On July 1, barring a budgetary miracle in Springfield, approximately 26 clients I assist with a variety of tasks from counseling to grocery shopping, doctor's visits, banking, hygiene and social outings, will lose 100% of the services they receive from the not-for-profit I work with. None of us have any ideas where they will find housing and assistence for the many tasks they are unable to handle on their own. They are under literal existential threat. But like millions of other Americans facing similar threats, they do not matter to those making the decisions about their funding because they are largely voiceless and powerless. They are not wealthy. They cannot mobilize large sums of money to sway votes. They are only vulnerable human beings, our co-citizens, who committed the grave offense of needing help in a nation that throws it's most needy to the piranas when the yacht is threatened.
A week ago, I told the story of one of those clients, Will, in a diary entitled "No One Asked Us". I wanted to update Will's story and introduce you to another client, also slated to lose services.
I spoke to Will three times yesterday. On Thursday, he went to the hospital to have a biopsy to confirm that his cancer has spread to Stage IV. I suppose there is no good time to lose your entire support network, but losing it the same week you find out your illness has likely progressed to a terminal stage is perhaps the nadir of all possible quirks of timing. Our conversations were difficult, as he moved from trying to rationalize that he cannot possibly be as sick as people are telling him he is - "I still feel good when I wake up", he insisted, "When my dad had cancer, he was in bed all the time" - through a range of other emotions. He is angry. "I didn't want to go for the biopsy. I don't feel sick. And seeing all the sick people in the hospital, it made me feel like I was really sick." He is proud. "I can still do push ups and take care of myself and am trying to get healthy and not depend on other people." He keeps telling himself that he is not so sick yet. He keeps reminding himself there is hope that things might still be good in his life, at least for a while.
But then he said this: "My brother is treating me different now. He is more worried about me than he used to be." Translation: if his brother is worried, Will perceives, there is likely something pretty bad to be worried about. So mostly, he is scared. He understands death, and understands that he has an illness that may result in his premature death. He is scared of dying. He has a personal belief system that tells him that dying will spare him the pain of living with a serious illness, as he's witnessed others doing. That helps, some. He is trying to accept what is happening to him medically. On some level, it makes sense to him. Diseases happen. You fight them for as long as you can as hard as you can.
But then there is this other thing, and it makes a whole lot less sense. And not just to Will. Because in about 48 hours, virtually every single support system he has lived with most of his adult life will be ripped away from him. He doesn't know how he will get to his doctor's appointments. (he can't drive). He doesn't know how he will get to the bank, or the grocery store, or who will help him pay his bills. He doesn't know if he will have a place to live. His brother has medical issues of his own and may not be able to offer much more than emotional support. His parents are both dead. Like many disabled people, he has few contacts out in the community at large, few friends outside the structure of the support program. And the sand is running through the hour glass pretty fast now.
On Friday, I took four clients to be interviewed for placement on an "emergency funding waiting list." The fact that the words "Emergency" and "Waiting list" exist in the same sentence defies logic anyway, but here's what really amazed me: My clients went in to the interview room, one at a time. And every single time, I was called in by the interviewer to answer the many questions they could not answer. Questions like, "Do you have a job coach" and "Where will you live if your funding is removed". Pretty basic stuff - and though I'm no psychologist or social worker, it seems to me that if an individual is unable to answer such questions, there really should be no question as to whether they require support. If they couldn't get through the interview without it, how are they expected to get through their daily lives without it?
But there is a waiting list, and I have no idea how badly off the others on the list may be. Meanwhile, we are scrambling to come up with a patchwork quilt of resources to give our clients and their friends and families, none of which are remotely adequate.
During the day, I spoke to another client, Kieran. Kieran is mildly mentally retarded, suffers from depression and auditory hallucinations, with a few other challenges thrown in as well. Kieran does odd jobs around the neighborhood to supplement the income he earns bagging groceries. He told me that he has a backup plan: one of his paper route clients told him she (an elderly woman) has a room he could stay in. Kieran cannot do his own banking, cannot drive, cannot get himself to his doctors appointments or fully manage the medication he requires to keep himself from slipping further into a debilitating mental illness. Right now, with support from our organization, he lives a life of some stability and productivity and, most of the time, is happy. Will that all change on Wednesday? Because, again, I'm no expert, but I'm guesing that the elderly neighbor might not be quite equipped to assist Kieran in the ways he desperately needs.
Elizabeth Glaser, AIDS activist and author, wrote that America is a kinder and gentler nation if you are a savings and loan or a pharmaceutical company, not so much so for the rest of us. How long will we tolerate this? When Wall Street's well being was threatened, there was nonstop coverage of their plight, and it was afforded "Hair on fire" status. Are Will and Kieran so much less worthy? They didn't create the situations that led to their precarious plight; they didn't mismanage anything or cheat anyone. Their mistake was to be born in a nation that makes little pretense about caring for those who are not wealthy and powerful.
As states begin to slash their budgets, and human lives are shredded in the process, we are going to find out something important about this nation. I'm not a Christian but have always felt the quote "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also" is really the core analysis of an economic policy. Wall Street execs seem to be doing okay these days, largely. A damn sight better than my clients, anyway. What is it going to take to change this? Because any nation that treats Chase Bank with gentle kindness and throws Will and Kieran out to die is corrupt to it's very core, and not worthy of our dollars or our blood to defend it.
Tags: budget cuts, Illinois (all tags) :: Add/Edit Tags to this Diary