Where’s the Off Switch?

Sometimes I wonder what turned on the tornado that uprooted my life, then I remember: oh, right. I got hurt at work.

The doctors and researchers studying my case know that I contracted a contagious infection and then had a serious allergic reaction to the medication for that infection. This assault on my body continues to flare.

Yes, that can happen.

If you’re thinking that these lasting medical issues were likely age related or just bad luck, I might mention that I won my Workman’s Comp case. It has been determined, by a set of lawyers who truly wanted to prove otherwise, that I am 100% disabled due to getting injured at work.

Workman’s Comp did not interview me during this process or ask me any questions. They sent me to their doctors, who collected medical data. Workman’s Comp also deposed most of the doctors I’ve seen during this medical nightmare—which made several of them very angry.

Doctors don’t like checking out of work early so they can give depositions.

I also qualify for Social Security Disability where, again, their own doctors collected their own evidence and came to their own conclusions: 100% disabled.

Sound familiar?

So, what does this mean, winning a Workman’s Comp case?

I should be getting a percentage of my salary each month from Workman’s Comp. Pair that with my meager Social Security disability and my tiny New York Teacher’s Retirement, and I can make a living. Well, unless Workman’s Comp decides not to pay me, which has happened for September and October this year, which is a drag.

Yes, my lawyers are working on it. I hope.

Luckily, I have the money from the sale of my house to buy groceries and pay for taxis.

I had to sell my house and let go of my amazing creek view and give away about 80% of my belongings so I could move into a small apartment in Newburgh that could house my remaining art collection. I’m okay here. There’s a small backyard for Coco and several good friends live within a few miles.

Speaking of medical issues:  My vision continues to dwindle (I haven’t driven for over a year and a half), my cognitive skills are untangling, and my chronic pain and chronic fatigue ebb more than flow. And then, to keep things interesting, there are ever more specialty doctors circling onto my medical team, as they work to quell this nightmare.

Doctors are closer to gathering all of my diagnoses into one disease, so there’s that. Unfortunately, each possible disease brings worsening gifts.

How am I holding up?

Some days are better than others. And some days are worse than anything I thought possible.

Joy remains elusive, but I am enamored with my new neighborhood where the young children can’t remember my dog’s name, Coco, so they call out a name they can remember:

Coca Cola.

That makes me smile.

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Medical Update: Planning a Comeback

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