Dear Workman’s Comp,
Yet another night goes by since I won my case and still my medication stays locked away in the vault called the pharmacy.
I was injured seven years ago. It wasn’t even my fault. I had to fight and prove I was really hurt. I had to go out and get a lawyer. Was forced to see multiple IMEs that had never heard of RSD/CRPS let alone how to spell it. Was told that although I am in pain I was only worth so much in your eyes.
Everytime I called my nurse case manager I felt as if I were, in her eyes, no more than a pest. Begging and pleading for her to help me rebuild my life but instead got told I was a lazy unproductive member of society.
Yet, I trudged on.
Did what I needed to do and danced like the little puppet they wished me to be.
So I could get medication to be able to function in my pieced together hodpodge life.
What happened next?
You deemed that frivolous spending and took it away.
If my pain medication were insulin would you still treat me in the same light?
Just because I won’t die without it doesn’t mean something inside me isn’t wasting away.
Your evaluators never gazed upon me or examined my physical complaints.
Yet they saw me as a number and words on a page.
Never stopping to wonder the damage this would engage.
On a beautiful young lady of almost 28.
Did you stop to think of ripple effect?
The tear soaked pillow or the pain in my chest?
No, you cast me aside without no thought or regard on how without my medication my heart was turning hard.
The hardness in my heart is becoming a daily struggle.
I am becoming Sisyphus and I’m always falling. The rock is forever hitting me in the face. Pain coursing through my body and I wake face down on the ground.
So please take this note and know you have been served.
I’ve had enough of being a number and being unheard!