My disability hearing is over. I think it went much better this time, in that the judge actually looked in my direction and allowed me to talk when I had something to say.
I’d pre-medicated for the hearing, because I was afraid if I threw up or passed out they’d make me come back and try again three years later. That didn’t make the pain of a one-hour hearing any less brutal. I hadn’t been able to keep food down for three days, so I doubted I’d do any real damage, but if I was going to puke it was going in the general direction of the adjudicator in the green suit. Really, his suit couldn’t have looked worse.
This judge actually met my eyes and smiled, and looked at me rather than down at his desk when asking me questions, which made me much more comfortable. Nonetheless, my hearing took a full hour, maybe more. I don’t usually wear a watch, so I’m going by Michael’s count – he was in the waiting room.
I think it went well. I was horribly embarrassed when I couldn’t find a word I was looking for, or provide a place in time where a certain change occurred. But since it was MY hearing, no one could jump in and save me except the judge, who did so on a couple of occasions, giving me options. It was to my own benefit that I not be able to answer questions, but I was frustrated and in horrific pain.
So the third time I forgot my own lawyer asked me the same fairly simple two-part question, then retracted it because I’d answered part of it and asked to have it repeated twice, I slapped my hand on the table and said, “Ask me again, this is important!” He did, and I replied. I have NO idea what we were talking about. It could have been the appropriate time to plant turnips for all I know.
I just remember that it was incredibly difficult for me to even stand (with my purple cane) to exit the courtroom. My lawyer had me perch on a windowsill near the exit while he signed me out and grabbed my husband to take me to the car. The lawyer was all smiles.
We found out it would be three months or more until we received a verdict (WTF?), and then thirty – sixty days after that until I was actually awarded disability. AND that if they wished they could backdate my disability not to the day I last worked (April 2011) but to when I turned FIFTY (December 2016). Seriously? Seriously.
Really? Did fifty feel like some magical age for any of you who’ve passed it? I am DONE with birthdays (of my own). They can just pass without recognition from now on. I’ve hit the age, so pay me. I know it’s supposed to be 50% of my pay, but I’m sure it will be less. Just pay me so I can go on with my life. I am SO done with jumping through hoops like a dog. Not that dogs who jump through hoops aren’t great, but I want the details of the hoop before I jump through it!