I can't keep up.

I especially can't keep up when I'm stuck here with my left foot two feet off the floor. That's when it's not stuck in a bucket of ice-cold water mixed with apple cider vinegar and Epsom salts. [Sigh] just call me Cree, or Shade; they both know this soak routine well by now.

Speaking of which, they both get to cost us a small fortune tomorrow. This, while Grif has had a massive CVS flare, can't eat, and can barely walk, and I can barely move. I'm also at the point where I have to order more iron, and more glucose test strips for Wings and She-Wolf, and more of the high-grade bilberry for She-Wolf, because in the two weeks without it (since all three dogs got sick from taking the local brand), her eyesight has deteriorated noticeably. I have house-related questions that need responses (windows, vigas, interior floor), correspondence that needs handling, inquiries (of the non-purchase sort) that need answers, paperwork that needs finishing, and about a thousand other things. And Wings has had to pick up a certain number of additional chores, things I can't do right now with a basically non-working left leg/ankle/foot. Which is . . . um . . . most things. 

So. You know what's coming next.

We need to keep the link to our YouCaring page out there, so please share it via the widgets and/or the actual link on the page itself. Please also grab the widget code from the box in the lower right-hand corner and post it wherever you can, to get the auto-updating image above. Many thanks to everyone who's given us a hand with this thus far.

Also, please share the link to Wings's Web site while you're at it, because we need to make some regular sales to pay for all the non-house-building-related expenses (our electric bill alone is unreal, thanks to being stuck in this tin can, where we mostly can't use the propane for heat). I shudder to think what tomorrow will bring, but it's a necessary step if we've going to keep the girls alive. After bringing them this far, there really isn't any choice. Oh, and if you own and love Wings's work, please submit a testimonial; instructions for how to do so can be found here. If you need inspiration, examples can be found here. Which reminds me, I have one I haven't even had time to upload yet . . . [mumblegrumble].




All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

UPDATED: A Native Vet and His Family Need a Hand

Jack and Sierra, their youngest.
Photo copyright Amanda Kato, 2015; all rights reserved.

Just shy of two months ago, I wrote here about some friends of ours, Jack and Amanda and their family. Things were dire; Jack was hospitalized and not in good shape right then, and Amanda had been unable to join him, because the VA hospital was 75 miles away and they were dealing with car problems and the care of their kids.

No, that's not entirely accurate. Accurate would be recalling that Jack nearly died, feeling his spirit slip from his body and  battling to reintegrate it for his family. Accurate would be noting that their fridge was empty, because Amanda needed to pay the light bill to keep the air conditioner running so that her husband could breathe in the oppressive Florida heat and humidity. Accurate would be acknowledging that they were stretched beyond limits — physical, psychological, financial, spiritual — beyond limits that most people can't imagine, and yet they were still fighting every inch of the way.

At that time, we sought to raise $5K for Jack and Amanda. Thanks to two dear friends picking up the baton and running with it at another site, we went from one single five-dollar donation to very near their goal in a matter of days. But they didn't quite make it. Amanda didn't tell anyone, but they didn't reach the $5K outright. On top of that, PayPal and GoFundMe fees sucked up a not-insignificant percentage, leaving them, all told, about 10% short. The car repairs turned out to be far more costly than anticipated, but with Jack's primary care provider, the VA, 75 miles away, a working vehicle is an absolute necessity.

But this is the problem with poverty. You never get ahead; hell, you never break even. All the little built-in and buried fees and costs and taxes and surcharges and other financial dings of daily life that middle-class and wealthier folks simply absorb as the way of things? Those are what break those of us at lower income levels. You start out behind, and you wind up farther behind, because it's not two steps forward, one step back; it's one step forward, and three back. The horizon gets further away all the time.

UPDATED WITH PAYPAL ADDRESS:

Before I go further, here's the earlier GoFundMe page. I'll post the PayPal address when I get it. Their PayPal e-mail address is amandakato [at] msn [dot] com.

Details over the jump:

What Is the Value of a Native Vet's Life?

Photo copyright Jack Kato, 2015;
all rights reserved.

This is Jack. He and his wife, Amanda, are friends of ours.

They're on the other end of the country, which means that we can't be there right now to lend a hand in practical ways. But right now, they need support.

