Systems
I think I'm supposed to be paying attention, but I've only half-discovered what the lesson is.
My daughter needs a new social security number. I was advised by everyone prior to the adoption--her social worker, her guardian ad litem, the attorney who finalized our adoption--to get her a new number as soon as the adoption was final. It would be too easy for the people from her biological family to find her if she continued to use her number. Already, her biological mother has the address to the adoption agency we used, which, although it is in a different town, is near enough that this makes me nervous. She is allowed to send S. letters to this address, which are apparently piling up, though S. has so far shown no interest in reading them. In any case, I assumed this would be simple--make copies of some documents, fill out some paperwork, send it all in, receive new number in...OK, I'm not naive. I figured it would take a few weeks.
About a month after sending in the paperwork, I was called in for an interview and told to bring S. with me. I had to pull her out of school. We drove the 45 minutes to the closest social security office, where we were interviewed in a room with a series of desks separated by thin dividers. We could see and hear everyone else being interviewed.
We were asked why we felt she needed a new number. Each question got more invasive. S. was nervous and began to flip through a horse magazine. When asked if she felt her parents had abused her, she said, "Yes, of course!" then asked the interviewer if she liked horses. The interviewer ignored the question. Did she ever want to see her parents again? Was she afraid of them? S. answered with one word answers. Eventually, the interviewer turned to me and asked me to describe her abuse. Then, after I did, she asked S. if what I said was true. At the end of the interview, I had to listen to the interviewer read something off of her screen and say into a tape recorder that I had not lied. To say this whole process was humiliating for S. would be an understatement. Surprisingly, though, as we got back into our car, she said, "Well, that was stupid, but I'm not going to get upset, because at least it's the last time I'll ever have to tell a stranger what happened to me."
During the process, the interviewer discovered that S. was supposed to be getting social security money. It was a small amount, but any little bit helps, so S. also signed paperwork saying she trusted me with the money until she turned 18.
Today I received three separate notes in the mail from the social security office. One said I owed the social security office a refund because they had overpaid me--strange, because I've not yet received any money. The second note stated that I would be receiving a check because I had sent back too much money. Again, strange, as I've sent no money anywhere. The last note stated that the state office was unwilling to provide a new number unless we provided proof that the abuse we described had actually happened. The office needed police records, CPS records. I had to call for another interview. In the interview, I would be asked to explain why, if S's mother is so dangerous, I had agreed to allow her to write S. letters. Never mind that I'd signed this document only because S's biological mother was doing everything to stall the adoption and against S's will, and never mind that S. had TOLD the interviewer this during our interview.
Now, I have thousands of pages of documents. I plan to set up an appointment and take my files, in a giant brown box, over to the social security office. Then I plan to tell them I do not think it's appropriate for them to look at these documents, which describe acts that were so horrifying to me when I read them the first time that I threw up, but that since it's the only way to keep my daughter safe, they are welcome to look through them.
S. says she wants to come. "I'm going to tell them that if they don't believe me, they can go fuck themselves, because I'm tired of people not believing me when I tell them how bad it was."
I am so tempted to let her do and say exactly this. All day, since we received the letter, which unfortunately she took out of my hands when she saw the look on my face, she has been saying, "Fuck the social security office. Fuck the attorney who made us sign that stupid agreement with my mom. Fuck everyone who doesn't listen to what I WANT." There's so little I can say in response because she's so right.
Today I also received another troubling note in the mail. It stated that my driving rights would be revoked by Feb. 30 if I did not pay a fine for a ticket I received in Illinois several months ago. Strangely, I'd sent in a check to pay the ticket, and received it back in the mail with a note saying that since I had agreed I was guilty (though honestly, the ticket was ridiculous--a police officer had been sitting on the side of the road with his lights off, and I was pulled over because I did not switch lanes on the highway, which apparently is a law in both IL and MN if no one is in the left lane), the fee had been revoked. And, the note said that I was to immediately pay the amount in the upper left hand corner of the letter. The amount there read: 0. I am utterly confused. If I don't pay...nothing, then I won't have a driver's license anymore? Um, OK.
Finally, also today, I received a call from the hospital (supposedly ranked second in the country) that is treating my father for his lung cancer. My father also sees a general practitioner at this hospital. And a doctor who specializes in diabetes. And, more recently, doctors specializing in kidney problems, and radiation therapy, and chemotherapy, and...you get the idea. My daughter is not doing so well. But all of these doctors work for the SAME hospital. They have the SAME computer system and the SAME records. So, the call I received completely bewildered me. But let me back up. On Wednesday, I received a call saying that a recent blood test showed that my father's cumedin levels were low, and he needed to have his blood drawn. I said, "Well, he's currently taking chemotherapy and radiation."
