Did you know your class? I’m in the Underclass.
I’m sitting on my bed in the Shelter, typing this on my iPad because they don’t allow us (or most of the staff) to use the WiFi, so no computer for me. Fun times.
This diary isn’t to show how I’m different or in an odd or strange situation. It’s to show how very, very normal it really is. Yesterday someone was thrown out because she said a swear word after her wallet, which was locked in a cabinet only staff had the key to, had all the cash taken from it; it was called threatening behavior. One staff member played cards with clients, when found to be cheating, he assigned them all extra ‘heavy’ work in his pet project (no gambling was involved). I am not unique. I am not alone. There is no need to adjust your screen. This is normal.
It was a struggle to get into the Shelter. The given reason was that they didn’t allow service dogs. This is in writing, and it took a sternly worded lawyer’s letter to change the situation. I am now doing my best to not make waves while still self-advocating when necessary. It’s a very fine line to walk. Most of the staff want to be helpful, but are bound by policy. Some of the staff simply don’t care—this is a job, and if we’re here, we must have done something to deserve it. A small but disturbing percentage of the staff are only just 18, and don’t even know the policies (they tend to have swing shifts), but do their best. Some of the staff—well. I’ve been told straight out that they don’t understand how I got in, that disabled people usually don’t get in, because of all the issues it causes. That service dogs aren’t allowed.
We’re still working on getting my BRAP application straightened out. The head of Shalom House (the agency that manages BRAP here) has now said that my application is expired, despite constant work on it by both my case managers. I’ve asked my main case manager to forward the documentation here so everyone is on the same page and can push back properly. Hopefully it will work. :)
I’m not letting this stop me work on other applications, however! I have about 15 to work on with my ‘Navigator’ (case manager) here in our meeting tomorrow (I look them up in the computer lab, decided to deal with some issues by emailing them to myself, she’ll do phone calls and other things I can’t quite manage). Update: That meeting still hasn’t happened. I started this diary a week ago. My Navigator is very ‘busy’ and doesn’t schedule meetings in any way, shape, or form. If you manage to catch her when she’s not physically with someone, that’s when you get your meeting. I’m now on doctor’s ordered bed rest, so who knows?
Right now Sally & I are in what’s known as a ‘respite room’, a single room in the Shelter. There are two, and the other is empty. Several people have left, and there was a question of moving us to the dorms after only a few days. However, Sally is still alerting to the cleaning crews and other nighttime noises, and I can’t crate her and be safe myself, nor can I tie her and have her be safe at night, so thankfully we’re still in the respite room.
I had a disturbing incident today where I had a bad fall in the morning, that kept me down for a good 30-45 minutes. It hurt, since I fell over the foot of the hospital-type bed we use. I took the time to do some centering things, missed breakfast, and almost missed meds; I did report the fall at med call (the appropriate time). I asked for a med pass to go and get a brace and was denied. My pain climbed to a 10, a point where I can no longer hide it and end up crying and having rolling panic attacks, often for ‘no reason’ but the pain. The pain and falls continued, to the point where even the most hostile staff agreed I needed to have lunch brought to me.
But in the afternoon Sally alerted hard to the door, and I fell again getting to the door. One of the staff was standing there, telling me I had to vacate that respite room immediately, ASAP, and that I would be moving into a top bunk (and for this, she cited the top 2 people in the organization). I breathed and asked if I could move into the other respite room. “No.” I asked why. “Policy.” I asked what policy. I was told I didn’t need to know and to pack fast, and from what I could understand from her angry, fast speech, she said she would help move my things from the respite room to the dorm (I admit I was having trouble reading her at this point). What I didn’t misunderstand was her grabbing the door handle and slamming the door hard enough to send my toothpaste, brush, and their container completely off the sink (they were touching the faucet stem) into the garbage.
What I didn’t misunderstand was the other staff member ‘talking’ to me and refusing to look at me except for the words ‘top bunk’, and ‘disrespectful’, ‘stop’, ‘panic attack’ in the same sentence. Also that I was breaking the rules by having rolling panic attacks (trust me, I would have stopped if I could, or if someone would have communicated in a way I could actually understand).
I was finally given a pass to get a brace when I was at a Pain 10. If I drove. If I went to hospital, I’d either have to drive or get a ride, because the Shelter would do it on their time, it could be days, and that would effect my status in the Shelter. They also opined that I was faking, because how else would I fall so ‘nicely’, without hurting myself more (I
I did end up going to hospital in an ambulance. A local friend picked me up. It was just too bad for the Shelter that one of the staff came out angry and started yelling at me, and I asked her why she said what she did (it was inappropriate). She denied it, said I misread. But he was next to me, is a Child of Deaf Adults, and heard what I read and backed me up. She said she wasn’t going to argue with someone off the street, and he mentioned that he happened to be a lawyer. She pointed at me and said, “Come!” and marched me into a room with several other staff members having a meeting and told them that I brought a lawyer. I said I wasn’t comfortable having that conversation (he’s my friend), and I was told “then go get your lawyer”. I tried to tell them he wasn’t, but I could get him to translate, and they said again to get my ‘lawyer’. I still can’t walk well, so I asked a fellow client to see if he was still there. He came. The word-twisting happened in front of him again, and he told me not to worry about anything.
