“Sadly, the cost associated with taking the medication to control that illness was that he completely lost what he called ‘the pep.’ The pep stemmed from that manic energy that would compel him to just burst out into song and write and create music. Once he started taking the medications, sadly that ended. He was no longer Wild Man Fischer... He became Larry Fischer.”
Yes, it was sad, but for who?
It is bad - and sad - enough - or perhaps I just find it irritating enough - when disabled characters, especially those with psychological illnesses, are portrayed as oh-so cool, even hip. I’m talking about movies like Benny and Joon and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, in which the eternally cool Johnny Depp puts up with being responsible for his schizophrenic brother played by a young, hot Leonardo diCaprio. There’s also Girl, Interupted, in which the hip, pre-shoplifting Winnona Ryder plays a young woman chills out in a mental institution.
I can list other films, but I think you get the point: Being crazy, being a freak can be cool and entertaining, even fun.
However, these are just movies. What about the case of Larry “Wild Man” Fischer, who died last month? According to the large obituary in the Los Angeles Times, Fischer was a mentally ill man who hung out on the streets of Hollywood ranting like many others. But his rants were particularly creative and entertaining and caught the ear of Frank Zappa and other who got him gigs on recordings and shows.
Fischer got to be a star, a cool, hip star of sorts, but this stardom depended on him for being sick, on him being a freak. As conveyed in the quote above by Jeremy Lubin, a documentary filmmaker, when he sought to get more sane and “normal,” he lost the ability to be entertaining. He lost “the pep” and was no longer a star.
Again, who was this sad for? Fischer, who was relieved of the demons in his head, or those entertained by his creative and cool rants?
I have also been thinking of Jared Lochner, charged in the mass shooting in Tuscon in January, who is being held in a mental ward, having been deemed unable to stand trial. That has been a legal fight over whether he can be forced to take drugs that will enable him to stand trial. A court has ruled he can’t be forced to take drugs for this purpose, but I just read this morning that he is apparently being drugged anyway.
This literally doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t know who’s crazier - Lochner, or those who want to dope him up so he can be tried and convicted.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Red, white and "shoot!"
I think I mentioned in a previous post that I hate the Fourth of July and that the primary reason for this - on top of the All-American-America-is-Always-Right jingo-ism - is that I have a very difficult time, being startled, with the noise from the fireworks. This year was particularly tough, with there being more illegal fireworks than I remember in a good many years. They started going off around here more than a week before the 4th and kept going until after midnight on Monday. I even heard a couple the next evening.
“Don’t they know it’s over?” I kept saying to my attendant when she came to put me to bed on the 4th.
Who were they? I wondered, figuring they were more than the usual bad boys being bad. And why were they shooting off so much? A few thoughts:
A lot of people are angry, what with all the unemployment, foreclosures, high prices, etc., and this was a good way to let off steam. Who cares if it’s illegal? The government and laws are stupid, and, Hell, it’s the 4th, and everyone’s doing it - and should!
It has been ten years since September 11, and, by God, we’re still standing and still strong - and more of a big deal should be made about it!
Then there’s the killing of Osama Bin Laden - certainly something worth celebrating with pyrotechnics, even if it’s illegal. But this presents a quandry, because it was done under President Obama, which no doubt drives some people nuts. Which leads back to pissed-off folks blowing of steam.
Or maybe there were just more bad boys out there.
“Don’t they know it’s over?” I kept saying to my attendant when she came to put me to bed on the 4th.
Who were they? I wondered, figuring they were more than the usual bad boys being bad. And why were they shooting off so much? A few thoughts:
A lot of people are angry, what with all the unemployment, foreclosures, high prices, etc., and this was a good way to let off steam. Who cares if it’s illegal? The government and laws are stupid, and, Hell, it’s the 4th, and everyone’s doing it - and should!
It has been ten years since September 11, and, by God, we’re still standing and still strong - and more of a big deal should be made about it!
Then there’s the killing of Osama Bin Laden - certainly something worth celebrating with pyrotechnics, even if it’s illegal. But this presents a quandry, because it was done under President Obama, which no doubt drives some people nuts. Which leads back to pissed-off folks blowing of steam.
Or maybe there were just more bad boys out there.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Unhealthy play
I’m not a sports fan. Never have been. Frankly, they’re boring. I might watch some figure skating or gymnastics (or hot boys swimming in the Olympics!), but I far rather see a play or a movie or a concert. I could be cute and say that this is, of course, because I’m gay, or I could be profound and say that watching sports is silly when there is so much more important stuff going on. But the simple truth is that I just find sports boring.
At least until now. I think I have another reason for not liking sports. There’s something sick about sports and the way people like them.
