Poverty claimed another victim yesterday. Her name was Denise.
I did her intake paperwork when she came to the shelter. I'm not sure I've ever talked to anyone who was so definite about not taking it anymore. She left and did not look back.
Denise quickly earned the reputation of being a Debbie Downer, definitely a glass half-empty kind of person. In her case I guess I couldn't blame her. She'd been married before, not happily. An abusive marriage, as I recall. Somehow in that divorce she wound up having to pay child support, an obligation her current husband didn't want her to meet. For that she lost her driver's license and gained thousands of dollars of debt she couldn't shake. Even after her children were grown. Even after they had income, and she didn't. They didn't have anything to do with her.
Denise always expected the worst and obsessed over the next thing that was going to go wrong.
She tried. She called Legal Aid and filed for divorce. She called the child support bureau and was able to get her driver's license back. No car, however, and they still wanted her to make payments. Hers was our most difficult demographic: Over 40, adult children, no income. No public cash benefits and no Medicaid eligibility. After a stint at the homeless shelter she finally got an apartment through public housing. Great, except for the fact that even though she had no income she owed $20 a month in rent.
Well why didn't she just get a job? Difficult when you don't have a car and live in the downtown of a severely economically depressed city. Believe me when I say there is NOTHING going on within walking distance. Nothing legal, anyway.
Then, of course, there were her medical issues. She had multiple complaints. She needed new glasses. Her dental partial was broken. She had fibromyalgia and insomnia. She had an old prescription for blood pressure medication. Her husband didn't like her going to the doctor so she had a bottle of medication she would take sparingly so it would last.
She needed income. She needed medical care. I helped her file for SSI figuring she had a shot of being found disabled due to her untreated psychological issues, at the very least she was quite depressed, and her blood pressure which she described as being very high. I also helped her apply for treatment at our county's free clinic since she had no income or insurance.
Because she was so unrelentingly negative I just wanted SOMETHING to go her way. She was accepted at the clinic. At that point she'd left us and was staying at the homeless shelter. The first thing the clinic did was send her for all sorts of cardiac testing. Then they sent her for an opthalmology evaluation since optic nerve damage is one side effect of uncontrolled hypertension. I tried to help her all I could. I gave her a ride to the opthamologist even though it was my day off.
After she got in my car she checked her phone and realized she had a message from the free clinic. It was the secretary telling her she was no longer eligible for services and that she was to surrender her card immediately. Why? Because she had filed for SSI! I was so stunned I actually took the phone from her and talked to them myself. One question on the application is "Are you disabled?" She answered "no." In my legalistic mind that was correct because she had not yet been determined by any agency to be disabled. But apparently once they received paperwork from Social Security about her claim, the clinic must have felt she lied.
I felt terrible. I was the one who suggested she file for SSI. She was supposed to have an appointment the following day to review the results of her testing. I tried. I think I asked to talk to a supervisor. I finally pointed out that Denise was currently in my car on her way to an opthalmology appointment for possible eye damage DUE TO HER UNTREATED HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE.
They said she could go to the opthalmology appointment. But then they were done. She was not eligible to go to the follow-up appointment the next day.
I did not give up the fight, but I won't bore you with the details. By literally sobbing on the phone with the clinic director I convinced them to allow her to get the new eye glasses that had been prescribed for her. But no office visit. No blood pressure medication.
I went with her to her initial divorce hearing. Her husband, who henceforth I will refer to as Hillbilly Weasel, openly stated that he had no intention of giving her anything. Not that they had much, but she left home with nothing more than some clothes, her important papers, and what medication she had. He still had a place to live, a job, and insurance.
He was ordered to pay spousal support. Of course he didn't.
In February, I think it was, I received a panicked message from Denise. She was on her way to the hospital. She hadn't been feeling well so a nurse in her building (it has an assisted living unit) checked her blood pressure. It was 300+ over 200+. The hospital admitted to bring it back under control. A day or two later she was discharged. Without any follow-up care. Without any medication.
Eventually her husband's wages were garnished to collect the support money. He was ordered to pay $500 a month. She only received $200. Our best guess was that some of the money (over half) was being kept by the child support agency for her outstanding balance. She could get the debt forgiven, but only with the permission of her ex-husband. She had no idea where he was or how to contact him. So who was the child support bureau giving the money to? If they knew how to reach her ex they weren't telling her. We never did solve that mystery.
