everything in my life was pointless, I wanted to just give it up, terminate anything that had begun, there was no reason to keep it going. If I begin to receive assistance I will receive a gross amount less for rent and food than I currently get... and I began to cry uncontrollably and I was trying to get off the phone and just end the process of applying again... with the Crisis, I admitted I had a buncha pills I wanted to take, and got talked out of it, by realizing there are programs to help people who have nothing...." Finally the cop said he was going to make a few calls on it, and he walks away.

The younger girl cop asks me something I could tell she was dying to ask, "Do you always dye your hair like that?"

I chuckle, "Um, kind of... It was purple since October, but then I was trying to dye the purple out, and I got this pink." We all laugh at this explanation and then the younger man mentions the bright pink is reminiscent of the 80's, and I recall that I like it a lot because it is similar to Cadance from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

"Can I ask how you hurt your back?" the girl cop asks, her voice polite, but nervous.

"Yeah," I reply. "Back in December 2010 I was in a car accident and got 3 herniations, but then in 2012, this doctor Ashokan herniated on disc from 5mm to a centimeter. That made it so I couldn't walk at all for a long time."

"Oh wow..." she said, her eyes sympathetic.

"Yeah, I deal," I tried to smile encouragingly. This is my life, I can't live for myself. I have to pretend to be okay for other people. Finally the cop with my phone returns with my phone and tells me...

"Yeah Dustin from the lawyer's office wants you to know that your claim is far from being denied, it's still waiting to be approved even," at first my heart jumped before I realized.

"Wait.. you mean the claim, from today?" I ask, confirming the idiocy of trying to comfort me with the cold hard fact that pushed me into the warm comforting arms of the idea of unlife.

"Yes, the one from today," the cop replied. "It might not be a lot of money, but you should look at it like a happy accident."

I have to facepalm, but I don't. "The thing that upset me was that as soon as I get SSI, I won't get food stamps, because it is a California law... and the person helping me with rent will stop that aid, so together my total amount for food and rent will be a fraction of what it is now.... But I have program info to help now so I'll be okay somehow." I lie through my teeth at the end... yet the cold realization dawns on the cop. The person at that office duped him. The girl in the grass who is afraid of her landlords, SSI is going to possibly make it so she can't get food to eat, it might mean death from another mean that isn't suicide, which is why suicide is so tantalizing.

"Well, you seem to be pretty stable. Um, if we took you anywhere it'd be Hillmont, but..." the cop trailed off.

"That'd be worse, thanks for understanding," I finish for him.

"So you won't hurt yourself?" he clarifies.

"No, not on purpose." I answer, "I do hurt my back all the time just trying to walk around though, but it's all accidentally." to which I get the sad smile I was trying to get, while I chuckle, adjusting my pose to ease my back pain.

"Well if you need anything call us."

"Will do, thank you~!" and with that the cops leave.

--
6.20

Oh before they left, they did ask me what I was doing when they arrived, and I explained that I was literally in the middle of blogging, and they asked what about, and what I generally blog about. I told them that I blog about being disabled, and I was writing out my feelings about the idiot at the office I had dealt with.

What I failed to get into real details thus far was what Dustin from the office said to me that crawled under my skin.

The whole reason I had agreed to make a phone appointment with this office to discuss SSI or SSDI again, was because, it was mentioned that I might actually be able to get an amount that would be survivable on. When Dustin spoke with me, though, this became very apparent, not to be so. Dustin was very spoken that I was too old to have any sort of disability insurance.

“You are too old to have any disability insurance,” Dustin told me, as if I was some sort of idiot. His tone of voice was annoyed, like everyone should already know the information he divulged. “You never worked long enough to pay into it. You chose to stop working too early.”

“I’m sorry, I chose?” I repeated to him, a bit stunned. Was he referring the date of the last day of work?! The day that my best friend had to help carry me out of the store because I couldn’t walk unaided?!!

“You also didn’t choose to work full time.” He continued. “Because of your age, you have to have worked full time for five years… and you chose not to.” Dustin said this like a basic statement of facts. Twisting my horrible accident and torturous turn of my life and suffering into some sort of sweet fun flirtatious early life experimentation! Every time I heard him say “choose” or “chose” I felt like a knife was digging deeper into that injury already in the base of my spine.