Last week, after the Canucks lost the deciding Game 7 of the Stanley Cup hockey finals, there was a riot, causing much damage in the handsome city center of Vancouver, Canada. It is a bit like this happening in San Francisco (from what little I remember of a summer spent in the Vancouver area when I was a child, the city is quite elegant and sophisticated, not to mention remarkably green and lush).
It is really tragic that this destruction came out of a game and that, as an article in the Los Angeles Times pointed out, this isn’t unusual. What was unusual, as also noted in the article and bizarrely so, I think, was that this riot came after a hometown team lost. It was just a year ago when, as I noted in a post here, downturn Los Angeles was smashed up after the L.A Lakers won the basketball finals, which, weirdly enough, is far more typical.
Why riot when your team wins? Another fact that the Times article brought up is that, in these sports riots, the fans aren’t the ones throwing the bottles and lighting the fires. The actual rioting is usually done by anarchists and other rabble-rousers, along with those revved up after drinking, taking advantage of there being a large, boisterous crowd in which there is anonymity. But I don’t think this lets sports off the hook; these still are unique and still are sports riots.
About a week earlier, the L.A Times sports section had a big pictorial homage, including on much of its front page, to those who have played or competed and were victorious while sick or injured. Among those honored under the headline “Hurts so good” were football players who had played with the flu and runners who ran with sprained joints.
I can understand someone being hailed for saving a life or accomplishing something that improves society while ill or hurt. But for playing - even, yes, winning - a game? Shouldn’t they not be playing if they have a fever or a torn ligament? Shouldn’t they be taking care of themselves or getting care?
Instead, they are seen as heroes. Not only does this put things dangerously out of perspective - after all, kids have died after playing football in the hot sun or getting hit in the head - it reflects our society’s warped, nutty - yes, sick - view of the disabled as people to be pitied or admired or often pitied and admired at the same time.
Hey, it’s only a game.
Or, with it causing riots and such (heat-related deaths, brain injuries, etc.), is it?
At least until now. I think I have another reason for not liking sports. There’s something sick about sports and the way people like them.
Last week, after the Canucks lost the deciding Game 7 of the Stanley Cup hockey finals, there was a riot, causing much damage in the handsome city center of Vancouver, Canada. It is a bit like this happening in San Francisco (from what little I remember of a summer spent in the Vancouver area when I was a child, the city is quite elegant and sophisticated, not to mention remarkably green and lush).
It is really tragic that this destruction came out of a game and that, as an article in the Los Angeles Times pointed out, this isn’t unusual. What was unusual, as also noted in the article and bizarrely so, I think, was that this riot came after a hometown team lost. It was just a year ago when, as I noted in a post here, downturn Los Angeles was smashed up after the L.A Lakers won the basketball finals, which, weirdly enough, is far more typical.
Why riot when your team wins? Another fact that the Times article brought up is that, in these sports riots, the fans aren’t the ones throwing the bottles and lighting the fires. The actual rioting is usually done by anarchists and other rabble-rousers, along with those revved up after drinking, taking advantage of there being a large, boisterous crowd in which there is anonymity. But I don’t think this lets sports off the hook; these still are unique and still are sports riots.
About a week earlier, the L.A Times sports section had a big pictorial homage, including on much of its front page, to those who have played or competed and were victorious while sick or injured. Among those honored under the headline “Hurts so good” were football players who had played with the flu and runners who ran with sprained joints.
I can understand someone being hailed for saving a life or accomplishing something that improves society while ill or hurt. But for playing - even, yes, winning - a game? Shouldn’t they not be playing if they have a fever or a torn ligament? Shouldn’t they be taking care of themselves or getting care?
Instead, they are seen as heroes. Not only does this put things dangerously out of perspective - after all, kids have died after playing football in the hot sun or getting hit in the head - it reflects our society’s warped, nutty - yes, sick - view of the disabled as people to be pitied or admired or often pitied and admired at the same time.
Hey, it’s only a game.
Or, with it causing riots and such (heat-related deaths, brain injuries, etc.), is it?
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The year of (V)maxing out
I recently improved my experience with my Vmax, the voice synthesizer/computer attached to my wheelchair that I operate via a camera tracking a silver dot on my glasses and which I’ve now had for a year, by at least 100%. In late April, I was able to get an unit, called a WPAC, which enables the Vmax to run off my wheelchair battery.
I immediately loved this little thing. As far as I was concerned, it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I was able to leave the Vmax on, ready to use, all day. I didn’t have to always worry about its battery running out and about rationing it.
Then, one morning earlier this month when my attendant went to plug the unit into my chair, the plug wasn’t there. I had no idea how this happened - all I could think was that it came unplugged or wasn’t plugged in and got caught under my wheel when I was out - and I was devastated. I was crushed, ruined.