Jack is a Native vet. Forty years ago, he was sent to 'Nam to fight for a country that was busily treating the VietNamese the same way it treated his (our) ancestors. Sent to fight for a country that barely recognized his own citizenship. Sent to fight for a country that remains unwilling, and seemingly morally incapable, of ameliorating the damage it caused. And that includes damage to him personally, damage that has left him physically disabled and forces him to continue to fight the revenants of that illegal war on a daily basis.

A few days ago, he almost lost that battle permanently.

I'll tell you Jack and Amanda's story in some detail over the jump, but here's the immediate need: They are trying to raise $5,000 to cover expenses related to Jack's ongoing health problems and to Amanda's recent [life-saving] dental surgery, and to the many, many accumulated bills that continue to pile up while they advocate for vets, raise their adopted grandchildren, and try to survive.

Here's the GoFundMe page. The goal is modest, considering what I know they face on a daily basis. I've also seen online communities of which I am and/or have been a part raise far, far more than that, nearly at the drop of a hat. So I was appalled to see that as of this morning, of a $5K goal, only $5 (that's FIVE DOLLARS) had been raised.

We can do better, folks.

Kick in here. A thousand people giving the price of a latte (or a six-pack) covers it. A hundred people giving $50 covers it, too. We have some juggling to do; we're stretched beyond our limit already. But as soon as we can free up a little, we're in, too.

Now, come and learn about Jack and Amanda.

When There Aren't Enough Spoons In the World: Helping a Friend Dig Out

Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

On Friday, a member of the community at the GOS posted a diary. It was a very quiet, unassuming post, one that clearly sought not to be the center of attention even though it needed to be: So. Um. I need some help.

It reminded me of how I felt as a child, when I needed something but was afraid to say so, sitting at my schooldesk and barely raising my hand, then putting it back down again promptly and sort of hoping against hope that no one had noticed. It's a horrible feeling. It's what happens when you live in a society that doesn't take care of its own, and when circumstances combine in the worst ways to leave you hanging off the ledge by two fingertips, no safety net to break your fall a hundred stories down.

First, the important part: At the time she wrote that Rachel had admitted that she needed a good $1,900 to get her electricity back on (and keep it on). It's the middle of November, for heaven's sake; she can't head into winter with no power. I'm sitting here right now looking at four inches of snow, all dropped since 10 PM last night; tonight it's supposed to get down near zero. It's probably a bit milder where she is at the moment, but that won't last, and she certainly can't depend on the good graces of the weather to keep her warm and safe.

But yesterday, DallasDoc wrote a diary on her behalf, and it became clear that he'd wormed more of the real situation out of her. He set a goal of $4,500, which probably lowballs it a bit, based on her subsequent comments, it looks like something approaching $6,000 is closely to what she really needs to get completely caught up, forget about having any sort of breathing room. It appears that they were able to raise something over $1,300 toward that goal yesterday, but more is obviously needed.  

You can donate via PayPal here:  tiarachelgordon [at] gmail [dot] com

If that's all you need, you're set; you've helped someone in a very real, very tangible way. But if you need to know more about why her situation is so complex, so vexedly difficult, follow me over the jump, because I think this is where I come in.

"But You Look So Normal!" Living With Multiple Autoimmune Disease

Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

Author's Note: This was first posted at Daily Kos on October 24, 2010, as part of the twice-weekly series Kosability. Because I was forced by circumstances to spend this week revisiting these issues in gory detail and exposing them and their often-humiliating effects to a host of perfect strangers, it seemed like as good a time as any to cross-post this here. I know some readers will have missed it he first time around, and I know some of them are struggling with their own chronic health issues (or have loved ones who are).  

Most of what follows still applies, although as you will see, I'm no longer permitted medications. That's not necessarily a wholly bad thing, considering some of the side effects. You'll also notice that I don't parrot the line currently in vogue about FMS. That's because it's in vogue among the ads disseminated by Big Pharma, but I haven't seen anything to support the notion that the earlier information does not still apply. Oh, and another thing: I do also use a cane now, at time. Most days, in fact, when I first get up in the morning, and on my way to bed at night. It's a really cool cane, though.

