Collateral Damage

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What I’m going to write here is very important. I ask for your time, patience and understanding.

The programs that support disabled people like me are in peril. Serious peril. Since I suspect this notion will be met with confusion and denial, let me explain why:

At the end of this year, the 2017 Tax Cuts passed during the first Trump administration are set to expire. This legislation offered large tax breaks, mainly to corporations and the top 1% of Americans. This tax cut was primarily funded by increasing the national debt.

Corporations and super wealthy people have really enjoyed these tax cuts. So, they have been lobbying HARD to get these tax cuts quietly renewed this year before they expire. However, to renew these cuts, they first must figure out how to pay for it.

The price tag to renew these cuts? Around $4 trillion. Yes, you read that right. $4,000,000,000,000. That’s twelve zeros. A zero for every day of Christmas. A zero for every Apostle. A zero for every month of the year. A zero for every bulging vein that has developed on my forehead.

Now, here is where you really need to start paying attention. $4 trillion is a ridiculous amount of money. They know this. But the political/financial pressure being put on this new administration and legislative majority to quietly make this tax cut happen is HUGE. It’s bigger than Elon Musk’s ego. It’s the real reason Elon Musk is even in Washington at all.

The House Budget Committee has already begun identifying targets for budget cuts. It would be reasonable to think that every single government agency, program or department would be on the list. But that’s not the case. The number one target on the list?

Medicaid.

The program that serves the most vulnerable of Americans: the poor, the disabled and the elderly.

Sure, finding “fraud” and “wasted spending” in social programs is the explanation provided for Musk’s involvement. But, in reality, fraud and wasted spending in these departments is nominal. it’s incredibly difficult to qualify for these programs and to remain eligible. Further, efficiency and fraud offices already exist because spending money on poor, disabled and elderly Americans is something that the US Government doesn’t really like to do. We’d much rather give a blank check to defense contractors that donate generously to political campaigns.

Instead, they plan to amputate nearly $1 trillion from Medicaid. That’s a quarter of the amount estimated they need to renew the tax breaks for Mr. Musk and his friends.

A funding hemorrhage of that magnitude would be catastrophic for disabled people, like me. The Medicaid programs that provide home and community-based services, medical care, and supplemental nutrition would be thrown to the wolves. We would have to beg for crumbs and scraps in a world where we carry ZERO political clout.

Did you know that people like me can’t run for elected office even if we wanted to? I’d be putting any government assistance I receive in jeopardy. There are strict rules I must follow to qualify for the Medicaid program that helps me get out of bed in the morning and use the toilet. I could lose everything by just trying to be a legislative voice for my disability community.

That is precisely the reason why Medicaid makes such an easy target: we don’t have representation. We don’t have money to buy a seat at the table. We don’t have a corporate lobby. It makes complete sense that they come after us first. If you don’t believe that (or want to believe that), then you might be in denial about how the world works.

This brings me back to where I began. If you voted/support the new administration, I have a request of you. Do you want people like me to be the collateral damage of that vote? Do you want the legacy of this era in history to be the moment when America failed its most vulnerable?

I believe your vote was made with honorable intention. So, are you now willing to hold your elected representatives to account? Are you willing to remind them of their moral and ethical responsibility?

Your support is needed now more than ever. I know you care. But now is the time for action. Please call the offices of your congressperson, and your Senators. Tell them you support Medicaid and want them to vote to protect it– not cut it. And keep calling on a regular basis. It will only take you a moment to do this. While it may not seem like a simple call could make a difference, it does. They listen to their constituents. You have power. Please use it. It could make all the difference.

I’m counting on you.

I know it’s been awhile

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(appeared in today’s Patterson Irrigator HERE)

Hello fellow Pattersonites! It’s me. I know it’s been months since I’ve written. Time got away from me. It really did. Seems like just yesterday we were washing our groceries with dish soap and feeling grateful to find 1-ply toilet paper at the store. We didn’t care that our butts were chafed, we were happy to be alive.

I apologize for the delay in checking in, of course, but I thought I should touch base so you know that I’m not dead. Also, I wanted to let you know that I haven’t done anything crazy since last I wrote, either. For example:

#1. I haven’t joined a cult.

#2. I haven’t wasted twenty million dollars to go to space with Elon Musk.

#3. And I definitely haven’t joined an online multi-level marketing scheme to sell organic lip balm to every person I’ve known since 1997.