Which was OK because after about 2 months the support checks stopped. Her husband had applied for disability through his job and wasn't turning in the paperwork to start the payments. Denise heard rumors her husband had a new girlfriend. Denise's son from this marriage still lived with Dad and thus tended to side with him. I met him and can vouch for the fact that he is not the sharpest tool in the shed. The apple did not fall far from the Hillbilly tree. Even though the son was adult and had his own job, he never offered to help his mom. He did tell her, though, that Dad had gotten a new car while she was living on nothing but food stamps.
I did what I could. I set her up with donated furniture for her apartment. In my job as the aftercare worker at the shelter I provided cleaning supplies, toiletries, and even niceties such as body spray and candles from our donations when we had them. She tried to do little cleaning jobs under the table to earn rent money. She was obsessed with possibly being evicted. Truth be told I paid her rent one month. I'd even slipped her $5 - $10 dollars on occasion so she could do laundry, or buy cigarettes.
Most times I saw her she complained of having a headache.
Her husband did eventually provide her with an insurance card. I urged her to see a doctor. She tried to call the clinic she used to go to but felt like she couldn't get an answer from them about how much her co-pay would be. She found out that the private physician she'd seen years ago would take her insurance, but with a $20 co-pay for office visits. If she had to choose between her rent and the doctor, she chose the rent.
The last time I saw her was Saturday, May 18th. Some days she'd almost seemed happy, but that evening she seemed down. She was frustrated. She couldn't understand how her husband was getting away with not paying the support that the court ordered. She suspected that he'd filed his tax return and kept his whole refund. There wasn't going to be another hearing on the matter until June 10th. I marked it on my calendar. I visited her that night to get her signature on a release of information so I could contact her lawyer to find out what was going on and what her options were. I tried to point out to her that difficult as things were right now, she needed to compare her situation to where she was a year ago. At least she had her own apartment. No one was belittling her or hurting her. She was looking into getting her GED and possibly getting certification for being a nursing aide. I wanted her to know things would get better.
Now she's gone.
I heard about her death from her attorney, who said she had gotten a message from Denise's husband saying she'd died of a brain aneurysm. Apparently he sounded choked up by the end of the message. I didn't want to believe it. I wanted it to be Hillbilly Weasel's way of avoiding contempt of court. He struck me as being stupid enough to try it. I called Denise's cell phone, but it said she was unavailable. I knew her phone was running out of minutes and was being shut-off. I went to her apartment building and no one knew anything about it. I knocked on her door. No answer.
I came back to the shelter and called a friend she'd listed as an emergency contact. I asked her if she'd heard from Denise lately. There was a very long pause. Finally she told me that I'd better sit down.
It was true.
According to the friend Denise had been stricken in her apartment. She was taken to the local hospital then life-flighted to Cleveland. Her friend said that Denise had never flown on an airplane, and mused whether she had been able to appreciate her helicopter ride. Once in Cleveland it was determined that she was brain dead. It was probably her husband's decision to pull the plug. Denise died within two minutes of being taken off of life support.
Apparently her husband is now playing the part of the bereaved widower. He told her friend that they'd made-up a few days before she died. Really she wanted him in prison. But then he turned and accused Denise of having an affair, although the fact that he already has a girlfriend is common knowledge.
I don't think I'll be able to attend the funeral. He'll be there, crying, saying how he always loved her. Not enough, apparently, to return her beloved pet parrot to her. Not enough to give her money which may have enabled her to get the medical care she so desperately needed.
The medical care which maybe could have saved her life.
In one sense, he won. Now that she's gone the divorce action is likely moot and no one will be coming after his money anymore. He can grieve openly and curry sympathy from those who don't know better, then take comfort in his girlfriend.
I drove home under a sky that was a mosaic of storm clouds and golden rays from the setting sun. The closer I got to home the more evident it was that it had rained. It was warm and humid and a mist was rising from the pavement. It collected in blankets on the farm fields. I imagined it was a shroud, or the formless beings of souls who were finally at peace.
I take comfort in the fact that she did have a measure of freedom before the end. She had made some friends. She called me Katy Claus because I had provided so much. She knew that someone cared.
Her struggles are over.
I will never forget.