“I never chose to not work full time,” I corrected him, my tone as polite as I could manage. “I had to work part time due to my physical limitations, as noted by doctors.” I explained clearly.

“Well, because you chose not to work for so long, and not to pay,” he continued to repeat as if he hadn’t heard me, nor read my case file that I have 5 herniated discs!! My spine doesn’t work!!!! What the fuck is wrong with this man?! “You’ll only be qualified for like SSI.”

Which would mean, basically no money, and under 300 a month. Food stamps would be cut off. The person aiding my rent would stop, also. And I would lose my housing, and my food in one swift active swing. I declared I wanted nothing of it, I wanted to give it all up, and he began to call me greedy that of course I was not entitled to a lot of money like ads on tv suggested… and that was never what I wanted. I want money to survive by. Pay rent, purchase food, medication.

This asshole is telling me that I have chosen to voluntarily, able-bodily-not-worked for most of my adult life, decided all of a sudden I am now disabled and want a lot of money and am now complaining that I can’t get a lot, and supposedly I guess all those injuries and issues pre 2014 do not exist, but he can begin to get me 200 dollars a month starting 2015, and that WILL be enough to live by, even in southern California. BECAUSE DUSTIN says so… Even if there are no places that cheap, nor places where I can find enough food for free even if I can find safe housing.

Thank you Dustin, even if I go to the social security office myself, you’ve made me look like an idiot.

July 3rd and 4th...

So I got records of what the demon doctor Ashokan did to me on March 18th, proudly stating the reason I was pulling the records was that I was suing him. When I asked my friend where his new office was, he said he didn't know where it was. Googling it, 300 miles away. Sounds like someone was running from something.

It took every ounce of strength to speak over the phone to a VCMC patient's rights representative about how I was assaulted by a nurse with an object. So being in Ventura yesterday and going to Hillmont, which shares parking and food facilities with VCMC.

I needed to address the atrocious treatment that I had received during some time I had spent at Hillmont. For further details about the stay see my other blog. I arrived with my friend and I was sort of bewildered being in the front of the building and finally a man, Dr. Fire asked if he could help.

"I need to speak to someone high up about the abhorrent time I had while I spent time at Hillmont," I explained.

"Oh, well that would be me," he replied, somewhat surprised and alarmed.

We went and sit down and he took notes of everything I said. The nurses and the names, what they did, how they may have set back my healing process back for months... He was very pro-patient and explained that he was new to over-seeing the facility. I explained to him that I was happy to hear that he wanted to make changes...

If I ever was suicidal in the future, I'd rather off myself than go back to Hellmont based on how I was treated.

He was disturbed that a fully licensed nurse was yelling at me not to move, or else I would not get my medication, because the blood pressure machine was not working on my right arm, dangling, as I stood in front of her, very still. (For those unaware, even nursing assistants are taught, usually the left arm should be used, patient is sat down, the arm is around chest level, and that is how you take blood pressure.) But, she kept screaming at me. I just kept apologizing that I was doing my best not to move, instead of correcting her medical negligence like perhaps I should have.

Dr. Fire said that me coming forward with everything like this, the names, the details, everything, was courageous. That is definitely not an adjective I would ever use to describe myself. He said that for every person that comes forward there are probably 20 more patients who had similarly bad experiences and just never followed through with coming forward.

People like that give me some hope in humanity, that there are still good doctors out there still. That they are not all jaded.

Today on the fourth I woke up and I could feel something wrong, by more not feeling my lower legs well. I am struggling with keeping fecal matter in my bowels while lying down, standing up is even worse, I already had to accidents. Thankfully pantie-liners work in keeping it from making it a mess, but I feel humiliated and depressed. I love the fireworks...

I really wanted to go downtown to Little Tokyo and watch them from the roof, that would have been cool. Instead I am holed up in my room afraid that I may crap my pants at any moment, because I have to actively try not to.

Things happen for a reason... The surgery was supposed to fix all of this! I wish I had a My Little Pony plushie to hug, heh. Or a Mewtwo one. Mewtwo is cool, too.

Just have to keep fighting I suppose.


