welcome to my life.

In June of 2006, I was living in Oklahoma. I was working a thankless job as a Personal Care Attendant (meaning, I went to the private homes of disabled and elderly and helped them with bathing, light housekeeping, cooking, shopping, etc) for Gentiva Health Services (aka "Gentiva"). (For amusement, read this post, then go read their mission statement that they don't follow.)

In one freak moment, I was injured. I knew immediately that there was something MAJORLY wrong with my back. Me, the single mom with a child who depended on me. Me, the one who had no one there to help me at home. Me, the one who was always there to jump in and cover for the other employees and help "make it work" when there were staffing shortages. Me, who was going slowly in the hole every week financially due to my employer's refusal to pay adequate travel/mileage reimbursement. Me, the one who could not afford to get hurt.

I went home, I took a hot shower and went to bed. I can't say that I really slept, but not standing up was a good thing. I thought at first that it was just a really bad strain, and that if I took it easy for a few days, I could get back to work. I couldn't afford to be off. I had been barely keeping my head above financial water at that point. But no. The next morning, I couldn't even get out of bed. I was in so much pain, I could not roll over. I had to have my 9 year old son come in and help me to roll out of bed onto my knees so I could slowly crawl to the bathroom. He thought I was joking until I asked him to help me find some clothing and help me get ready to go to the ER. He knows how much I hate doctors and hospitals, so for me to say "I need to go," meant "this is really bad".

Needless to say, the doctor never even had me get out of the chair in the exam area behind curtain #2, and declared it a "strain". He prescribed a pain pill and sent me on my way. I stopped at the employer's office to hand them my paperwork. I was told to go home and take it easy (well duh - the doctor told me that already). I was off work for 5 days. 5 days I couldn't afford to miss, but 5 days I could barely take care of myself, much less anyone else. Overnight, I had to come to rely on my son for more than any 9yr old ever should be relied on to do. I hated my supervisor for delaying the delivery of a certain piece of equipment which would have prevented my injury. I hated myself for allowing this to happen. I hated my body for betraying me.

I attempted to return to work on the 6th day after my injury. What a joke. I had on a back support as tight as it could go, but still, every step was excruciating. If I sat in certain positions, my legs went numb. I knew it wasn't "normal", but kept pushing through the pain because I knew that I couldn't afford for it to keep me from working. My son needed me to put food in the cupboards and clothing on his back. Looking back, I don't know how I made it through those few days other than sheer stubbornness and determination.

Early July, I ran out of pain meds, and had no improvement. Now, I wasn't taking 2 every 4 hours - I was trying to get through without them, since they made me sleepy and stupid and I needed to be clear-headed to be able to drive and work. I ate tylenol like skittles during the day, but once I got home, we cooked something simple, I took my 2 pills, and to zombieland I went. My son had lost his companion and mother. If I wasn't at work, I was drugged and snoozing.

Since my regular doctor refused to deal with a work injury, off to the urgent care clinic I went. This doctor looked me dead in eye and said "no more work". My heart fell. He injected the area with steroids and pain meds, gave me prescriptions for pain meds and muscle relaxers, and referred me to the occupational health clinic, where I probably should have been referred by the ER doctor. He also put me on restrictions, of VERY light duty. Believe it or not, I tried to work. I lasted 45 minutes. I called in and was told to go home. I was taken off the schedule.

The occupational health doctor didn't do much, diagnostically. He sent me for a few Xrays, and kept giving me the pain meds and muscle relaxers. The muscle relaxers didn't work for me, so I ended up not taking them. After a week and no change, he again extended my restrictions which basically put me at a desk job. When I took this new restriction form to my supervisor, she informed me "I can't work you." I was told to go home and until I was cleared by a doctor to return to work, they could not work me. Great.

This was the last time I ever saw or spoke to some of these people. They could call me at 4am or 11:30pm to help them figure out how to cover a staffing shortage, but never once could they call me while I was doctor-ordered to be off work. But yet, the family of the client I was caring for when I got injured called me regularly to see how I was doing. They offered prayers for me and my health. They sent me cards wishing me "get well". My employer turned their back - I was no longer useful to them.

