The Epic Tale of Welfare Applications: Monday morning.

Background: In the state of California, county of San Diego, in order for children with significant/life-long disabilities to receive certain services, it is required that they receive Medi-Cal.

Really. I can't make this up. First, Medi-Cal...and only then In-Home Support Services.

Now, my gentle reader might think to herself, "But the A-----n family has fabulous, fantastic military healthcare."

Correct. Like I said, I can't make this up.

More (convoluted) Background: In the state of California, there is a special program for said "consumers" (i.e., persons with developmental disabilities) wherein their parents' assets are ignored when considering their eligibility for certain programs. This involves words like "DDS Waiver" and "Institutional Deeming".

What this means is that every year -- or in the CQ's case, every 6 months (as the Big Sled Dog and C-boy cases are staggered) -- a family must file a TON of paperwork. As bad as income taxes.

And in our case(s), the overwhelming majority of the paperwork (bank statements, pay stubs, etc.) is promptly set aside and disregarded. But we have to provide it anyway.

But it gets better. The geniuses (genii?) decided that rather than allow us to submit our child's birth certificate as a photocopy that they wanted to scan each/every birth certificate of a child from the original. Well, this would make sense except that there are, of course, services provided for those who don't possess said birth certificate AND a plethora of alternatives for those who can't produce one (such as an "Affidavit of Identity").

So, rather than photocopy and mail in the ridiculous paperwork, we had an extra crunchy layer of suffering goodness: a trip to the Medi-Cal office. In person.

Remember, a voyage, a journey, an Odyssey if you will to make re-application to a program that we don't need. Or use. In theory, Medi-Cal would pay our co-pays. I know some families who do use this "benefit". But the ol' Crab Queen feels that the Crab Family shouldn't put that on CA, who is helping with the disability part.

With great frustration, I spent much of last week contacting the Medi-Cal cogs to figure out whether we might do the efficient action and align the two boys' cases so that my pain could accrue on merely an annual basis (vice the current bi-annual schedule). When I type "frustration", read: I picked up the phone and called my State Senator Kehoe's office. That's after no fewer than 5 calls to Medi-Cal.

Finally, Medi-Cal worker AA (her initials) calls me and suggests an interview appointment. I somewhat churlishly agree. Having mutually endured one another for over 4 years, meeting in person had the potential to ruin our "love-story".

So on Monday (i.e., Day one of Charlie's fever/cough/etc.), GMK, LLGA, Charlie-boy, and I truck across town, arriving less than 5 minutes before the appointment. Even with a tour through the wrong facility's parking lot and with at least one illegal turn.

I have to admit the new office location is far superior to the one I recollect from my initial application. But, there is still a freedom search required. Always my favorite part. That and the fact that the signs are in a zillion tongues -- and English is no bigger or smaller than the zillion other translations.

Recall that the H1N1 Influenza A outbreak is the top news story of the day. So the CQ is holding her breath while surveying the teeming throngs of people, all sitting with that glazed-over expression best reserved for trips to the Dept. of Motor Vehicles. Not being able to figure out where to stand due to aforementioned lack of readable signage, I went for the shortest line (i.e., where there were no other humans standing). The clerk made me wait anyway, clearly feeling quick customer service would just convey a false first impression.

Even when she indicated that I could approach her window, it was ambivalent. So ambivalent that I stayed put in the labyrinth. The first invitation was not very inviting a milliseconds-long flail of the arm. Could have been shooing a fly and I wasn't leaving my hard-fought front-of-line spot. The second invitation involved the addition of the barest suggestion of eye contact and the same flail so I did approach. But with caution and my very best recreate-the-Crab-Queen's-image to a softer, more desperate, more human countenance. Clearly, not worth the effort.

I explained that I was now 2 minutes late for my 9:30 appointment with AA (not including that tardiness was thanks to the 3 minutes spent waiting for clerk to process my presence in the non-line queue). The clerk gave a jerk of her head to indicate that AA was just right over there. Apparently, milliseconds-long tics that could be interpreted as involuntary body movements were her preferred mode of communication. (Note: totally disappointed in myself as only AA's girth was as expected...all other aspects completely different). AA was wearing a most easy-to-follow in a sea of bland blood-red shirt. But, wait, there was a line of 4 or 5 zombies where she was working.

I gave the clerk my best Coach handbag-carrying look and asked whether I should just wait right here at this window. Nice try, CQ. I was instructed, Just get in her line. As I suspected. "But I have an appointment," I beseeched. No eye contact and I'm pretty sure her arm made some movement -- probably one to engage the overt security presence to her window. (If she made more complex motor sequences, it would have been the classic finger-encircling ear to convey "This one's cuckoo"). More waiting with the exponentially larger opportunity to acquire the H1N1 Influenza A virus. I was having NONE of that.

English as a first language, Demanding as an innate talent, I went for the only option that could change the course of my destiny in the five-person line. I bellowed, "A----a?!"

My new Best Friend Forever, AA, looked over like I was some sort of manna-with-a-Coach-handbag from above. Happily, she announced in a loud voice, "I have an appointment...I need to go take this meeting." I was whisked by a security guy to a private meeting cubicle (#4) so that I could hand her all the paperwork and the original birth certificates.

At this point I adopted my best Clint Eastwood voice/look/demeanor and said "Scan these. Please. And I'll be on my way." She looked like she wanted to draw the "interview" out so I opened the magnificent white folder where I'd copied everything twice for her ease in reviewing both cases simultaneously and she decided that my efforts called for immediate positive reinforcement.

She literally beamed and gasped in pleasure. So much organization, so little chaos. Oh, if AA had only known the vast spray of expletives (Sand, Sandy, Sand-encrusted, Sandwiched sand, etc.) that had created the glory of the white folder of non-needed, but mandatory up-to-the-second information about the finances of the Crab Familia.

I was back in the Odyssey within 10 minutes of my arrival. Pretty sure that I was the recipient of "Medi-Cal appointment envy" glares from my fellow applicants. And, if C-boy tests positive for the "H1N1 Influenza A virus", I'm blaming the teeming crowd first.

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For future reference: Only a frenzied idiot would have walked into the Medi-Cal office with an expensive handbag gracing her forearm. I am just that frenzied and just that stupid!