There was no way I could come up with another $400 for a new WPAC. And it didn’t help when my attendant called the company, DynaVox, several times, and they were less and less sympathetic, saying the warranty had expired, etc. I was stunned - yes, naively - that a company that had helped me so much (with the Vmax and the WPAC) could play such hardball (it is a business, after all....) and thinking of other options (hot-wiring....?) until, after more calls and waiting on hold, a senior manager agreed to send me a new cable in exchange for the broken one. (And when I get it, I’ll have it attached more to my chair so that it won’t dangle down so far when unplugged - lesson learned.)
So I’m happy again.
Happy, like I am with the Vmax - in general. I say “in general,” because, although it’s a fantastic help, I have learned a couple other hard lessons in this past year:
*There are definitely times and places where using the Vmax is very effective and other times and places where it really isn’t. It does help when, at least initially, people can see the screen and what I’m doing, but, in very general terms, the more comfortable (or sometimes even just familiar) people are with my speech, the less patient they are with my using the Vmax.
*Not unrelated to this and an even more difficult lesson is that, when I use the Vmax, people still have to stop and take time to listen to what I say. The difference with the Vmax is that - and this is a choice for those who know me - people don’t have to make the effort to try to understand my speech, but the hard fact is that, unless I pre-program it, I can’t casually toss off a comment.
I have learned other things - like typing in an initial comment before I approach someone and it sometimes being better (and okay) to just use the touch screen - but, all in all, the Vmax is a fantastic, life-improving device, even when I just use it to listen to my iTunes when I go out. At a recent gathering, I was able to talk to many more people or people I couldn’t talk to before. For me, this is what it’s all about.
At the same gathering, I also discovered that reciting limericks, especially naughty ones, on the monotonic Vmax is quite amusing. (Perhaps I’ll have another video out on YouTube...)
I immediately loved this little thing. As far as I was concerned, it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I was able to leave the Vmax on, ready to use, all day. I didn’t have to always worry about its battery running out and about rationing it.
Then, one morning earlier this month when my attendant went to plug the unit into my chair, the plug wasn’t there. I had no idea how this happened - all I could think was that it came unplugged or wasn’t plugged in and got caught under my wheel when I was out - and I was devastated. I was crushed, ruined.
There was no way I could come up with another $400 for a new WPAC. And it didn’t help when my attendant called the company, DynaVox, several times, and they were less and less sympathetic, saying the warranty had expired, etc. I was stunned - yes, naively - that a company that had helped me so much (with the Vmax and the WPAC) could play such hardball (it is a business, after all....) and thinking of other options (hot-wiring....?) until, after more calls and waiting on hold, a senior manager agreed to send me a new cable in exchange for the broken one. (And when I get it, I’ll have it attached more to my chair so that it won’t dangle down so far when unplugged - lesson learned.)
So I’m happy again.
Happy, like I am with the Vmax - in general. I say “in general,” because, although it’s a fantastic help, I have learned a couple other hard lessons in this past year:
*There are definitely times and places where using the Vmax is very effective and other times and places where it really isn’t. It does help when, at least initially, people can see the screen and what I’m doing, but, in very general terms, the more comfortable (or sometimes even just familiar) people are with my speech, the less patient they are with my using the Vmax.
*Not unrelated to this and an even more difficult lesson is that, when I use the Vmax, people still have to stop and take time to listen to what I say. The difference with the Vmax is that - and this is a choice for those who know me - people don’t have to make the effort to try to understand my speech, but the hard fact is that, unless I pre-program it, I can’t casually toss off a comment.
I have learned other things - like typing in an initial comment before I approach someone and it sometimes being better (and okay) to just use the touch screen - but, all in all, the Vmax is a fantastic, life-improving device, even when I just use it to listen to my iTunes when I go out. At a recent gathering, I was able to talk to many more people or people I couldn’t talk to before. For me, this is what it’s all about.
At the same gathering, I also discovered that reciting limericks, especially naughty ones, on the monotonic Vmax is quite amusing. (Perhaps I’ll have another video out on YouTube...)
Friday, June 3, 2011
One less light left on
It may be a bit harder to say that Wal-Mart is evil, now that the mega-retailer is going green. (In addition to recycling, energy-saving practices and all that good stuff, I read - no, I’m still not going there - that one can buy organic produce there.) Now that summer is approaching, and I’ve been making reservations, I’m here to say that it is Motel 6 that is evil. I see again that the light may well be left on but not for the disabled.
In a post last summer, I wrote about how I stayed quite happily and cheaply at Motel 6's - they suited my simple needs and limited finances quite nicely, thank you - until several years ago when they stopped having two beds in their wheelchair-accessible rooms, forcing me, in an unfair and discriminatory manner, to reserve and pay for two rooms for me and my attendant. I wrote about taking a trip and being pleased when a friend told me that the Motel 6 in Bishop, CA, has a wheelchair-accessible room with two beds, which I reserved, and then surprised when the the Super 8 Motel in Gustine, CA, where I had reserved a two-bed, wheelchair-accessible room in which I had happily stayed several times, turned out to be a Motel 6 but with the same nice wheelchair-accessible room with two beds.
