For shame

So here we are, in the midst of both a pandemic and (long time coming) ongoing racial tension. And our commander in chief tweets this shit out today:

It boggles the mind.

I would love to financially solvent, and healthy too. Not such a burden on society.

Ironic, as I work hard at both (trying to stay healthy and afloat). But, fate has dealt me other cards. I’m super happy to still be in the game.

And–importantly–not the least bit ashamed. Sure, I made some choices that have impacted my ability to amass income. I spent most of my twenties as a single mother, waitressing in smoke filled restaurants. This afforded me as much waking time as possible with my children but the second hand smoke may well have contributed to the fact that I have lung cancer.

As I barely made enough money to get by, I am intimately acquainted with the waiting rooms in welfare offices. Hard chairs, no magazines, a lot of lost and beaten looking people. I was one of them.

While married, I enjoyed a brief period of affluence. It was lovely to not be stressed about money, but not lovely enough to keep me in a relationship that wasn’t working.

My alimony ended in December so I am currently without a regular income. That means I qualify for MASSHealth (thank god), and for the first time in years, I did not max out my deductible in January.

However, my debt is, well, astounding. Ten years of clinical trial participation and I am alive but poorer–far poorer–for it.

As an optimist, I imagine that this is a temporary situation. I will make some art and write my book and, if I keep pushing hard enough, perhaps I can convince industry that clinical trial ‘volunteers’ who are not healthy are every bit as deserving of compensation as those who are.

There is no romance to disease or poverty either one. But there should also be no shame.

And as for that Suburban Lifestyle Dream? Shite. What a bloody nightmare.