This was when my hellish relationship with Gallagher-Bassett (aka "GB") began. NEVER IN MY LIFE have I met such rude, arrogant asses. Jason is the jerk assigned to my case. I have one thing to say to him - "karma is a bitch, and I hope yours has lots of puppies". That's right, there is no love lost on that sorry man. NONE AT ALL.

Jason not only was a pompous ass when we first spoke about my total temporary disability (ttd) checks. He said "your checks will be _____ a week". When I told him I felt that number was inaccurate, rather than recalculate or tell me how he got this number, his response was "which one of us is sitting here with the payroll records - you or me?" Oddly enough, I was sitting there with all my check stubs to date for the year (minus the 13.5 hours I had worked since my injury which I have NEVER been paid for), and had already done some calculating. My number was roughly $30 more a week than his.

So I continued on, wasting my gas to get to weekly appointments 25 miles away from home, only to be told that I was still on the same restrictions. I just had them fax them to my employer.

I got referred to a pain management specialist for steroid/pain injections into my left sacroiliac joint, which was what was presumed to be the problem. Still, no MRI, only a few xrays. I questioned the lack of MRI in a visit to this doctor. She told me that they don't do MRIs on SI joint injuries. Although, it took Jason the asshat MONTHS to approve the pain/steroid injections. In the meantime, this "specialist" took me off pain meds that worked and put me on a pain pill which shot my blood pressure to 180/100, my pulse up to 110, and I felt sick and had a constant headache - and my feet and legs ballooned up from fluid retention. Her answer when I called her office? Stop taking the pills. Nothing else was prescribed. When I asked about it at my next visit, I was told to "take a handful of tylenol if it hurts".

The beginning of September of 2006, my weekly checks suddenly stopped. When I called Jason about it, he chuckled and said "you aren't getting another damn penny from us, get off your ass and go back to work!" I hung up, cried for the first time since this all began for about an hour, and then got mad. How could they do this? I called back and asked for his supervisor, who was Kim (at that time, it has since changed). She explained that I had a "soft tissue injury" by diagnosis, and that under Oklahoma law, they only had to pay for 8 weeks. Okay, Jason didn't even TRY to tell me that. I asked her what my son and I were supposed to do, since I could not get cleared to go back to work, and still could barely walk, much less take care of other people. "I don't know what to tell you." I told her what Jason had said earlier that day, and asked for a change of case manager. "We don't have enough employees here to do that." Great.

FINALLY, in mid-November of 2006, I got my pain/steroid injections. I was so excited, I stupidly thought it was going to end my pain and I would be back to work in no time. I was a fool. They worked in controlling the pain for about 10 days. Then it was back to eating tylenol like skittles. I was eating about 2 bottles of 500mg pills (100count) a week. It didn't even take much of the edge off.

December 2006, the pain management specialist's office screwed up and totally pissed me off. I had slipped on ice outside where I went for physical therapy, and had fallen. I wanted to be checked and make sure nothing more was damaged. Her office made an appointment, and gave me a card. When I showed up, I was told that the doctor was on vacation and I screwed up - the appointment was in January. (To this day, I still have the appointment card saying DECEMBER.) I was far from pleasant, I will admit. I had been told that morning by my physical therapist that she could not keep seeing me because the doctor had not renewed my prescription and Jason would not approve any extension. I was out of my mind with pain, and the tylenol no longer cut it - I needed SOMETHING stronger than that, because I no longer slept. I passed out from exhaustion for a couple hours here and there. And now I was being told I had to wait another MONTH to be seen. I let them know that I felt they were a bunch of incompetents, and turned and left. Her nurse documented something much different, claiming I had dropped a few F-bombs. No I had not. Falsify records much? Using this information, the doctor terminated our doctor/patient relationship, and mailed me a letter to inform me of this.