Well, like I said, I’ve been making motel reservations recently. In planning the same trip in July, I called the Motel 6 in Bishop and got the two-bed wheelchair-accessible room. No problem. Then I called the now-Motel 6 in Gustine.
And I was told that its wheelchair-accessible rooms have only one bed.
Mmmmm.
No, make that grrrrr.
This is, as far as I’m concerned, proof. This is proof that Motel 6 is unfair and discriminatory to the disabled. Not only that, it is proof that Motel 6 is making money off the disabled.
If this is not evil, I don’t know what is.
I don’t know what the deal is with the Motel 6 in Bishop. It could be the only Motel 6 left with a two-bed wheelchair-accessible room. I don’t know whether to bless it or boycott it. I do feel a bit guilty about staying there, but, hey, it’s what I need and the right price.
In a post last summer, I wrote about how I stayed quite happily and cheaply at Motel 6's - they suited my simple needs and limited finances quite nicely, thank you - until several years ago when they stopped having two beds in their wheelchair-accessible rooms, forcing me, in an unfair and discriminatory manner, to reserve and pay for two rooms for me and my attendant. I wrote about taking a trip and being pleased when a friend told me that the Motel 6 in Bishop, CA, has a wheelchair-accessible room with two beds, which I reserved, and then surprised when the the Super 8 Motel in Gustine, CA, where I had reserved a two-bed, wheelchair-accessible room in which I had happily stayed several times, turned out to be a Motel 6 but with the same nice wheelchair-accessible room with two beds.
Well, like I said, I’ve been making motel reservations recently. In planning the same trip in July, I called the Motel 6 in Bishop and got the two-bed wheelchair-accessible room. No problem. Then I called the now-Motel 6 in Gustine.
And I was told that its wheelchair-accessible rooms have only one bed.
Mmmmm.
No, make that grrrrr.
This is, as far as I’m concerned, proof. This is proof that Motel 6 is unfair and discriminatory to the disabled. Not only that, it is proof that Motel 6 is making money off the disabled.
If this is not evil, I don’t know what is.
I don’t know what the deal is with the Motel 6 in Bishop. It could be the only Motel 6 left with a two-bed wheelchair-accessible room. I don’t know whether to bless it or boycott it. I do feel a bit guilty about staying there, but, hey, it’s what I need and the right price.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
More rainbow power
This is my latest column in the Claremont Courier. I think it speaks for itself.
COMMENCING ON WITH FLAIR
“Lesson number one: Always check the weather forecast.”
This wasn’t an admonition to the planners of the outdoor graduation ceremonies at the Claremont colleges two weekends ago. Although I’m not sure if looking at the forecast would have helped, since, from what I saw, it didn’t indicate that there would be drizzle and even a few little showers on Sunday morning right before the start of the commencement exercises at Pomona and Scripps. No doubt there was some big-time panicking underway.
Nor was it exactly like when the late, great Kurt Vonnegut famously told a group of graduates to “wear sunblock.” I think this advice was somewhat less flippant and had more of an unique background story.
Jehan Agrama, a 1980 Pomona College alumna, was addressing a group of Claremont colleges graduating seniors, was talking about when she was a student at Pomona “before there was e-mail and cell phones.” As she explained, “When you wanted to make a call, you had to stop. And use a pay phone.”
She talked about how, at that time, she was very involved in a student group called Feminists Against Repression (FAR). They wore bright red t-shirts emblazoned with “Go FAR” in white. One night, they splashed red paint in a quad at C.M.C - then Claremont Men’s College - to protest some doings of a fraternity. However, it rained a bit later, and the feminists awoke in the morning to find their efforts all washed away.
Hence the importance of checking the weather forecast.
But there was something more unique about this address and Ms. Agrama giving it. Now the head of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance for Anti-Defamation (GLAAD) in the Los Angeles area, Ms. Agrama went on in her comments to explain that she later found herself coming out as a lesbian - something even less easy to do in a family with a Middle Eastern background.
This was a very important part, more or less the key part, of the address, which wasn’t given during commencement weekend. It took place several weeks before, and the assembled students, from all of the colleges here and all about to graduate, were all lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender.
The event, taking place on a Friday afternoon at the end of April in Balch Hall at Scripps College, was Lavender Graduation, Class of 2011, put on by the Queer Resource Center (QRC) of the Claremont Colleges.
I don’t know how long this ceremony has been going on. This was the first time I heard of it, and I’m glad I did and went. It was eye-opening and heartening.
