Wait, you’re bleeding?! (Hospital Stupidity and Trigger Warning)

Okay, so, I have been wanting to write all week. I am sick however and have expended my writing energy in other ways such as whining and sleeping when no one was looking. Very productive if they fix what ails you. The whining I tried to do only to myself and M, because hey what are best friends for if not a whinge every so often? Plus I think he would worry if I didn’t whine about stuff just a little.

I ended up in the ER because my uterus is trying to work. This would be fine if it wasn’t shooting clots out like a machine gun that are the size of my fists side by side. That’s a very large clot and my vagina wasn’t made for those. I am in more pain than I want to handle, but I am handling it in my way. So I went to the favored ER that has never been bad.

It was as bad as UNMH the local travesty of medical studies. The nurse in intake didn’t even ask me what medications I take, which is a big no no. They presumed I was taking the medications I took last time I was there, almost a year ago. She laughed at my list of diagnosis, which I gave the short list of the ones that matter. This should’ve clued me in that they have hired idiots. I found out after we were there, we being M the carer, that there was a recent scandal with a drunk nurse. Wondering if she was the one doing intake though she seemed sober if incompetent.

So, I am left to wait for three hours before intake, in which time my legs turn a very nice shade of blue which gets me in the back before Mr. I broke my ankle, see it’s dangling by a thread and creepy lady that wanted to touch me after she coughed. I almost hit her, but M the Carer is good at what she does and interceded and moved me out of range of creepy. I was already considering a sequel to the horror script I wrote about mental health hospitals (currently being cast at Pendant Audio.com if you want to act in it). I am afraid a fiction could not out weight the reality.

Once I get in the back it’s three hours before anyone even says boo, and they demand a urine sample. It is presumed that I can do this, and I manage. This is where I discover that the hospital is not ADA compliant (though I already saw manifest wrongs and horror but more on that later). The bathroom could not fit a manual wheelchair into it and close the door. The door is also heavy. My carer helped me manage the situation, and the staff were off put that she used gloves to do so. Since sanity and sanitizing stuffs are bad here. Keep in mind at this point I was already imagining Dr.Zombie and his chorus of Brain Devouring Nurses.

I question the futility of a pee sample that is the color of cranberry juice, but we deal with it anyway. An hour later Nurse Pain returns. She looks at my sample and says, “Wait you’re bleeding?!” This is when I mimic Spock’s eyebrow raise and my carer and I say in unison, “Well yeah, that’s what she’s here for abnormal vaginal bleeding.” So, I end up chugging a 20 oz soda, because that’s healthy and I couldn’t stomach anything else they had on hand in mass quantities. A catheter later and hey my pee sample has barely any blood in it and that was probably still external since I had flooded the world with red. So usable urine sample.

The thing was, during this cath process the nurse was upset with me for not crying out, grimacing, yelling, or generally acting like she expects. It was painful but she decided I wasn’t in pain if I wasn’t doing the usual dance and scream she is used to with her typical patients. I have never been typical and I even stated when asked by my carer, who I felt was translating body language very clearly, “Why bother? I hurt now, I will hurt later, if I waste that energy then I can’t deal with being here.” It’s truth. It obviously disturbs Nurse Pain.

So it’s back to waiting, Nurse Pain decides she had best get the doctor because I obviously wasn’t making it up. Then she tells us the doctor has left the site. Well, it turns out this ER has ONE doctor on call. One. Not two. Not three. One. Who has LEFT. This is when I start considering abusing my power of phone and mp3 player that takes voice notes. Yep. I started recording things, and we took pictures of things.

Things we took pictures of include the wall made out of mold. Not joking, they put me in a moldy wall room. The bloody pen that is on top of the sharps container, instead of inside it or in another biohazard containment. I think there were others. There’s yet more however. Nurse Pain wasn’t the only in ER bungler, aside from Nurse Giggles.

Now lets talk about Nurse Nasty. Nasty is a male, who doesn’t change his gloves or wash his hands between patients. M the Carer and I are watching him, he doesn’t close curtains so we can see proceedures, he shouts out what is wrong with people. I see him as a walking germ factory. He comes in to take my vitals and I say “Sure, but can you wash your hands?” His expression is the one I call dumb shock. I can’t really read much more past my question liquifiying his brain with it’s sheer fantasticness. So as his brain melts he agrees to do so, overlooks the sink and clean gloves in my room, walks out and ne’er returns. I never once had my vital signs checked while I was there, and I did pass a few monster clots.