So Merry Christmas - no income. nothing to give my son, who had been through hell the past 6months and still believed in Santa. no physical therapy. no food. Our pet/show chickens were disappearing one by one, and I was lying to my son and telling him they were sold. No, they were in the chicken and dumplings I was making almost daily. SOMEhow, I was making a few hundred in child support keep us alive. To this day, I don't know how the hell I did it.

I was once told that "those that give of themselves to others unconditionally will have that love returned in their time of greatest need" by an elderly woman I cared for who was terminally ill. It was one of those many things you hear and nod and "yes ma'am" to - and file it under "interesting, but probably total bullcrap". Well no. Because the family of a former client were the reason that my son and I a) got through December without starving or freezing (I had not been able to keep up all 3 utilities, and had let the electric get turned off - I didn't qualify for assistance from anywhere because I was not "disabled" and I was unable to work), and b) kept my son's belief in Santa alive. I can never thank them enough, even though they say "it was nothing". Yes it was. When I was trying to figure out if my life insurance was matured so that I could leave my son something other than bills, they gave me a reason to stick around and stick it out. All my life, it has been ME giving to others, and asking for nothing in return. Somehow, in my time of greatest need, the generosity was returned. I guess the little lady had been right.

During the holidays, the client I had been injured caring for passed away. I had been going to visit them in the nursing home they went to following my injury (my getting hurt had helped move them up on the waiting list, as no suitable caregiver was available the hours needed) on the days I had physical therapy. I have been asked a few times over the past couple years if I blame them for my injury. I do not. How can you? If I blame anyone/thing, I blame their disease. It caused the behavioral outburst which put us in the dangerous predicament we ended up in, and I had to make a split-second decision to let us both get hurt by falling to the floor, or to try to get them safely to the nearest piece of furniture. It was a no-brainer, I think. I'd do it again today if I were in the same position. I think their passing hit me hardest because for the first time in my life, I was unable to go and pay my respects - because I wasn't able to sit that long on the church pews.

Regardless, January came, and no doctor - no meds - no physical therapy. I had consulted a lawyer in November, and he was trying to get a date to request a second opinion. I had yet to be cleared by a doctor to return to work, didn't qualify for unemployment (still technically employed AND not able to work), and I had recently filed for Social Security Disability. I was grasping at straws, trying to find SOMETHING. I didn't qualify for welfare benefits, because to get $250-ish from the state, I would have to relinquish my ONLY income in full (child support) to the state. In other words, I would have to GIVE them more than I got back in benefits. Even the case worker, who was sympathetic to my problems, said "honey, don't do it."

TAX TIME! YAY! I caught up bills, turned the electric back on, bought a ton of non-perishables and socked away the rest. And then my car broke down, eating up most of what was sitting in the bank. I think there's a Murphy's law about that.

Around the time my car was getting fixed, my lawyer went to court and got it ordered for me to see a neurosurgeon, as well as my ttd checks to be restarted and back-dated to September of 2006. It was a huge relief. Granted, it took them almost another month to actually SEND the check paying me for almost 5 months. I am sure that Jason was livid, because I was "getting another damn penny from them." Tough. I TOLD YOU something was wrong with my diagnosis and I wanted a second opinion. You told me I wasn't entitled to one!

Happy Birthday to me! I spent my birthday (March 6th) giving a deposition in my case against Gentiva and GB. I think it was pretty obvious by my constant sitting in the chair, standing up behind the chair, squirming, etc. that it was not an easy thing for me to do. I was constantly trying to find a comfortable position to sit in, stand in, lay in, and nothing was working. I had gotten to the point where I no longer felt comfortable being out in public. I was like a child with major ADHD who embarrasses its parents because it can not be still. I had actually had 2 women at different times come up and ask me (or my son!) what my problem was. I was ashamed to be seen in public. I just stopped going places and getting out of the car. My son learned to shop for groceries and household items.