This may have been a small gathering on a Friday afternoon, but it was obviously a highlight to the students who were there. The stage was decorated with balloons, and there were plenty of colorful dresses and bright shirts, jackets and accessories. There were also lots of cheering, whooping and joyful squealing.
The graduates were welcomed, warmly embraced, by Angie Moore of Pitzer College, who praised her peers for being “beautiful deviants” and for “daring to be who you are.” The same warmth radiated from Adriana di Bartolo, QRC Coordinator, as she went on to preside.
A particularly meaningful part of the ceremony was when each of the presidents of the colleges were recognized for their support of the QRC. Each of the presidents or their representative - David Oxtoby of Pomona was the only president who attended for this - got on stage to receive a plaque and some love and have their picture taken. A few professors who had given GLBT-related presentations during the year were also recognized.
It was very clear that those served by the QRC, located on the Pomona College campus, make up a real community. It was also evident that this community, as vital as it is, thrives with support from others.
I was reminded later of the importance of community at the colleges during another ceremony, the baccalaureate service on the Friday afternoon of commencement weekend this month. During her few minutes at the podium on the Garrison Theater stage, Abi Weber, a Pomona College graduating senior and one of eight graduating seniors to speak, told of getting weary of washing dishes after the hillel service and dinner every Friday evening in the tiny kitchen at McAlister Center as her friends headed off to parties and other fun activities. She was about to give up when a few other students joined her, and the dish-washing became a wonderful, rich time of sharing thoughts on religion, philosophy, books, movies and whatnot.
Two other things struck me about the Lavender Graduation, both having to do with names. One was that it was put on by an entity calling itself the Queer Resource Center - when the very use of the word “queer” is controversial in the GLBT community. Some claim and use it with pride; others see it, still, as a crude put-down. I suspect today’s younger-generation students are mostly among the former.
Arguably most moving and remarkable was that not only were these queer graduates named and presented, walking across the stage one by one, at the ceremony, they were listed, in black and white, for all to see, in the program. It wasn’t so long - less than 50 years - ago when people, in general, didn’t dare admit that they were homosexual and often went to considerable lengths to hide the fact. It was, after all, thought to be a sickness, if not a crime.
To paraphrase an old ad line: You’ve come a long way, fabulous babies, and will no doubt go much further!
COMMENCING ON WITH FLAIR
“Lesson number one: Always check the weather forecast.”
This wasn’t an admonition to the planners of the outdoor graduation ceremonies at the Claremont colleges two weekends ago. Although I’m not sure if looking at the forecast would have helped, since, from what I saw, it didn’t indicate that there would be drizzle and even a few little showers on Sunday morning right before the start of the commencement exercises at Pomona and Scripps. No doubt there was some big-time panicking underway.
Nor was it exactly like when the late, great Kurt Vonnegut famously told a group of graduates to “wear sunblock.” I think this advice was somewhat less flippant and had more of an unique background story.
Jehan Agrama, a 1980 Pomona College alumna, was addressing a group of Claremont colleges graduating seniors, was talking about when she was a student at Pomona “before there was e-mail and cell phones.” As she explained, “When you wanted to make a call, you had to stop. And use a pay phone.”
She talked about how, at that time, she was very involved in a student group called Feminists Against Repression (FAR). They wore bright red t-shirts emblazoned with “Go FAR” in white. One night, they splashed red paint in a quad at C.M.C - then Claremont Men’s College - to protest some doings of a fraternity. However, it rained a bit later, and the feminists awoke in the morning to find their efforts all washed away.
Hence the importance of checking the weather forecast.
But there was something more unique about this address and Ms. Agrama giving it. Now the head of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance for Anti-Defamation (GLAAD) in the Los Angeles area, Ms. Agrama went on in her comments to explain that she later found herself coming out as a lesbian - something even less easy to do in a family with a Middle Eastern background.
This was a very important part, more or less the key part, of the address, which wasn’t given during commencement weekend. It took place several weeks before, and the assembled students, from all of the colleges here and all about to graduate, were all lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender.
The event, taking place on a Friday afternoon at the end of April in Balch Hall at Scripps College, was Lavender Graduation, Class of 2011, put on by the Queer Resource Center (QRC) of the Claremont Colleges.
I don’t know how long this ceremony has been going on. This was the first time I heard of it, and I’m glad I did and went. It was eye-opening and heartening.
This may have been a small gathering on a Friday afternoon, but it was obviously a highlight to the students who were there. The stage was decorated with balloons, and there were plenty of colorful dresses and bright shirts, jackets and accessories. There were also lots of cheering, whooping and joyful squealing.
The graduates were welcomed, warmly embraced, by Angie Moore of Pitzer College, who praised her peers for being “beautiful deviants” and for “daring to be who you are.” The same warmth radiated from Adriana di Bartolo, QRC Coordinator, as she went on to preside.
