There is an issue facing our county that is of great concern to me. That issue is the future of health care for the disabled. Medicaid.
While I'm not on Medicaid the majority of disabled people I know are. Services should not be cut. all states should provide funding for Medicaid.
I was watching the news last week when I noticed the crawl at the bottom of the screen. If I read it correctly, it said that the state of Missouri would begin considering putting disabled individuals into managed care facilities in 2013. I'm assuming this means people with chronic or pre-existing conditions.
Disabled people deserve good health care choices. They should not be penalized for not being able to work a full-time job. And, they most definitely should not be warehoused in managed care facilities just to cut costs.
Lawmakers forget that the disabled community is a community of people who deserve the same rights as everyone else. The United States is always ready to help other countries. Yet, lawmakers would consider cutting or changing services to the disabled citizens of their own country. It just doesn't seem right or fair to me.
I went to a state agency several months ago and asked if I could get a little assistance from them in paying a portion of my monthly home care bill. I was told to get any help from them at all I'd have to be totally on Medicaid. I have always tried to be a productive member of society. I can understand why a lot of disabled people don't work. They are afraid of losing their government assistance.
Having a disability is enough of a challenge. Disabled people deserve to have a good quality of life. They shouldn't have to worry about changes or cuts to their services. Before lawmakers make cuts or changes to services for the disabled they need to stop for a moment and remember, "There But For The Grace Of God Go I."
People's houses are made of bricks, mortar, plaster, wood, and paint. Four walls and a roof. A place to live. I have lived in the same house all of my life. My house is much more to me than that.
Behind a door in my family room, you'll see where my mom measured how tall my brothers and I were. Our height is written in pencil with the year on the wall. I remember being supported against the wall while my height was recorded. Numbers and initials that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else, but they mean something to me. I find comfort in knowing they are there.
Thanksgiving was a joint effort between my mother and grandmother. (Really all holidays were a joint effort between them.) It meant getting out the big Nesco cooker to cook the bird in. One year, the turkey was so big, the lid had to be tied down.
If I close my eyes I see the living room decorated and the big Christmas tree in front of the picture window. I remember the year my dad got one of those silver trees with the rotating color wheel. My dad thought it looked great. My older brothers were horrified. Christmas Eve, they brought home the discarded tree from the neighborhood school. It was HUGE and seemed to cover half of our family room because it came out so far, but we had a green tree that year. It was great!!
Easter meant Mom's lamb cake. It was a two-day process. On the first day, she baked them in a cast iron mold that was given to my grandfather and was almost as old as my mother. The second day she iced and decorated them.
My last birthday party was given to me when I was ten. My cake had a ballerina figurine on top. My mom got a clown to entertain me and the other children. (I never liked clowns but this one was okay.)
My mom considered moving when I graduated from high school. She just made the house more accessible for me.
I close my eyes and I see everything. The memories comfort me and bring me peace. Living in the house I grew up in has allowed me to be able to function and build a life for myself since my mother's death two and a half years ago. I don't know if I would have made it. I know nothing lasts forever, but I do know wherever I go in the future, The house that I grew up in will always be home to me.
