November 1997
Dear friends:
Another year has transpired and somehow I’m still walking the earth. This is no small milestone considering the grade and stage of lymphoma wreaking havoc in my body two summers ago. As of November, I’m still in remission. My blood tests are perfect. A doctor/friend at County-USC was finally able to pull the correct strings which will allow me to receive Medi-Cal. Having Medi-Cal means that I can at last afford a consultation for a possible bone marrow procedure in the near future. I should have originally lied and claimed drug addiction or clinical depression – no doubt I would have collected SSI along with a Medi-Cal card months ago !
I must express thanks to so many of you who called and wrote to me over the past year. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.
After 10 months of remission I consider myself to be living proof that “the power of positive thinking” is a lot of horse manure. Statements similar to that one really used to hit my cancer support group facilitator like a bowling ball in the lap. She was an avid believer in thinking pretty thoughts. I can remember listening to her lecture the group about thought patterns and immune systems with a Carol Channing smile plastered across her mouth and eyes that never blinked. As I continually adjusted myself in my seat (hemorrhoids are a by-product of chemotherapy), I would think to myself, “somebody please slap this woman before she turns us all into psycho-diabetics !” I’m no longer attending support group meetings.
The constant barrage of bureaucratic absurdity coupled with deliberate neglect from prospective employers have left me wavering between feelings of suffocation and sardonic amusement.
Unemployment Insurance has been my only source of income since the beginning of chemotherapy. Every two weeks I filled out forms saying I had “looked for work” (right, I also looked for UFO’s). Anything even remotely out of the ordinary on these forms seems to short circuit the EDD and send them spiraling into an official process of inquiry which involves computerized letters, telephone interviews on particular dates with particular representatives asking particular questions, and requests for very specific documents. It’s like having an agency of human beings flush you down a toilet in slow motion. I got an infection the last week of December, and was hospitalized for a week. The EDD canceled my Unemployment benefits because I was “medically disabled”. The computerized letter suggested I turn to the Social Security Administration or to Disability Insurance. State disability didn’t acknowledge my existence. The SSA had already labeled me as “not disabled” which was why I had been collecting UIB in the first place. Fortunately I was permitted to “reopen” my Unemployment application a few weeks later.
This past summer I began to seriously look for work. I thought my experience and credentials might make it easy to slip back into the Community Adult School system – WRONG ! Although I certainly could never prove discrimination, it strikes me as significant that the question of what I’ve been doing for the past year ALWAYS came up in an interview. Well, can I blame them ? Would I want to risk a year’s teaching contract on someone like myself ?
I started looking elsewhere. Temporary agencies wanted typists. Answering want-ads in the LA Times was a waste of time and money.
Meanwhile, despite filling out paper work for County Hospital which pleaded poverty, and being assured that my lack of income would leave me with no liability, I was billed for hospital services. Soon I was treated to phone calls from USC’s private collection agency by people who could barely speak English or who sounded like high school kids from East LA – “hey dude, like we gotch-u on our computer man. U owe some money home-y.” It took about a month or so to straighten that mess out.
My parents have been great throughout all of this. Without them I surely would have perished in the gutter, a victim of Republican “welfare reform”. It’s a humbling experience to live with Mom and Dad. One discovers that so much of the mystery of one’s personality is simply a matter of inheritance. “Honor thy father and mother.” – well, heck, it’s never very wise to spit in the mirror, is it ? While living in Alhambra I used to wonder why I could never bring any sense of order to my bedroom. Neatness and organization seemed to come so easily to other people. What can I say ? I am indeed my mother’s son.
Since my chemotherapy ended last January, I’ve been attending a small Episcopal church in the east Hollywood area. A couple of friends from All Saints in Pasadena had become regulars there. What a contrast though --- 50 people on a Sunday morning compared with 1500 at All Saints ! I’ve found it to be a friendly more intimate place.
The 12 o’clock Spanish service is packed with ex-Catholics from EL Salvador. It swarms with kids ! The Roman diaspora continues to fill up Episcopal church pews. What will we do if the next pope moderates on social issues or actually takes the Second Vatican Council seriously ? We’ll have to start recruiting Presbyterians – Oh No ! -- not them !
At this moment in time I’m about to begin doing something I said I would never do again – regular K-12 substitute teaching. I thought “subbing” would be an easy thing to slip back into, until I visited my first Certificated Personnel office. Their new human resources bunny met me from behind the counter with her bouncy hair and intrusive perkiness (at least she blinked her eyes).
“Oh, you’d like to apply for a substitute teaching position ?” she bubbled.
“Excuse me ? Come again ? -- Position ??”
In the past all you had to do was show up with your BA, CBEST results, and a money order. Within two days the district would be calling you and practically begging you to come in and baby sit all of their little turbo-engines on Ritalin and adolescent crack babies. New Regulations mean a longer waiting period now. Everyone has to be finger printed and reviewed regardless of whether they’ve been credentialed before. I’m sure it’s less hassle for a paranoid schizophrenic to purchase a machine gun in LA County.
That sums up the news, at least for the time being. I wish everyone well. I’m still alive and kicking (in case there was any doubt). -- Merry Christmas, by the way.
Love & Kisses,
Phil
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