A particularly meaningful part of the ceremony was when each of the presidents of the colleges were recognized for their support of the QRC. Each of the presidents or their representative - David Oxtoby of Pomona was the only president who attended for this - got on stage to receive a plaque and some love and have their picture taken. A few professors who had given GLBT-related presentations during the year were also recognized.
It was very clear that those served by the QRC, located on the Pomona College campus, make up a real community. It was also evident that this community, as vital as it is, thrives with support from others.
I was reminded later of the importance of community at the colleges during another ceremony, the baccalaureate service on the Friday afternoon of commencement weekend this month. During her few minutes at the podium on the Garrison Theater stage, Abi Weber, a Pomona College graduating senior and one of eight graduating seniors to speak, told of getting weary of washing dishes after the hillel service and dinner every Friday evening in the tiny kitchen at McAlister Center as her friends headed off to parties and other fun activities. She was about to give up when a few other students joined her, and the dish-washing became a wonderful, rich time of sharing thoughts on religion, philosophy, books, movies and whatnot.
Two other things struck me about the Lavender Graduation, both having to do with names. One was that it was put on by an entity calling itself the Queer Resource Center - when the very use of the word “queer” is controversial in the GLBT community. Some claim and use it with pride; others see it, still, as a crude put-down. I suspect today’s younger-generation students are mostly among the former.
Arguably most moving and remarkable was that not only were these queer graduates named and presented, walking across the stage one by one, at the ceremony, they were listed, in black and white, for all to see, in the program. It wasn’t so long - less than 50 years - ago when people, in general, didn’t dare admit that they were homosexual and often went to considerable lengths to hide the fact. It was, after all, thought to be a sickness, if not a crime.
To paraphrase an old ad line: You’ve come a long way, fabulous babies, and will no doubt go much further!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
A painfully sorry state of affairs
I recently had a really bad toothache. If only my tooth was the only thing that was a severe pain.
Actually, the tooth - a lower right molar - had been bugging me for about a month, giving me occasional twinges of pain, but I thought I could deal with it. What was really going on was that I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I knew that Medi-Cal no longer funds dentistry, except for extractions and “emergencies,” and the local dentist I’ve been seeing for cleaning, funded by my parents, doesn’t take Medi-Cal and also can’t put me to sleep, which I now need when having any real work done because of my spasms. So I was going along living with it until one evening last week when I was eating pasta, of all things, and there were suddenly sharp pains and deep throbbing which eventually radiated throughout my head. I was about to discover that everything I was afraid of was true.
I began taking Tylenol, and the next morning, I had my attendant call the dental surgery center at Loma Linda University where I had gone annually for some years (they would put me under and fix any problems they found). I was in severe pain - could they help? No, Medi-Cal is no longer paying, and they no longer see Medi-Cal patients. Did they know where I could go? No. So much for Christian charity from the Seventh Day Adventists.
I felt quite small and not a little afraid, not to mention in considerable pain. My attendant and I decided to call my case worker at the Regional Center, who answered right away and got me in touch with its “dental coordinator.” That the Regional Center has a “dental coordinator” indicates that my sad problem was, sadly, not unusual. If it was not for this woman, I’d probably be still in pain, living on Tylenol and destroying my liver or something.
The woman asked about my pain and financial situation and said that getting help is tricky, but she soon had us on a three-way call with a place called Alta-Med in El Monte, about half an hour to the west. They take Medi-Cal patients because of a court ruling and take walk-ins at 1. Could my attendant and I go. Yes. Good.
The place was large and attractive and busy, mostly with Spanish speakers, and the woman at the front desk was very friendly, although harried. When I got in after more than two hours, the technicians had a difficult time getting a clear x-ray - only one is allowed - and I felt I was wasting time. Unlike the local dentist I’ve been seeing, they wouldn’t let me stay in my wheelchair, and I felt very unstable in the dentist chair, like I would fall over. No wonder it was hard getting a picture. When the dentist came, he said that he could see that, although there was no infection, the tooth was completely ground down, with the nerves exposed. He said that this was an emergency, that this was an extraction that Medi-Cal should pay for, but that he couldn’t work on me, because he couldn’t put me to sleep. I liked him - he got it - but it felt like a wasted afternoon.
When we got home, we called the dental coordinator. She didn’t answer, but she called back right after my attendant left and said that she’d be out of the office the next day but left her cell phone number.