This morning, there was a meeting where he had called, declared himself my lawyer, and apparently laid out that they were going to follow the ADA. I’m staying in a respite room (the other individual is no longer here, but I’m continuing to stay in the windowless room), Sally will not be disturbed by staff, and staff will write everything down so that 1) I can understand and 2) there is a record of our interactions.
Of greater concern is not having access to my translation app, ava.me. There’s only LTE coverage here (data is not a concern), and I need at least 4G for it to run fast enough, or a Wi-Fi connection. I’ve asked, and appealed, and even offered to let them spot-check my phone to let them see I would only use it when I was in a meeting with staff. There is no moving, they say they cannot set up a guest network (even secured), and I cannot use their Wi-Fi for communication. I will not push harder because I do not want to make waves, considering what I went through getting in here.
My case manager is now working on getting me a terp so I don’t have to rely on second-hand reports about meetings, and the poor guy whose sister is deaf is no longer forced to terp for me (illegal, he doesn’t have training or a license). So good news! But if I had WiFi access, I could use my app all the time, and make TTY phone calls any time I needed to. I wish I had the extra medical funds for a HotSpot, but some went to a knee brace and I need to save what little I have left after paying rent (in case I’m out of here before the end of the month). I’ll manage.
On the other hand, Sally has won the hearts of pretty much everybody. The clients and staff love her, and she is now allowed to go without her head-halter (i.e. off-duty) in the common areas, as long as she’s on-leash. She is spoiled with as many scritches as she can stand, she has made so many friends it’s almost funny. There is always a hand to hold the leash when she’s on her mat when we’re in the
Sally’s work injuries. She doesn’t complain.
cafeteria and I need to grab something. There’s been no issues with people treating her inappropriately. I do have concerns for her, though. The very-frequent wearing of her harness is taking it’s toll. She has new bumps, raw skin, and sore feet and joints that I don’t believe she’s faking, even though I check her feet every day. I’m really not sure what to do about this besides leave her in the respite room more (one of the major reasons I wanted to keep it).
My food issues are being taken care of wonderfully. There’s an order of monks on site, and apparently I’m getting the same food as them. I’ve eaten salmon, gluten-free pasta with sauce made by a real chef (he’s amazing, everyone here complains about gaining weight but not the food!), they even contrived to make French toast that tasted normal. The meatloaf was a revelation. They were a bit silly about ‘plain’ food at first (yes, I can eat plain jacket potatoes), but everything has worked out. They even come and ask me if I like it. I only feel bad that I can’t eat the amounts they make, since they often give me an entire batch. Throwing out food feels so very wrong to me, but packing it up isn’t allowed!
My medications are where I’m struggling. Of course, since this is a federal facility getting federal funds, I’m not allowed my best and only pain medication. But because of upheaval in my primary practice, I’m having issues getting my medication directions straightened out and followed (or even filled). They won’t even give my half pill for my morning dose of one of my controlled medications, and I can’t make the calls needed on my own, and they won’t or can’t help. Thankfully I saw my case manager today and we hope that it will get straightened out ASAP, since we were able to make some calls together.
So here I am, sitting with my legs elevated, finishing a diary I started last week, Sally acting as a particularly annoying but loving wrist rest (and helping to keep me warm!).
My wrist rest. Cute, warm, difficult to type in the best way
Please don’t mistake me, I’m not the only one having issues with the staff. That’s rather the point. Almost everyone is, unless you can volunteer for heavy work whenever asked, while working a job, doing your assigned chores, paying rent (yes! I pay 30% of my income to stay here! And they’ll take my SNAP card) and participating in all the group activities and doing your housing search on your own. Oh, and never, ever look sad. A staff member told me to show rays of sunshine, and when I asked him to not dictate my emotions, he said he didn’t know how to deal with me. When I said, “Like an adult” he rolled his eyes and walked away. Later he nodded when another client referred to me as a bitch when I pointed out that having clients stripping and sanding paint and varnish, then painting in an enclosed space without proper ventilation or air-pro was a health hazard, during a community discussion (because of course we need to learn how to be productive, as if being homeless must be our fault). :shrugs: (My outside support professionals said I handled that well, and to just avoid him as much as possible from now on. The list of staff that applies to grows alarmingly. Some are amazing, though!)
Most shelters don’t charge rent. Almost all have chores, that’s just common sense. But the infantilization is very normal (not allowed off-site or visitors without an examined, signed pass; drug testing even for prescribed, state-legal meds; mandated fun time; enforced extroversion; 0600 wake up and 2200 bedtime; 0430 dinner; surrender of your SNAP card & watching the convention goers eat better than you as you’re rushed from the cafeteria, clients voluntold to work the conventions say all the food comes from the same place; etc.). You are a cipher being moved through as quickly as possible by mostly burnt-out staff, who can’t afford to let their job affect them. The ones who still care, or who can manage a mask, are like opals or gold.
Is it better than the house? Of course. Is it difficult? Of course. But I’m part of the underclass, by the Gilbert-Kahl Model. We don’t quite matter, when it comes to politics. We aren’t who the politicians are talking about when they talk about the poor. They mean the working-poor, or maybe the working class. We’re the problem that is talked about, the ‘takers’, the ‘users’, the ‘undeserving poor’. And that’s how we’re treated.
I’ll check in every few hours, but won’t be able to comment much. I only have so much data to use, and it has to last the month. I’m sure you all understand. I’m linked to my phone!
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