Later in March of 2007, I saw the neurosurgeon. FINALLY, a doctor who was going to listen to me and actually let me know that it was not "in my head" as the pain management doctor had told me a few times. His first question was "when did you have your last MRI?" I just laughed and said "You are a funny man. This is a work injury - why the HELL do you think I would have had one?" He laughed and said "because it doesn't matter HOW you got hurt. You should have had one 9 months ago!" And had his office set me up with one about 10 days later. He also took the time to listen to me about my tylenol-eating habit, my drug allergies and what meds did/did not work for me, and how exactly the pain was, where it was, and how it was affecting my everyday life, and most of all - that I did not want surgery if there was any other option, to which he agreed to. I can never ever express my gratitude to this man for being the kind of doctor I needed at that time. I was spiralling into a deep, dark pit of depression and didn't think that there would be anyone to throw me a rope before it consumed me completely. He did that. I left with prescriptions after we decided what to try for pain management, and told "if they don't work for ANY reason, call this hospital and tell them you need the on-call neurosurgeon. I am on-call this weekend, and I WILL take care of you." Hard to believe that one sentence could make me feel so much better about my situation, but it did. All positives I felt vanished when I got home and checked my mail. Social Security had denied my application for Disability.

Had the MRI, and a couple weeks later, my lawyer called me to tell me that he had the report if I wanted a copy to look at before my follow-up with the doctor. I went into his office (25mi from home) and took one look at the single-page report. "Shit." The one who reads medical dictionaries, PDRs and med school texts for the hell of it knew enough "medicalese" to translate what she was seeing. Herniated disc. Pinched nerves. Bulging discs. I knew then that surgery was going to be my only option. I left my lawyer's office, sat in my car, and cried. I cried tears of relief that FINALLY, there was confirmation that there was something REALLY WRONG. I cried tears of pain because I knew that this whole hellish mess wasn't over. I cried tears of sorrow, knowing that my life was going to change even more with surgery, and because of how long those nerves were pinched, I would probably not get the feeling back.

Needless to say, the follow-up appointment was pretty short on words. Doc walked in, I said "I know, surgery." He nodded and said, "You wanna see the images? I have the CD out here on the computer." He took the time to show me EXACTLY where each bulging disc, herniation and pinched nerves could be found. He told and showed me how he was going to go in and what he would do in there. We scheduled surgery for 4 weeks later.

51 weeks after my injury, I was finally getting it repaired. I guess I should have been happy and excited, but I was nervous and scared. What if something went wrong? What if it was worse when I woke up than when I went to sleep? What would happen with my son? Surgery went well, but I went home feeling like my legs were shot full of novacaine. I was laughing and joking with the surgeon in recovery. For once in nearly a year, the pain in my lower back was GONE. My butt and legs were numb but hey - I could deal, because the pain was G-O-N-E! If I hadn't been afraid of landing flat on my face, I would have gotten up and danced a jig or something. I went home that night, not totally following doctor's orders. I was to have an adult with me. I had no one. My son was told that if he thought there was trouble to go to the neighbors. My now 10yr old son was my caretaker. NO 10yr old should EVER be put in that position, but I had asked before surgery for a personal care attendant (I mean, I worked for a company that provided the service, right?!), but was told I did not qualify. I find this very interesting, since I cared for people with fewer limitations while employed by them. I still feel that it was more of a case of them turning their backs and ignoring the facts.

10 days after surgery, things changed in an instant. I woke up out of a drugged sleep to the feeling that my left leg was on fire. Nothing stopped it - pain meds, rubbing it, ice, heat. It was really bad. I tried to get through it, telling myself that it was temporary and would go away. After 24 hours straight being awake and dealing with it, I gave in and drove myself to the ER, even though I had been ordered not to drive for 14 days. I had no one else to drive me, I had no choice.

YAY - welcome to life with nerve pain. Welcome to 24/7 foot in a bucket of acid one minute, shift your position in the chair, and have "pins and needles" (like when your foot is just waking up after falling asleep). Med added to my regimen to address this. It makes me a drooling idiot for about an hour, but then I am okay. I just need to learn to time it right around my daily routine.