The next day was Friday and I was in a lot of pain, not really able to eat or drink, and I was desperate not to spend the weekend like this. My attendant called the dental coordinator, but the phone seemed to be off. I had my attendant called the local urgent care center, but the woman there said I had to see a dentist. I told my attendant to call my local dentist - the one I see for cleaning - yes, I was desperate - but she called back Loma Linda. When the woman there heard about Alta-Med and the x-ray, she was much friendlier and asked for the x-ray to be faxed over. My attendant called Alta-Med, and the friendly woman at the desk said she would fax the x-ray when she could, explaining that she was working alone. Time went by, I was hurting and worrying about the weekend, and the dental Coordinator with a surgery center in Redlands, about half an hour to the east, not far from Loma Linda. It takes Medi-Cal and can put me to sleep. Could my attendant and I be there at noon? You bet.
We were at the Redlands office for less than an hour. When I first saw the dentist, I thought the pain had overtaken me and I was seeing things. He was so cute and looked like he was fresh out of high school! I pictured him surfing on weekends. (I was more than happy to have him put me under!) He also turned out to be quite smart and understanding and more or less got me. He asked me what I wanted done, mentioning a root canal, but my saying that I’m on Medi-Cal ended that conversation. There was also bad news and good news. The bad news was
*I had to have my physician sign an authorization before I could have the surgery. When I said that I’m changing doctors, because I’m not happy with the one I’ve been seeing and can’t see the new one until the end of June, I was told to see the old one. Damn!
*The earliest time for the surgery I could get was on Tuesday.
*and I would have to pay for some work that Medi-Cal doesn’t cover.
The good news was that the dentist gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and for vikadin. It turned out that the Alta-Med dentist was wrong about my not having an infection, for the pain dramatically subsided soon after I began taking the antibiotic. I only took the vikadin at night, because I didn’t want to be a complete zombie.
On the way home, we went by my doctor’s office. I was told that I had to see her, and I could get an appointment on Monday. I wasn’t happy, but my attendant pointed out to me that everything was lining up.
After a long, very quiet weekend of not doing much, including eating, I saw the doctor. Going in without my attendant and with my Vmax voice synthesizer - something I should always do - helped, cutting down her defensive arguing, and I left within minutes with the form signed.
That afternoon, my parents arrived from up north for a long-planned visit. I had not been able to tell them about my tooth, and they were dismayed to see me in such sad shape. They told me they would help with the extra costs and wondered about paying for a root canal, but I was concerned that they would have to pay for the whole surgery. (Loma Linda once told me that a surgery costs well over $1000.) When they called the office to ask questions, it was literally too late - the office was closed.
After not eating the next morning, I had to wait for more than two hours at the office in Redlands. I wondered about the other disabled people who were there, including a man who repeatedly moaned and slapped himself - where was their funding from, and were they just getting extractions? I was starving by the time of my surgery, and I again felt unstable when on the dental chair before being put to sleep - and frustrated when asked to sign a final form while on my back. The last thing I remember is the dentist looking at me - a nice last thing to see, indeed! - and asking if I was still okay with what he and I had agreed on on Friday.
I was pretty much zonked out for the rest of the day (I don’t remember waking up from the surgery or getting into my van - I would have loved seeing my attendant navigate my motorized wheelchair into my van!), and, with eating jello and fried eggs and hot cereal, I was more or less fine, if a bit groggy, the next day. I was a bit sore, but the toothache was gone - gone! I never did hear back from Loma Linda and don’t know if the nice busy lady at Alta-Med ever did fax them the x-ray.
I have left out some details, a few twists and turns, but you get the gist. Yes, I got what I needed, thankfully, but the system was, as someone commented and to say the very least, clunky. Be warned - or grateful for your coverage and funding that you have.
Actually, the tooth - a lower right molar - had been bugging me for about a month, giving me occasional twinges of pain, but I thought I could deal with it. What was really going on was that I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I knew that Medi-Cal no longer funds dentistry, except for extractions and “emergencies,” and the local dentist I’ve been seeing for cleaning, funded by my parents, doesn’t take Medi-Cal and also can’t put me to sleep, which I now need when having any real work done because of my spasms. So I was going along living with it until one evening last week when I was eating pasta, of all things, and there were suddenly sharp pains and deep throbbing which eventually radiated throughout my head. I was about to discover that everything I was afraid of was true.
I began taking Tylenol, and the next morning, I had my attendant call the dental surgery center at Loma Linda University where I had gone annually for some years (they would put me under and fix any problems they found). I was in severe pain - could they help? No, Medi-Cal is no longer paying, and they no longer see Medi-Cal patients. Did they know where I could go? No. So much for Christian charity from the Seventh Day Adventists.
I felt quite small and not a little afraid, not to mention in considerable pain. My attendant and I decided to call my case worker at the Regional Center, who answered right away and got me in touch with its “dental coordinator.” That the Regional Center has a “dental coordinator” indicates that my sad problem was, sadly, not unusual. If it was not for this woman, I’d probably be still in pain, living on Tylenol and destroying my liver or something.