(Come to think of it, both #2 and #3 are also cults.)

Anyway, I hope you’ve been staying well and safe— and that you aren’t dehydrated from sobbing at the gas pump. So, make sure you drink lots of water and refrain from other activities that are bad for your health, too— like watching TikTok videos or being within six feet of Aaron Rodgers.

A lot has happened since last I wrote— on the local level, on the global level and on the personal level. But I can go no further without remarking on a sad local event. The passing of Ron Swift.

Publisher emeritus, quip master, and all-around stupendous fellow, Patterson will never again know a man as dedicated as Mr. Swift. We were lucky that Ron made this town his home all those years ago. For while Ron knew the things that needed doing, Ron also DID the things that needed doing. And it was done with a wry smile, self-deprecating wit— and little fanfare.

We could all learn something from that.

Seventeen years ago, Ron welcomed me to the Patterson Irrigator columnist family with open arms and was always there if I needed him. I appreciated that very much. He was Patterson’s very own Yoda, offering valuable perspective in a unique way that was always genuine and always unpretentious.

What a guy, Ron was. Missed, he will be.

On the global front, the last two years have been seismic. And, no, I’m not just talking about when Will Smith slapped Chris Rock. It’s been crazytown all over the place. For two years. Remember when a bunch of people attacked the US Capitol like zombies from The Walking Dead? Or when Prince Harry decided royal life was total crap? Or when Tom Brady retired from the NFL only to unretire himself a few weeks later?

It’s important to note that during much of this time many of us did not wear real shoes. Only socks or slippers with treads on the bottom for when we went to the grocery store. Or when we walked the 10 feet to our front door to grab the pile of Amazon packages sitting there. Sadly, we went so long without wearing real shoes that we can no longer fit them on our stumpy feet. But, when we go online to buy new (bigger) shoes, we now discover that shoes are 259% more expensive than the last time we bought them.

Yet, truthfully, it hasn’t all been bad. We did learn how to bake banana bread and what it felt like to spend 168 hours a week with our own children. So, there is that.

I do have to say, though, that some things that happened since my last column did come as a surprise to me. For example, I did not have “Putin Goes Ballistic” on my 2022 bingo card. Sure, I’ve made a lot of jokes about Putin in the past. About his shortness, his love of Botox, and the way his beady eyes look like death lasers. But I didn’t think he’d start a reenactment of the year 1939. Maybe I was naive, but you’d think he would have known that it was a bad idea. After all, everyone hates a bully. Everyone. It’s baked into our human genome. We hate bullies just as much as we love chubby babies, ranch dressing and Labradoodles. It’s even in the Bible. (Just ask Goliath.)

On a personal note, since my last column, two big events have happened in my life. First, I got an orange kitten. His name is Charley and he loves cheddar cheese, chasing tin foil balls, and taking naps on my wheelchair— mostly while I’m sitting in it. We’ve acclimated to life together pretty well, especially considering he tries to steal my breakfast two or three times a week. I’m sure I’ll share more about Charley in the coming days. After all, it’s hard for me to write about much else since he spends most of his day sitting on top of me. So, stay tuned.

The other big news? I turned 40. This may not sound like a big deal to most, but to me, it really was. After all, for most of my life, I didn’t know if I would live to see the age of 40 because most born with my disability do not.

As a kid, reaching 40 years old seemed like a mythical accomplishment. Something that was theoretically possible, but not likely to happen— like growing up to marry Indiana Jones or becoming best friends with DJ Tanner. While cool possibilities, it definitely was not in the cards for me.

In all honesty, the arrival of the COVID pandemic did not bode well for my chances to reach this milestone. I watched disabled and high-risk folks here, and around the world, lose battles with the virus. Yet, at the same time, I saw many doubt the risks. I heard jokes about masks, vaccines and other protective measures. Weirdly, I can understand this. After all, it’s easier to believe you’re immune from it all when you don’t look like me. It’s easier to push it all aside when you think you’re not one of those “pre-conditioned people.”

Coming into my 40th birthday during this pandemic was a surreal experience. For two years, each day has been difficult— for ALL of us. Yet, personally, I have keenly felt that each day has been a gift, too. Even though we still have a long way to go, each day I have survived has been a small victory.

Thus, when the clock ticked to midnight on my 40th birthday, I stared out into the darkness of my bedroom—contemplating how far I had come. And, then, I whispered:

“Watch out, Indiana Jones… I’m coming for you.”