A Gripe

Any husband who has the least bit of love or pity for his wife will be infuriated if he sees her come home in tears. Well, I’m infuriated. So here’s my story.

For the last two years my two daughters have been on Medicaid because I made the decision to take a low paying job in the inner city with the hopes of helping people in poverty. I believe in walking in the shoes of those to whom we’re trying to reach and to suffer with those who suffer – at least a little. Well, I have felt their pain.

My wife and I are very competent and responsible people. I have the luxury of a master’s degree and my wife a B. A. And every time that the Medicaid office has requested some paperwork or identification or birth certificates or check stubs or proof of my wife’s unemployment, we are always very quick to comply. But over the past two years, our paperwork has been repeatedly (and I’m talking about at least a half dozen times) “misplaced” by those who work at the Medicaid office. We have sent it in the mail and, when that failed, we have personally driven to their office in downtown Indy and handed it to them in person. Yet is somehow seems to disappear. One time… ok; everyone makes mistakes. Twice… their boss should offer a stern reprimand for negligence. Six or more times… whoever is so incompetent as to do that needs to find a new job.

A year ago one of my daughters became very ill and we were hammered with a $420 medical bill. Supposedly, she was covered by Medicaid. But no, her coverage had been revoked because they supposedly did not have the necessary paperwork (and they failed to notify of this fact). So for the next nine months we fought this. We refused to pay that bill because we knew it wasn’t our fault. We left voicemails, we left notes in their mailbox, we went to their offices and waited for sometimes up to three hours. No dice. We never once got a call back. We never once got any form of a response. And our daughter remained uninsured.

Meanwhile, I noticed that we stopped getting offers for credit cards in the mail. It seemed odd to me because we’d always been getting them. I got curious and ran a free credit report. Interestingly, our credit report had been damaged and we know there is only one reason why: that darn doctor’s bill was so delinquent. I was advised to never pay the bill because then we’d NEVER see the money again even if Medicaid was proven responsible. But after seeing our credit report damaged and after nearly a year of constant, persistent efforts to right this wrong, I finally caved in and wrote the check.

So three weeks ago we were notified that we needed to fill out new paperwork. I did so with meticulous care. But guess what? It was somehow “lost in the mail.” Now both of our daughters are uninsured and sick. We can’t take them to the doctor because we don’t want to shell out another $400 or more.

That brings us to today. My wife simply wanted to tell the caseworker that there must have been some mistake because we know we sent in the paperwork. She waited all morning. No one came. She pleaded. No one came. She even went back to the offices and started knocking on doors. No response except one: a guard came and escorted her back to the lobby. At this point my sweet, polite wife started balling in front of a room filled with people. She pleaded with the guard to help her actually speak to a real human being who could right this injustice. He said that there was nothing he could do. She left for home having seen no one. Another morning wasted – just like the umpteen mornings before.

I’m at a loss to know that to do. It’s all so sickening. After two dozen voicemails left over a period of two years and no responses, you begin to wonder if anyone is even listening. Now I have sick girls and a crying wife and a case worker who doesn’t exist.

I’m tempted to stalk her. Show up at her home or call her at midnight just to see if she really exists. I am totally at a loss. My wife has taken to writing editorials for the newspaper in hopes that something will be done. Meanwhile, I’m seething and waiting for my head to clear until I can think clearly of a course of action.

Is it any wonder why the poor feel so helpless? They are quite literally treated like animals. Everything communicates to them that they are merely a nuisance, a leech on society. And they start to believe it. If my wife and I, educated and responsible as we are, can’t get justice, then how on earth will they? I know that there are worse travesties in the world. And our little situation doesn’t even compare to the politically oppressed of China, the persecuted Christians of India, or the hellish situation in Darfur. But this is America, darn it. We’re supposed to be better than this.

Through this ordeal I’ve learned one thing for sure: it really sucks to be poor.