Oh oh! I forgot, I've also had a lot of items stolen from that place too...

Pain, the unfair legality, and how I became disabled.

I planned to escape the house on Saturday and hitch a ride into downtown Los Angeles with my roommate, but as pain crippled me in my steps, I made the adult and frustrating decision to stay home and rest my back...

I watched a documentary called "Hot Coffee", available on Netflix. Sure enough as it began, it stated that most people have assumptions about the McDonald's hot coffee case, where a woman sued after spilling coffee on herself. I was expecting a documentary about how frivolous lawsuits have made it difficult for people like myself to seek justice in the system, but then as I watched I began to hear the real story.

Stella Liebeck was not even driving as many news reports, reported incorrectly. She was not even in a moving car. Her grandchild parked them and she was preparing to put cream and sugar into her coffee, then the lid popped off and the coffee spilled, leaving her with extremely severe burns, at least of the third degree.

The temperature of McDonald's coffee at that time, now it is at least 10 degrees lower, was to be 180-190 degrees Fahrenheit... to serve to customers. Those temperatures will easily cause second degree burns "if you're lucky" a doctor explains, in the movie.

Poor Stella at  79 had to have extensive skin grafts, and her doctors did not think that she was going to survive at first. If you have a strong stomach, Google for the pictures, and you can see just how much of her skin was damaged. Typically, even at a younger age, if you have severe enough burns on enough of your body, prognoses are not good.

Then it went on to explain about how after that case businesses fueled and funded politicians to put caps on damages people can seek. Caps on the time.

When I was first injured, it was a car accident, December 19th, 2010, I wasn't even supposed to work. One of the coworkers I considered a friend, I was covering for her, because she begged for the day off, and the 'me of then' gave in. Ironically my injury has made me had to be a stronger person to speak up for my rights, even if it has taken years.

Another friend was driving me to work. Let's call him Ned. He had an old 2-door jeep-like vehicle, reminding me of the Sidekick my mother drove when I was a kid, or those cars you see people drive in Africa who are on safari or something. It had a strange front bumper, just a plain steel bar set inches in front of the vehicle.

It was raining, as it often does in winter in Los Angeles. We were going off the 405, and he was going 45mph when he went for the Sherman Way exit, a very sharply curved exit, and I knew that it was too fast. He braked, but the tires locked and we hydroplaned into the guard-railing, thankfully, or maybe not given how off-road his vehicle was, it did its job, and we bounced back. On the leather seat I was slid down and to the right out of my seatbelt from the sheer force.

He asked if I was okay as I picked myself up from the floorboards, having to unbuckle and rebuckle the seatbelt. I said that I was fine, and we continued to my work. At my work, we found the passenger side of his bumper was bent to around a 45 degree angle, actually hitting his car. He asked again if I was alright, and I said I felt fine.

It was not until 30 minutes later that the pain hit me, and I had to call around for someone to take me to my doctor who was also an urgent care center. (Guess who came to fill in for me? My friend who needed the day off, haha.) When I had received my medical insurance though work, they had assigned me a doctor who was in southern Los Angeles, and at the time I lived in northern San Fernando Valley (this would be around 2 hours away for those not familiar with L.A.), and worked in the middle. I was baffled as to why they would assign me a doctor so far away. With a bad sinus infection I called them, and changed it to Valley Urgent Care at 9346 Corbin Ave in Northridge, CA 91324, (feel free to write hate mail, if you'd like.) it was mere minutes from my home! I have Dr. Surinder P Puri to thank for a quick and speedy recovery from that sinus infection. The staff was polite, I was seen quickly, treated politely, and I had a wonderful experience. Later when I went for a physical, just to check to make sure I was healthy given my bad family health history, again, a great experience.

When I went in for my back, I had no idea, but where I hurt the most, my lower back, the lumbar, they called off for x-rays, but of my mid and upper back only, they excluded my lower lumbar back. I was soon to discover how horribly incompetent this place was. I was obviously in severe pain, but my x-rays looked alright (probably because they were of parts of my back that are still perfectly fine), so he signed me off work for 2 weeks. When I was still hurting after 2 weeks, returned to work, I went back to visit him. They had given me Vicodin at first, but it was not helping the pain, so they tried Vicodin ES, which is 50% stronger. He suggested another week off from work, and so I took off another week. It was not until late in February that I finally got an MRI.