"Why is that?" the woman on the phone asked.
"He has lung cancer. The chemotherapy, the doctors think, is the reason his cumedin levels have been off, and the reason he's taking wayfarin."
There was a long pause. "Oh, I don't see that in his records."
I stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to this.
"Well, he needs to have his blood drawn again."
"OK," I said. "Can you contact his oncologist and let him know that, so he can decide when it makes sense to do that? He's on the hospital's campus right now."
"Oh," the woman said, uncertainly. "OK."
I hung up and called his oncologist's office, explained the situation, and asked them to tell my father to go get his blood drawn--or to call the cumedin clinic back and let them know why doing so was not possible. "You'll have to talk to radiation," they said.
He wasn't there. Or at chemo. "But he'll be back there soon, right?" I said. "He has another treatment at 4 today, right?"
Yes, he did, and yes, they would tell him.
Today I got another call. "Your father never got his blood drawn."
"Well," I said, "I called his oncologist's office. And the radiation center. I told them to get my father to the cumedin clinic. I don't know what else I could have done."
"Well, I guess we'll just put another order in," the woman said.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm putting a note in his record saying he needs to get his blood drawn again on Monday."
"Who's going to see this record?" I asked.
"Um, his...doctors?" she said. It was a question, not a statement.
"What if you call radiation at 8:30 a.m. on Monday morning and tell the person who answers the phone to tell the person who is wheeling my father around to bring him down to the cumedin clinic when he's done with his treatment?"
Silence. "I don't really know if that's normal procedure," she said.
Yikes. When systems stop working based on the needs of people and start working based on...well, procedure, I guess?...then we're all in trouble. Meanwhile, my father's blood levels are not normal, and nobody knows why. My daughter has to talk about her abuse to total strangers, who then send us notes saying they don't believe her. And I guess I'll be calling the Department of Motor Vehicles on Monday to ask where I'm supposed to go to pay my fine of...0.
OK, universe, God, whatever...I got the message. Systems are not working for the people they are supposed to serve--even systems like the social system in MN, which is supposed to be one of the best, and the hospital caring for my father, which is supposed to be one of the best. What am I supposed to do now? (I really did mean that to be a prayer. I hope there's an answer out there somewhere).
My daughter needs a new social security number. I was advised by everyone prior to the adoption--her social worker, her guardian ad litem, the attorney who finalized our adoption--to get her a new number as soon as the adoption was final. It would be too easy for the people from her biological family to find her if she continued to use her number. Already, her biological mother has the address to the adoption agency we used, which, although it is in a different town, is near enough that this makes me nervous. She is allowed to send S. letters to this address, which are apparently piling up, though S. has so far shown no interest in reading them. In any case, I assumed this would be simple--make copies of some documents, fill out some paperwork, send it all in, receive new number in...OK, I'm not naive. I figured it would take a few weeks.
About a month after sending in the paperwork, I was called in for an interview and told to bring S. with me. I had to pull her out of school. We drove the 45 minutes to the closest social security office, where we were interviewed in a room with a series of desks separated by thin dividers. We could see and hear everyone else being interviewed.
We were asked why we felt she needed a new number. Each question got more invasive. S. was nervous and began to flip through a horse magazine. When asked if she felt her parents had abused her, she said, "Yes, of course!" then asked the interviewer if she liked horses. The interviewer ignored the question. Did she ever want to see her parents again? Was she afraid of them? S. answered with one word answers. Eventually, the interviewer turned to me and asked me to describe her abuse. Then, after I did, she asked S. if what I said was true. At the end of the interview, I had to listen to the interviewer read something off of her screen and say into a tape recorder that I had not lied. To say this whole process was humiliating for S. would be an understatement. Surprisingly, though, as we got back into our car, she said, "Well, that was stupid, but I'm not going to get upset, because at least it's the last time I'll ever have to tell a stranger what happened to me."
During the process, the interviewer discovered that S. was supposed to be getting social security money. It was a small amount, but any little bit helps, so S. also signed paperwork saying she trusted me with the money until she turned 18.
Today I received three separate notes in the mail from the social security office. One said I owed the social security office a refund because they had overpaid me--strange, because I've not yet received any money. The second note stated that I would be receiving a check because I had sent back too much money. Again, strange, as I've sent no money anywhere. The last note stated that the state office was unwilling to provide a new number unless we provided proof that the abuse we described had actually happened. The office needed police records, CPS records. I had to call for another interview. In the interview, I would be asked to explain why, if S's mother is so dangerous, I had agreed to allow her to write S. letters. Never mind that I'd signed this document only because S's biological mother was doing everything to stall the adoption and against S's will, and never mind that S. had TOLD the interviewer this during our interview.
