My Favorite Phone Call

Yesterday the long-term disability insurance representative called me with her regularly scheduled, “Are you still disabled? Why can’t you work again?” call. Why is it that when I reply, “Because I still have a disabling, cancerous tumor on my brain stem” I feel like I’m the ass?

Do you know what I mean? Do you ever feel this way? People ask you a painfully obvious question and you feel like there’s no way to answer it without coming off as a smarmy, sarcastic jerk? Even though all you’re doing is answering honestly.

Maybe I’m overly sensitive, but there’s something exhausting about having to defend your disability constantly because some super-low percentage of disability claims are made fraudulently. By defult, everyone who’s disabled is suspect, particularly if they’re claiming the disability is permanent.

Because everyone who’s sick always get better, am I right?

I’m thinking, “LOOK. IT’S A TUMOR. THEY CAN’T TAKE IT OUT.  I WILL HAVE IT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.” But I don’t say that, because I know it’s just her job.

When May 2019 comes, and the two-year policy term has ended, I won’t have to defend myself as frequently. Granted I also won’t have the policy’s $900 a month either.

And this talk of money reminds me that Dan and I are somehow still hanging on over here. A former coworker found an old GoFundMe page and sent me a little something, and mentioned that he wanted to help with “writing and other expenses.”

First of all, I know some of the nicest people in the world. It truly is a marvel.

Second, I’m going to use the donation to print the memoir draft and work on refining it. Then… I don’t know. Traditionally publishing the thing feels impossible to me at present. But maybe I could get it in shape to self-publish. I could offer it as a reward for my Patreon patrons. Or publish it serially on my blog. Or, I don’t know.

I get overwhelmed and then I just shut down that part of my brain. But I’ll figure it out. A friend (and not just any friend–a writer friend) offered to be a beta reader for it. Maybe that’s what I should do next?

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4 comments

    1. He didn’t. He was so young when it happened. He didn’t have enough credits in Social Secuirty to qualify for benefits. And he didn’t have private disability insurance. He was in his last year at college.

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