Back to physical therapy, and the same therapist. After a few months, we decided that I was about as good as I was going to get. The surgeon agreed. I was then discharged by the physical therapist and surgeon.

During that time, I was also sent for an EMG/Nerve Conduction Study. If you have never had one, be grateful, and pray you never need one. I would not wish this testing/procedure on ANYONE, not even Jason with GB. It is a sadistic way to measure if your nerves are functioning, and if so, to what extent. I cried all the way home from the pain. Even my nerve-pain pills (I had not been able to take the night before or that morning) gave me relief when I took them at home. I ended up calling the surgeon's office and having his PA tell me to take a second one and see if that helped. It proceeded to knock me out for 8 hours.

If you have never had an experience with a worker's compensation case, let me give you the rundown of what happens after the doctor says you have reached maximum improvment. First thing, your ttd stops. Next, you go see their "independent examiner" and if you have a lawyer, they will send you to different "independent examiner". (To try to get into one on your own - good luck.) Each performs and exam and calculates (using pre-set criteria and scoring) the percentage of permanent disability they feel you have. From there, sometimes the employer's lawyer will present a settlement offer. There will be dickering back and forth about what should and should not be provided by their side.

First, I went to "my" examiner. He and his PA took detailed notes, and spent over 90 minutes examining me, measuring my scar, testing and measuring my range of motion with my back and legs. VERY in-depth.

A month or so later, I went to "their" examiner. He never made eye contact, I never even put on a gown, he never took measurements, he never looked at my scar, and he asked me a few questions and did not write down anything I answered. He was one of the least professional doctors I have seen to date, and he was paid hundreds for his 30 minutes maximum that he spent with me. I called my lawyer from the parking lot afterwards and told him that I could see this doctor screwing a lot of information up. He told me to wait and see.

Needless to say, there was a MAJOR (around 30%) difference between the determinations of the two doctors. I was not shocked AT ALL. What did shock me was that their doctor's report was full of misinformation and misquotes. I again voiced my concern over the competency of their examiner. My lawyer told me not to push it, so I shut up.

March 5th, 2008. Over 20 months have passed since I was injured. We go to court, but not after I finally got through to my lawyer and theirs that Jason had screwed up his calculations from as far back as July 2006, when I started getting ttd. I had provided pay stubs months earlier to my lawyer, and tried to explain then what a screwy "travel time" pay rate they had. The two lawyers did the math and realized I was right, Jason was wrong. (That "screwy travel time" was never calculated into his numbers, which I had suspected from day one.) We go into court and it is put on record that the error was made. One small victory for me - Jason can eat some humble pie for that one. Banter back and forth, I have to go on the stand and say how the injury affects my daily life, blah blah blah. Then I go home to wait.

Judgement comes down the 10th of March. Back ttd is owed, they had overpaid me by a few weeks between the time the surgeon released me and the time they stopped checks, so the judge had to do the calculations to say THIS IS THE BOTTOM LINE. They have to pay continuing medical maintenance until further order of the court. They have to pay my settlement out in weekly installments, not in a lump sum, which Oklahoma does not do apparently. GREAT. I have to be at their mercy financially for almost 2 years longer. They are to pay for retraining to a job I am able to do. I am mostly pleased with this, although I disagree with the judge's determination on the percentage of my permanent disability (23%).

Now, what day did I say the order was on? That's right, MARCH TENTH. It is now NOVEMBER TWENTY-FOURTH. I finally started my retraining (after many bitchy emails and calls to my lawyer about how he wasn't enforcing the court order) on November 1st. GB has yet to respond to calls from any doctor's office in two states so that I can get my meds prescribed, and see a doctor. I am currently back to eating tylenol, and they aren't paying for that, I am. I am still not able to work due to the slew of limitations.