Now, I have thousands of pages of documents. I plan to set up an appointment and take my files, in a giant brown box, over to the social security office. Then I plan to tell them I do not think it's appropriate for them to look at these documents, which describe acts that were so horrifying to me when I read them the first time that I threw up, but that since it's the only way to keep my daughter safe, they are welcome to look through them.
S. says she wants to come. "I'm going to tell them that if they don't believe me, they can go fuck themselves, because I'm tired of people not believing me when I tell them how bad it was."
I am so tempted to let her do and say exactly this. All day, since we received the letter, which unfortunately she took out of my hands when she saw the look on my face, she has been saying, "Fuck the social security office. Fuck the attorney who made us sign that stupid agreement with my mom. Fuck everyone who doesn't listen to what I WANT." There's so little I can say in response because she's so right.
Today I also received another troubling note in the mail. It stated that my driving rights would be revoked by Feb. 30 if I did not pay a fine for a ticket I received in Illinois several months ago. Strangely, I'd sent in a check to pay the ticket, and received it back in the mail with a note saying that since I had agreed I was guilty (though honestly, the ticket was ridiculous--a police officer had been sitting on the side of the road with his lights off, and I was pulled over because I did not switch lanes on the highway, which apparently is a law in both IL and MN if no one is in the left lane), the fee had been revoked. And, the note said that I was to immediately pay the amount in the upper left hand corner of the letter. The amount there read: 0. I am utterly confused. If I don't pay...nothing, then I won't have a driver's license anymore? Um, OK.
Finally, also today, I received a call from the hospital (supposedly ranked second in the country) that is treating my father for his lung cancer. My father also sees a general practitioner at this hospital. And a doctor who specializes in diabetes. And, more recently, doctors specializing in kidney problems, and radiation therapy, and chemotherapy, and...you get the idea. My daughter is not doing so well. But all of these doctors work for the SAME hospital. They have the SAME computer system and the SAME records. So, the call I received completely bewildered me. But let me back up. On Wednesday, I received a call saying that a recent blood test showed that my father's cumedin levels were low, and he needed to have his blood drawn. I said, "Well, he's currently taking chemotherapy and radiation."
"Why is that?" the woman on the phone asked.
"He has lung cancer. The chemotherapy, the doctors think, is the reason his cumedin levels have been off, and the reason he's taking wayfarin."
There was a long pause. "Oh, I don't see that in his records."
I stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to this.
"Well, he needs to have his blood drawn again."
"OK," I said. "Can you contact his oncologist and let him know that, so he can decide when it makes sense to do that? He's on the hospital's campus right now."
"Oh," the woman said, uncertainly. "OK."
I hung up and called his oncologist's office, explained the situation, and asked them to tell my father to go get his blood drawn--or to call the cumedin clinic back and let them know why doing so was not possible. "You'll have to talk to radiation," they said.
He wasn't there. Or at chemo. "But he'll be back there soon, right?" I said. "He has another treatment at 4 today, right?"
Yes, he did, and yes, they would tell him.
Today I got another call. "Your father never got his blood drawn."
"Well," I said, "I called his oncologist's office. And the radiation center. I told them to get my father to the cumedin clinic. I don't know what else I could have done."
"Well, I guess we'll just put another order in," the woman said.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm putting a note in his record saying he needs to get his blood drawn again on Monday."
"Who's going to see this record?" I asked.
"Um, his...doctors?" she said. It was a question, not a statement.
"What if you call radiation at 8:30 a.m. on Monday morning and tell the person who answers the phone to tell the person who is wheeling my father around to bring him down to the cumedin clinic when he's done with his treatment?"
Silence. "I don't really know if that's normal procedure," she said.
Yikes. When systems stop working based on the needs of people and start working based on...well, procedure, I guess?...then we're all in trouble. Meanwhile, my father's blood levels are not normal, and nobody knows why. My daughter has to talk about her abuse to total strangers, who then send us notes saying they don't believe her. And I guess I'll be calling the Department of Motor Vehicles on Monday to ask where I'm supposed to go to pay my fine of...0.
OK, universe, God, whatever...I got the message. Systems are not working for the people they are supposed to serve--even systems like the social system in MN, which is supposed to be one of the best, and the hospital caring for my father, which is supposed to be one of the best. What am I supposed to do now? (I really did mean that to be a prayer. I hope there's an answer out there somewhere).
Comments