One Yard at a Time

I feel like I’m watching a Cleveland Browns game where our team is up by a field goal and the first quarter is about to end. It’s still early in the game so there’s a lot of hope but we’ve also watched some of the players take a few too many big hits for comfort. The offense is barely hanging on, struggling to find a rhythm, and the hits just keep coming. The quarterback’s been sacked a few times—each time he gets up slower than before—but the game goes on. There’s hope, sure, but also that familiar, gnawing uncertainty: How much more can they take before something gives?

Only, I’m not watching the game. I’m in the game and I’m the quarterback. I feel so worn down but I can’t give up. Every time I think I’ve found a gap in the defense, a chance to move the ball forward, another hit knocks me right back down. But the system doesn’t care if I can’t scramble out of the pocket; it just keeps coming after me like a relentless pass rush. And yet, here I am, still in the game, because quitting isn’t an option.

For instance, I just had a long go-round with my medical team because I’ve finally been approved for public assistance. However, Ohio passed new legislation stating if you receive public assistance like SNAP, which I now do, you are required to be a part of their job readiness program. Except, that isn’t an option for me and I needed a letter from my medical team stating as much. I’m not like other players in this game—I can’t play by the same rules. My body, my HEART, won’t let me.

My medical team initially stated that they couldn’t send a letter because “there is no medical cardiac contraindication”… well, now WTF does that mean? I am seeing them at the end of next month to do the stress test that I couldn’t do last fall because of my broken ankle. I mean, I understand to some degree. They had no idea what this new legislation meant really. I brought up next month’s impending visit (because there’s a second half to that visit that I’m not ready to share just yet), but I didn’t hear back right away.

I was impatient, I admit it. Before I asked for the letter, I had already researched the “jobs readiness” program and read what the legislation said and meant about being “able-bodied” and how they defined “work”. When my team finally got back to me, they agreed with me; by the Ohio government’s guidelines for the job readiness program, I could not consistently participate. Long story still long, they provided me with the letter and I think that’s in large part due to what the 2nd half of next month’s visit will entail.

My next hurdle is to get my application for SSDI completed and sent in so they can just deny me anyway. When I last called social security for a short telephone meeting, the on-hold looped recording cited roughly 230 days before you would receive a determination.

I’m still in this game, and I’m still fighting for that win. The Browns are known for doing the unthinkable, like running a 44-yard touchdown with less than a minute to spare, but the problem is they’re also known for letting the win slip through their fingers. I can’t afford to let that happen. Now that I’m on my own—divorced, unable to meet the standards of the system, and fighting for every step forward—it’s been an exhilarating, exhausting, and depressing never-ending game. I make some headway, only for a flag to come out, slowing me down again. But I’m still here, still pushing. The playbook may be unclear but I’m going to figure it out.

Note: Don’t ask me how Football managed to be the theme here; I just know that every time a game comes on, Cleveland rallies and becomes the most excited, cautiously optimistic group of fans that have ever existed and that’s what I need to be.