The MRI showed that I had herniated (slipped) discs, which they told me but it showed an extra spinal disc, which I was not told by anyone at Valley Urgent Care. Or about my lumbar spinal stenosis (narrowing of the spinal canal), lumbar lordosis (a severe curvature of the spine), anterolisthesis (vertebrae slip forward upon one another, which with herniations going backwards makes it worse), facet arthropathy (facets are the joints between and behind adjacent vertebrae, and mine were and are in bad shape in my lower back, making bending difficult, but adding to the lack of space in my spinal canal). There was also so much more. The severity of the lumbar lordosis was not truly seen until September when I went out of my HMO and into my PPO to see a back specialist, I called for my x-rays only to find Dr. Puri hadn't ordered any for my lower back. The first x-rays of my lower back brought my lordosis from mild to severe. This could only be seen by standing x-rays.

Dr. Puri's care began to become horrible as I was working with very severe injuries, and I was completely unaware. Had we known my lordosis was so bad, and that I had an extra spinal disc, I am sure that my work habits would have been changed. One day I was crouching to open a crate from a shipment we had just received in the pharmacy for an order a patient had, and I felt a bubbling sensation in my back before what felt like acid being poured deep within. I screamed and fell to the floor. This was in late January and the patient I was helping said, "That sounds like a slipped disc."

Paramedics had to take me from the store. After a week I was back working, and gritting my teeth all day doing it. Once we closed I would cry from the pain. I finally began to fall apart in front of customers, and my manager began to act vengefully upon me, giving me work that was not my work, giving me duties that were against the doctor's note I had to return to work with limitations. (She is now very well known throughout San Fernando Valley CVS's and no one ever wants to work there if anyone is sick. But, Daniella has been though a lot, although it does not excuse taking her anger and frustration out on others.)

(9/14 update-- all of the original staff has quit and gone to other stores or just quit CVS completely. She can't find regular staff to stay.)

Finally one day she yelled at me not to return to work until I was better. (As I am still not better, she has asked about me a few times to other people, because I was the "lead pharmacy tech" for the evening. Frankly I was a doormat, and I did more work than the morning lead tech, but did not mind at the time because I cared for the patients I was helping so much.)

Then I had to get disability. CVS refused to pay me anything, but they had to pay me a minimum of $25 a week, which got taxed down to $18 something (seriously). And then the state. Dr. Puri's office charged me $20 per page per form to be filled out, and I was frustrated that they would sign me disabled for a week, when I hadn't even started physical therapy yet! The day that they made me pay $20 for 3 days of disability, (which was $225 a week), I changed doctors.

Little did I know that the medical group had a huge infrastructure. I began to see Dr. Reginald Coates, who was and is a fantastic doctor. The only bad thing that occurred was that in the computer, he saw that there was an x-ray of my entire back, including 'lower back' and that there was nothing remarkable. There was a straight out lie in my medical record for when I went to see him. So when I was finished with physical therapy and then regressed, he was baffled and said he was unwilling to sign me off for more disability.

After I saw the back doctor, I later saw Dr. Coates and explained how severe my lordosis is, and he felt very bad, but I assured him it was entirely Dr. Puri and Valley Urgent Care's fault. Then I lost my private insurance, and had to get government help, but I could only qualify for ACE of Ventura county due to my lack of children, or being federally disabled.

I realize now as I am pursuing a lawsuit against a doctor who gave me a faulty epidural that I should have sued Dr. Puri, but I had no idea about the statute of limitations or of the legal system, and at that time I didn't speak up for myself as much as I do now, because I now must. It is way too late now though. Also as I face suing the doctor who injected me with, God only know what, I will be limited to $250,000, which is a lot of money, but I will have to pay 25-40% lawyer, 50k in back-owed medical bills, and $100,000, in the best case, left to compensate me for the rest of my life. I will fall down at times I do not know, perhaps further getting injured. I may have incontinence at times I do not know, being humiliated. I will probably never regain feeling in certain parts of my legs.