A final note: I have dealt with my symptoms longer than many adults have been alive. I know them better than any medical professional ever will. I also know intimately my own particular mix of sensitivities and reactions and responses, and I know what my body can handle and what it cannot. If it's out there, I've tried it, and it doesn't work for me. It's not Lyme. It's not gluten allergy. It's not any of the myriad things that may have been the case for someone a reader knows. Much of the discussion got hijacked the last time around, and I won't permit that here. I'm not susceptible to evangelism, and I'm too tired to be polite about that fact. So please, no advice in the comments.

I had a couple of alternative titles in mind. Like "Pain: Every Second of Every Hour of Every Minute of Every Day." Or "I Feel Like an Eighty-Year-Old Woman." Both true. But I finally settled on the one that I hear all the freakin' time:

"But you look so normal!"

It's usually tinged with disbelief, sometimes laden with open skepticism. How could someone like me possibly be sick?

And they're right — sort of. By most benchmarks — heart rate, blood pressure, blood glucose, other indicators — I'm extremely healthy. My diet is very healthy. My weight is pretty good; I put on 15-20 extra pounds while I was away from home taking care of Mom (because I didn't have access to healthy, unprocessed foods), but I've lost most of it. And at a fine-boned 5'9" or so, it looks like less on my frame than it actually is. My skin is good, at least superficially: relatively few wrinkles for my age, courtesy of good genes, having quit smoking, and the fact that I drink water by the gallon. Enough physical strength to lift 50-pound hay bales or a 100-pound dog, when needed (although I pay dearly for it every time I do it). I don't use a wheelchair; I walk (mostly) normally, without a cane.

So what the hell is the problem?

Community Fundraisers: More Than Shelter, Home

Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

It's a basic human need: Shelter. 

A roof over your head; a floor under your feet. A place to be safe from the elements.

But it also needs to be liveable. And accessible. And those words mean something very different for a healthy, fully able-bodied person than they do for someone who must live with multiple disabling conditions all day, every day.

Most Kossacks already know BFSkinner. No, not that B.F. Skinner; our BFSkinner. 

He's been a member of Daily Kos for about six years now. He's a member of a great many groups and subcommunities there: part of various groups organized by and for Jewish Kossacks, an active member of the LGBTQI community, a participant in various arts-related groups, just to name a few. He's famous for his regular series of community-building diaries, in which he invites Kossacks to explain an aspect of their identities; name a favorite song or movie in a particular sub genre; or otherwise offer up a bit of themselves for inclusion in this wild and wonderful community that the other side loves to deride as the Great Orange Satan.

He's also brilliant: a Ph.D., and, like his namesake, a psychologist.

He's also battling a complex cluster of disabling conditions on a daily basis.

The last several years have seen major upheaval; he's had to move several times to accommodate his medical conditions. His most recent move was to an apartment with a roommate, in what seemed like an ideal situation for them; instead, it's turned into a nightmare that is causing grave risk to his health and his very life.

He has an opportunity now to move into an actual house — not merely shelter, but a home. It's a very good deal; it will work out well for him and for his landlords, who are old family friends. But making the move will require more money [first month's rent for the house, one month's rent as penalty for leaving the old apartment before the expiration of the lease, and assorted utility deposits and hook-ups] than he can scrape together on his disability income. And he has only this month — March — to make it happen, or this chance will be gone.

That's where we come in.

Community Fundraisers: Walking a Mile In Another Man's Moccasins

Photo copyright Ajijaakwe, 2013; all rights reserved.

In my post of last Saturday, I said that one of the subjects of this site would be helping people who need help.

That time is now.

Come with me.  I want to take you on a little walk in another man's moccasins.  It will likely be a very different path from those to which you're accustomed.  In that way, it will difficult for you to follow it.  The shoes won't fit properly.  They will be uncomfortable, and the way will be unfamiliar, and perhaps you'll find yourself feeling disquieted, discomfited, even a little scared.

I'm going to ask you to stick with the trail anyway.  Because these are things we all need to see and grasp and fully understand.  And because a friend needs our help.

A lot of you no doubt know my friend and fellow Kossack, Horace Boothroyd III.  His road has long been a difficult one, for many reasons.  Right now, there are seemingly insurmountable roadblocks in his path — obstacles that, for most people, not only don't exist but aren't even on their radar.  And yet, once they're there, they're nearly impossible to go over, under, around, or through.  And there comes a point when body, mind, soul, and spirit are too pain-wracked and weary to keep trying to scale those hurdles anymore.

But we can help fix that.

Come with me.