The woman asked about my pain and financial situation and said that getting help is tricky, but she soon had us on a three-way call with a place called Alta-Med in El Monte, about half an hour to the west. They take Medi-Cal patients because of a court ruling and take walk-ins at 1. Could my attendant and I go. Yes. Good.
The place was large and attractive and busy, mostly with Spanish speakers, and the woman at the front desk was very friendly, although harried. When I got in after more than two hours, the technicians had a difficult time getting a clear x-ray - only one is allowed - and I felt I was wasting time. Unlike the local dentist I’ve been seeing, they wouldn’t let me stay in my wheelchair, and I felt very unstable in the dentist chair, like I would fall over. No wonder it was hard getting a picture. When the dentist came, he said that he could see that, although there was no infection, the tooth was completely ground down, with the nerves exposed. He said that this was an emergency, that this was an extraction that Medi-Cal should pay for, but that he couldn’t work on me, because he couldn’t put me to sleep. I liked him - he got it - but it felt like a wasted afternoon.
When we got home, we called the dental coordinator. She didn’t answer, but she called back right after my attendant left and said that she’d be out of the office the next day but left her cell phone number.
The next day was Friday and I was in a lot of pain, not really able to eat or drink, and I was desperate not to spend the weekend like this. My attendant called the dental coordinator, but the phone seemed to be off. I had my attendant called the local urgent care center, but the woman there said I had to see a dentist. I told my attendant to call my local dentist - the one I see for cleaning - yes, I was desperate - but she called back Loma Linda. When the woman there heard about Alta-Med and the x-ray, she was much friendlier and asked for the x-ray to be faxed over. My attendant called Alta-Med, and the friendly woman at the desk said she would fax the x-ray when she could, explaining that she was working alone. Time went by, I was hurting and worrying about the weekend, and the dental Coordinator with a surgery center in Redlands, about half an hour to the east, not far from Loma Linda. It takes Medi-Cal and can put me to sleep. Could my attendant and I be there at noon? You bet.
We were at the Redlands office for less than an hour. When I first saw the dentist, I thought the pain had overtaken me and I was seeing things. He was so cute and looked like he was fresh out of high school! I pictured him surfing on weekends. (I was more than happy to have him put me under!) He also turned out to be quite smart and understanding and more or less got me. He asked me what I wanted done, mentioning a root canal, but my saying that I’m on Medi-Cal ended that conversation. There was also bad news and good news. The bad news was
*I had to have my physician sign an authorization before I could have the surgery. When I said that I’m changing doctors, because I’m not happy with the one I’ve been seeing and can’t see the new one until the end of June, I was told to see the old one. Damn!
*The earliest time for the surgery I could get was on Tuesday.
*and I would have to pay for some work that Medi-Cal doesn’t cover.
The good news was that the dentist gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and for vikadin. It turned out that the Alta-Med dentist was wrong about my not having an infection, for the pain dramatically subsided soon after I began taking the antibiotic. I only took the vikadin at night, because I didn’t want to be a complete zombie.
On the way home, we went by my doctor’s office. I was told that I had to see her, and I could get an appointment on Monday. I wasn’t happy, but my attendant pointed out to me that everything was lining up.
After a long, very quiet weekend of not doing much, including eating, I saw the doctor. Going in without my attendant and with my Vmax voice synthesizer - something I should always do - helped, cutting down her defensive arguing, and I left within minutes with the form signed.
That afternoon, my parents arrived from up north for a long-planned visit. I had not been able to tell them about my tooth, and they were dismayed to see me in such sad shape. They told me they would help with the extra costs and wondered about paying for a root canal, but I was concerned that they would have to pay for the whole surgery. (Loma Linda once told me that a surgery costs well over $1000.) When they called the office to ask questions, it was literally too late - the office was closed.
After not eating the next morning, I had to wait for more than two hours at the office in Redlands. I wondered about the other disabled people who were there, including a man who repeatedly moaned and slapped himself - where was their funding from, and were they just getting extractions? I was starving by the time of my surgery, and I again felt unstable when on the dental chair before being put to sleep - and frustrated when asked to sign a final form while on my back. The last thing I remember is the dentist looking at me - a nice last thing to see, indeed! - and asking if I was still okay with what he and I had agreed on on Friday.
I was pretty much zonked out for the rest of the day (I don’t remember waking up from the surgery or getting into my van - I would have loved seeing my attendant navigate my motorized wheelchair into my van!), and, with eating jello and fried eggs and hot cereal, I was more or less fine, if a bit groggy, the next day. I was a bit sore, but the toothache was gone - gone! I never did hear back from Loma Linda and don’t know if the nice busy lady at Alta-Med ever did fax them the x-ray.
I have left out some details, a few twists and turns, but you get the gist. Yes, I got what I needed, thankfully, but the system was, as someone commented and to say the very least, clunky. Be warned - or grateful for your coverage and funding that you have.
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