hummingwolf (
hummingwolf) wrote2004-04-01 07:58 pm
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Watch the woman's hands
"Additionally, Dr. ----- reports that Ms. ----- only has 10% use of her hands, fingers, and arms for grasping, turning, or twisting objects, fine manipulations, or reaching."
The sentence struck me as absurd. Granting that the words were written as part of a process of appealing for disabilty benefits, I couldn't help wondering if someone had misunderstood something somehow. Ten percent use of these hands, these arms? I looked at them, flexing my fingers. The skin's dry, opening in small cracks on two of the knuckles. Blue veins run over muscles you can watch working along the arm as the fingers move. These are not hands you'd see in an advertisement for moisturizer or dishwashing soap. Still, they're not what you'd expect from the sentence above. At least, they're not what I would expect.
Thinking of the reasons why I never got a job after graduating from the training school a couple years ago, my hands are nowhere near the top of my list. They type 80 words per minute, for Pete's sake!--faster if I've been practicing. All right, I knew that my manual dexterity tested below the fifth percentile. And it's long been obvious that I'm not someone you'd want flipping burgers at your favorite fast-food joint, carrying fragile objects, using needle and thread on anything you wouldn't want stained by my blood, or performing surgery. As for upper-body strength, it's not much, never has been. Opening a fresh jar of my favorite salsa is an exercise in absurdity that can take longer than anything else I do in the kitchen. Reaching my arms up and lifting are actions with unpredictable results. But something about that number, 10 percent, leaves me struggling to make sense of it. It sounds like I should be someone who can't tie her shoes in the morning or unlock the front door. I don't get it.
I look at my hands again, asking them what they make of all this. They tell me they want to give someone a backrub. Not quite the answer I was looking for.
The sentence struck me as absurd. Granting that the words were written as part of a process of appealing for disabilty benefits, I couldn't help wondering if someone had misunderstood something somehow. Ten percent use of these hands, these arms? I looked at them, flexing my fingers. The skin's dry, opening in small cracks on two of the knuckles. Blue veins run over muscles you can watch working along the arm as the fingers move. These are not hands you'd see in an advertisement for moisturizer or dishwashing soap. Still, they're not what you'd expect from the sentence above. At least, they're not what I would expect.
Thinking of the reasons why I never got a job after graduating from the training school a couple years ago, my hands are nowhere near the top of my list. They type 80 words per minute, for Pete's sake!--faster if I've been practicing. All right, I knew that my manual dexterity tested below the fifth percentile. And it's long been obvious that I'm not someone you'd want flipping burgers at your favorite fast-food joint, carrying fragile objects, using needle and thread on anything you wouldn't want stained by my blood, or performing surgery. As for upper-body strength, it's not much, never has been. Opening a fresh jar of my favorite salsa is an exercise in absurdity that can take longer than anything else I do in the kitchen. Reaching my arms up and lifting are actions with unpredictable results. But something about that number, 10 percent, leaves me struggling to make sense of it. It sounds like I should be someone who can't tie her shoes in the morning or unlock the front door. I don't get it.
I look at my hands again, asking them what they make of all this. They tell me they want to give someone a backrub. Not quite the answer I was looking for.
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That does seem a little absurd.
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Do you realize how beautiful and poignant and poetic that was?
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just.. yeah.
when i went through the actual screening for my disability, the problems i sited were mostly fatigue, pain, and immune related..
they gave me a range-of-motion test. i knew i had problems, but the results had me reeling for days. i thought i was having a fairly good day. i sort of glossed over the verbal questioning about it because i never really *thought* about it.
both the doctor and the nurse gave me sympathetic comments and asked me if it was always that bad. this was a government disability screening office.
i was thinking, for days.. "but, i dance. i draw. i chase a toddler..."
i finally realized that i had gotten so used to how things were, that i totally forgot that it wasn't "normal".
i guess what we can take from this is confirmation that what we do have, we don't take for granted. because i never noticed how much was "missing". i was just thankful for what i *could* do.
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Hmmm, you appeared to have much more range when we met.
And your hands worked too.
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Sadly, the disability benefits bureaucracy is actually set up to find any reason to deny benefits-- not to award them based on true need. Lots of people who really need them, don't get them. Perhaps that doctor wanted to make sure you were not one of those unfortunate folks.
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OTOH, there are significant portion of actual recipients who don't necessarily need all the benefits they get.
It comes down to how strongly you feel entitled, and what lengths you're prepared to go to, I guess. The system is designed to keep honest people honest. Actually, that's not even right. The system is designed to screw honest people. Just one more example of the system being fundamentally borken.
The system should be easy. By lottery, you're assigned three random doctors, who examine you independently, and submit a Pass/Fail grade, and get paid the same whether you pass or fail.
Best two out of three determines whether you get benefits. If you fail, you can try again every six months.
They would keep their detailed exam notes just in case they're one of the doctors randomly audited each year.
There. I just fixed the system. Woo me!
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I'm not entirely sure that the number was the doctor's idea, though. It's possible that the 10% represents a lawyer's understanding of the doctor's statements, rather than something the doc herself said. In any event, I'm not going to argue with the numbers at the hearing--especially since I'm not sure what the number represents anyhow!
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