Since the court date, and GB's subsequent ass-dragging, my son and I have become homeless. My former housemate was convinced early on that I was "faking" (as were many of my so-called friends), and he went off to work one day (truck driver) and stopped paying the house payments (without informing me). One day, the sheriff's department shows up and tells me I have 72 hours to get out. No money, nowhere to go, unable to work, I quickly sell what I haven't sold previously to keep us alive to pay for a u-haul and a storage unit, and we move what we can in the one day I have the truck. Over 3/4 of our things are left behind, for someone else to go through and do whatever with.

My son and I move down the hill to the public camping area and set up house in a 2-man tent and my car. Shelters have no room. No where has funds to help. The woman at the Salvation Army tells me to put my son in foster care and get a job. (Like I hadn't been trying to find one I could do for the past few months at that point.) It was a very disheartening experience, to say the least.

An aquaintence offers us a place to stay for the summer. I figure "hey, I can get my retraining going, and this will work." NO, that would mean GB would actually do what they were COURT ORDERED to. This temporary place wasn't the taj mahal either. It was a roof, yes, but no running water. Not ideal, but better than the situation in the tent.

In late July, my ex-husband (not my son's father) was travelling through Oklahoma for work (truck driver). He called my cell and said "why don't you guys come up and visit while I am sitting here waiting overnight?" My son was crushed when I told him I didn't have the money to pay for gas to get there AND back. I pawned my rings (sentimental value) for the money to put in the tank, and we went. We headed back that night, my son the happiest I had seen him in a long time, and that made the thought of my losing my rings (because I could not really afford to get them back out of the pawn shop) less painful.

The next morning, my ex sends a text telling me he is delayed, and why don't we come up again to visit. I reply telling him I can't afford the gas. He then calls and tells me that if I can get there, he will pay for a tank of gas, but he needed to talk to me about something. We get back to where he is, and he asks me how bad things are. I finally can tell someone, and I let it all out. He says nothing really. We have a nice visit, and then he goes to work and we go back.

The end of that week, my leg has a new development. I suddenly get a charleyhorse from hell in my calf that refuses to subside for over 30 minutes. Afterward, the leg feels weak, and the calf muscle hurts like it never has. I am not playing around, GB has screwed me out of my meds and medical treatment for months. I go to the ER, where they perform a doppler of my leg to rule out a blood clot. No clot, just more nerve issues. No meds prescribed, sends me on my way. 3 days later, I am back again to the ER, because I cannot take the pain any more from these charleyhorse-things that are happening 3-5 times in a 24 hour period. The ER doctor asks what I am supposed to be taking, dosage, etc. He comes back in and says "here you go, you're good for a month." So off to Walgreen's I go - to be told that they denied coverage on my prescriptions. BUT - because I have been filling meds there all along, they fill it and submit it again and tell me not to worry about it.

I have used the last of my money and gas to get this far. I am out of both, and we are stuck 40miles from where we were staying. I drive (more like sputter and coast) across the street into a Wal-Mart parking lot, and we settle in for the night. I don't know what else to do at 10pm, and I need to take my meds which will make me sleep. Just as I am dozing, my ex calls. I tell him my phone is almost out of minutes (pre-paid cell), and that I will find a way to the library to get online in the morning and tell him more details. He sends a text asking me if we are ok. I answer with "no". The next morning, I wake up to a message that says "move back here and stay here".

I moved to Oklahoma following our divorce in 2005 to get away from his controlling, emotionally abusive ways. Now, I have no other conceivable choice but to give in and move back to Wisconsin and live in his house once again. It is not a choice I want to make, but for my son, I know I have to say yes. I tell him that I am not giving up what little belongings we have left. He makes arrangements for that. And then he manages to get back to Oklahoma (where he rarely goes with work) to pack us up and get out of there.

That was August. I am still fighting with GB for what was COURT ORDERED in March. Their delays, negligence and disregard for my health and well-being have turned this into what I imagine hell would be like. They have stolen my son's innocence and childhood, which I will never be able to get back for him. And the worst part? They aren't done screwing me over yet, and I know it.