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.

Power. So simple. So necessary. Let's get it back for Alexandra and Bear.

Photo copyright Alexandra Lynch; all rights reserved.

This is Bear. He's the husband of my friend Alexandra.

And when I say, "This is Bear," I mean exactly that:  This is him, right now, today. In the hospital, hooked up to a ventilator.

Life has not been kind to Alexandra and Bear and their family in recent years. They both deal with disabling conditions resulting from a very bad car accident some years ago. Their medical conditions, coupled with a bad economy, have reduced the family finances to dust. I didn't know how bad it was until last week, when Alexandra mentioned that their utilities had been off. For a while.

Unfortunately, last week, Bear what they thought was a routine asthma attack but turned out to be something much, much worse. Heart attack, coupled with diabetes. Multiple blockages, none less than 70%. By the first of this week, he was in the hospital, undergoing a quintuple bypass. He's still a young man. A young man now with five bypasses in the arteries of his heart.

Meanwhile, Alexandra has to cope with his condition, which has to be terrifying for her. He's in good shape overall, apparently, but there are, of course, some complications. Meanwhile, she has family responsibilities, both children and parents — and hot weather looming, and no power on in the house. 

This is not workable.

Even in the absolute best-case scenario, Bear will need the power on to refrigerate his insulin when he finally comes home. But he will also need air conditioning to provide some relief from the heat and humidity; his condition can't be aggravated by severe physical discomfort that's easily fixed with a little electricity and the money to pay for it.

Alexandra has put up a GoFundMe page to try to raise $2,000.  This will get any arrearages covered and get the power turned back on. But she and Bear are going to need a lot more support than just a little electricity in the weeks and months to come. Their lives have just been altered in catastrophic ways. They'll need help over the long term.

So please, go here, and donate if you can. Even if you can't, please share the link with all of your networks. We'll be in for a bit ourselves later, when I've had a chance to see where we are for the rest of the month. At that point, I'll ask you to help match it, however modest it may be.

Let's get Bear back to doing what he loves:

Photo copyright Alexandra Lynch; all rights reserved.

and Alexandra back to being able to smile like this without thinking about it:

Photo copyright Alexandra Lynch; all rights reserved.

Chi miigwech.

This is one of the saddest things I've ever seen. This is one we can change.

Shanesha Taylor

I know this has been reported elsewhere today, but I've only now had a chance to read the actual story. My heart has been smashed into little tiny pieces. I can't begin to imagine what it's going to take to glue the remains of Shanesha Taylor's heart back together.

For those who don't know, Shanesha Taylor lives in Scottsdale, Arizona — in Maricopa County, Joe Arpaio's personal little police state. Bad enough, no doubt, to be a Black woman there in the first place. How much worse to be unemployed and homeless, with two very small children (one aged two; one six months)?

Ms. Taylor and her children have been living out of their car. Last Thursday, she got what seemed to be a golden opportunity — she got called for a job interview. But she couldn't leave her children at home in the usual sense, because their car is their home. And so she did the only thing she could do: She left them in what passes for their home, in her car, with the windows cracked for air. 

She wasn't gone long, apparently. But it was long enough for someone to notice the children, and call Maricopa County Child Protective Services. Her babies are now in the system — and Shanesha Taylor is sitting in a cell in the Maricopa County Jail, "guest" of Joe Arpaio himself, charged with two felony counts of child abuse.

Yes. Felony counts. For trying to do the one thing that would save her children in the long run. And in Maricopa County, I have to wonder whether a white woman in similar straits would've been charged only with misdemeanor counts. Or been let off with a warning.

She has no way to make bail. She'll be there at least until her initial appearance, and probably thereafter. Who knows when (whether?) she'll get her babies back.

This matters.

Yes, that image above is her mug shot. In the larger photos, you can see that she's wearing what is probably her one good dress, all ready for the job interview. Those tears streaming down her face are going to haunt me forever.

A kind soul named Amanda Bishop did what no one else up until now, none of the official agencies, none of the representatives of the state's and the country's so-called safety net apparently could be bothered to do. She set up a crowdfunding site to try to raise funds for Ms. Taylor's bail, to get her children back, to get her a cell phone and some food and some shelter and maybe, just maybe, a deposit and first month's rent on an apartment while she looks for a job. Ms. Bishop set the goal at $9,000; it's already nearly double that. But that's a drop in the bucket compared to what it will take to get Ms. Taylor and her babies reunited and safe.

This matters.

We've just given $25. If everyone in our networks matched that, she'd be set in no time. But times are tough, and some folks can't even do a dollar right now. No matter; you can share this post, Tweet it, Facebook it. And if you can donate, so much the better for Ms. Taylor and her children.

We're in. Please join us. Go here.

Chi miigwech.

Community Fundraisers: When Your Own Home Is Killing You

Tonya and daughter Miranda.
Photo copyright Tonya Harris, 2014; all rights reserved.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: Tonya spent yesterday at the doctor's office, her blood pressure dangerously high, and was not able to take care of pawning what few items she could to pay the application fee and certain bills that are due today. The $25 housing application fee MUST be paid today, or she will lose her chance at getting the mobile home. There are other small bills that must be paid today, too, but those are bills that could be paid directly to the creditor rather than waiting for funds to clear for Tonya to do it. If you can help with any of these, please e-mail Tonya directly at tonyahky [at] yahoo [dot] com to find out how. Personal thanks from me to anyone who can do what I can't, which is to help her out this way this morning.

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Or, sometimes, it just delays the inevitable. 

This is one instance where I'd like to make sure that it's NOT inevitable.

You may remember that last summer, we mounted a fundraising campaign for Kossack tonyahky, who could not even schedule desperately-needed major surgery without the capacity to hire a full-time caregiver for one of her daughters, who has profound disabilities. We were fortunate enough to raise the funds she needed, and she was able to get the surgery — and then she learned that what she thought was a painful, disabling, potentially dangerous temporary situation was instead both chronic and much more complex. Life-threatening, in fact. 

Last summer, she believed that her only real health problem was an extraordinarily large fibroid tumor that could not be treated; it had to be surgically removed. The pain, fatigue, and illness caused by the tumor eventually made it impossible for her to continue to work, and made day-to-day functioning difficult at the best of times. Now imagine dealing with this while caring for a daughter with a profound case of autism and the special needs and sensitivities that accompany her condition. [You can read all about it in detail here.]

LIFE-THREATENING MEDICAL CONDITIONS

While awaiting surgery, Tonya was given injections of Lupron to try to help slow her heavy bleeding and perhaps shrink the tumor a bit, but she was advised that it would not be enough: The only solution would be a complete hysterectomy. Meanwhile, she grew increasingly ill; by late July, she was forced to see a different doctor just to get the surgery scheduled for September. Her condition reached a critical point during the middle of her fundraiser, forcing her to go to the emergency room at her local medical center, Baptist Hospital. Doctors there diagnosed her condition as severe anemia and told her she needed a blood transfusion. Once it was over, an area Kossack was kind enough to arrange to pick her up at the hospital and take her home. The following day, she heard from her doctor about her next Lupron injection.

And things got really frightening.

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.