Real talk. Last night a young organization called AMP, Asheville Music Professionals, hosted a gathering at ISIS on Haywood Road. The topic for exchange was healthcare, which is a historical issue for artists of all mediums. In the new government format, it is supposed to be easier for folks to get medical coverage, but the reality is most folks in the entertainment industry didn't have medical coverage to begin with. So, where do the funds come from to cover what is now a mandatory minimum of sorts, in order to participate in the existing healthcare paradigm?
I was not only looking forward to last night as a new addition to the AMP mailing list, but as a chance to discuss an issue I feel a great deal of passion for. As someone who has been forced into the western medical paradigm for the bulk of my life, I have experienced everything from full medical coverage as a young child through college years under my parental wings, through years of calls from bill collectors after an emergency surgery as a newlywed and young mother. For many years I let health concerns ride as I waited out 5 digits of debt from the surgery a decade earlier. I am now blessed to have received medicaid and have therefore not been affected by the changes of the Affordable Care Act. I believe in socialized medicine almost as much as believe in holistic and preventative healthcare. I believe my medicaid is a godsend as I am finally able to receive routine diagnostic procedures and a few physical therapy sessions a year in case of emergency. If I can get a recommendation from my clinician, when I finally see them later this year..... I have had to reschedule due to being late on more than one occasion. .....if they approve chiropractic care from someone who is willing to go through the absurd amount of rigamarole the government expects to receive compensation from medicaid, and provided I can come up with the triple digits for intake, I can receive 8 or 9 adjustments in 2015. For these affordances, I am incredibly thankful.
I am saddened by the realization that I can not write about last night's gathering because of my own sordid health issues. It will sound ridiculous for someone who is on the public dole to desire more, but the reality is the tools that are sometimes necessary to lift people from poverty are not available. The reason I have been late for the doctor, as well as court dates, meetings and missed entire memorial services is the reality of immobility. The reality of driving automobiles that can kill other people. The reality of public displays of emotion that overwhelm and cripple. The reality of judgment and internal chaos that others are unable to define in social scenarios and other soft circumstances.
I am humbled to remember the modus operandi of the villasonican movement and disclose my own mortification about the potentials of toxic explosions in public bathrooms or the inability to get up and down stairs without asking for help. I am sometimes immobilized by my thoughts and my fears and my horrid recollections of stolen moments or public humiliations. I am also immobilized by seething pain in my joints and piercing accumulations of sensations that are difficult to describe. When a kind stranger asks, "are you okay?" as you suppress the ghost of a knife or the sting of a sense memory misfire, it is difficult to know the polite way to dismiss oneself without one's own bitter judgments rising to the surface.
I have asked the system about advocates and have even found a neighbor who has volunteered to accompany me places, like last night, that I can somehow justify spending a few dollars to fit in with a social lubricant or a ginger ale and some for my friend. Now the conundrum brings me around to the question of who helps me get through the time and energy to get past the obstacles in my doorframes.
I share these thoughts as a real outcry to think on the issues of healthcare that still loom in our culture. I invite you to continue to discuss what some may seem as political issues to lie dormant on a battlefield smeared with the blood of our loss. The issues burn brighter than the demons that toast our demise outside of Buncombe County. Cheers to the death of tough love.
Answers are begged. Solutions lie unused and experiments go undone every day.
I live alone with a child who deserves more.
Infinite gratitude goes to James Roberts, my step father, who continues to pay for my EMDR treatments every week, as 4 of the 5 therapists I have seen in the last few years have discontinued medicaid coverage. Also, to my therapist at Hickory Nut Gap Farm who is continuing to accept medicaid, while several therapists at Horsesense continue to tangle with the system for their right to provide services to the poor.
For a final dose of real talk, in all honesty the best medicine to make me function as I continue to refuse the piles of pharmaceuticals prescribed to me, is a little red wine in the evenings, a little irish cream in my morning tea or coffee, some tobacco and the forbidden maryjane. Obviously, however, while my medicaid has no limits to the hundreds of thousands of dollars it would spend a month to provide me with their drug of choice, I can't possibly afford the mild lubricants and pain pacifiers that are MY choice. I am often floored by the judgement of those who have found a way to thrive in the world, less survive in the world, and say that those in poverty don't deserve these types of products. Most people in poverty are there for reasons you can only imagine from your spoon fed media choices. Most of the poor folks I know deserve every puff and swallow. I haven't even mentioned the Crown Royal I have chosen to celebrate with for 25 years, nor the champagne and white wine I used to keep on stock, with organic juice and such and such and so on...... when I was a working woman who deserved such accoutrements. I accept your judgement as you read this. I harbour my own.
Today I shall revisit the local Buncombe resources to find out about preventing my power getting cut off tomorrow, which would spoil the produce that we collected from the blessed ABCCM (Asheville Buncombe Christian Crisis Ministry) who stocked us up with food for thought, as well as our bodies, last week. On a higher note, we have surplus toilet paper and I am very thankful for my deodorant, my collection of hotel shampoo and some awesome handmade soap from my friend Mariah. Mariah, you rock. The soap you made is delightful and makes me think life is worth the living after all.
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