Other things of grossness, they didn’t want me to use the absorbant pad things. Those pads are there for me and you. They didn’t understand the idea of wiping myself clean so I could put on my clothes and leave their atrocity. I mean hospital. Now, eight hours have passed before Doctor McLeavy decides to do his job at least with me. I get it, he’s the only one there and the place is packed, dirty, and did I say inefficient yet because wow. So he takes a look and says, “Well there’s a lot of active bleeding, you really should get this checked out.” Since you know, I called my doctor during the weekend and left a voice mail, called again first thing and was told she would call me, called a third time found out she had not been given the voice mail since she answered herself and was sent to the ER. I am obviously incompetent and unable to concieve of the idea that this is an issue. I resist the urge to kick the doctor in the head, because that might end up with Nurse Pain and Nasty returning to rescue Doctor McLeavy.

So, that was my … Monday. Monday… evil monday. I think it would’ve been more productive had I just done what was planned. Which was done today. My carer and I also spent extra money on things that absorb gushing amounts of blood while I called the health department, the hospital’s patient relations people and tried to get an appointment with a female gynecologist since when I specify that due to PTSD this is a requirement as McLeavy already triggered my PTSD. McLeavy asks if I am sure I cannot take birthcontrol because that might fix the issue. Or it could you know, make me so sick I end up in hospital anyway.

Now I run into Dr.Receptionist.

Dr.Receptionist tells me at 9 am she will call me right back. She tells me at noon when I return to calling her that she is working on finding an opening before September. She’s getting downright bitchy. I am working on not telling her to shove her head into her uterus and see if that makes her have any abnormal bleeding, because she seems to think she is qualified to doctor me over the phone.

Third call, fifteen minutes before five, she calls and still has not figured out a way for me to have the accessible room (of which there is only one). She has not found a female doctor with an opening because “we only have two.” Instead of asking them if they would accomodate me. She even tells me, “This would be so much easier if you would just take the next availible instead of insisting on the wheelchair room and a woman.” Little does she know, when she calls me tomorrow I am recording the call. She is going to face the burning rain of hellfire that I am sending the way of the hospital via every legal channel. I may sue once I get a diagnosis. Dr.Receptionist prattles on about how I am just being difficult for a while, and then says, “You know since you are 25 I wouldn’t worry about waiting until September.” Mind you no appointment has been scheduled, she continues. “No one gets cancer at 25, you are just too young.” I did respond now, though not as fluidly as I wanted, It was more of a growl that probably was picked up in the phone, then, “Really? Since you know my medical history so well and every risk factor I have that is above normal you can just decree this cancer?” I wish I had said, “Oh when did you examine me, when did you go to medical school, did you take tissue samples or even a pap? I don’t recall having any of that done since the ER refused as that’s not their job.”

So tomorrow this continues. Of course I left out some tales of woe such as Nosferatu Sucks at Drawing Blood and a few more but you get the drift.

I do have this to say, Hospital Internal Affairs, when I told them I had proof jumped to. They were already but they managed to jump faster and higher. In fact the woman told me she admired my not leaving. When I told her there was no nurse call button and pointed out that I cannot walk out of my room to fetch a nurse so if my carer had left like the office was pressuring her to do so (incorrectly but we got through to the right people to get that fixed) I would not have had anything done yet. I probably would still be there growing cobwebs, well the IA person expressed her utter horror and mentioned that I could sue them and if I did she doubted they could fight. The fact is, when she said that she added legal liability to the hospital. I just need to get this problem fixed before I decide just how much to make them pay.

I am still haunted by Nurse Nasty. How many people got sicker because of him? How many people will handle the tools he used and put back? I wish he’d given his name but he did not. I did describe him and I know what vehicle he drives since he had a purple biker jacket and a shiny helmet. There was only one motor cycle in the parking area for the employees and I took a look. So that cuts down suspects greatly. I am going out of the system to find a doctor next, because I need a specialist and I am discovering that in the year since I started seeing only my pain specialist … well… Lovelace Women’s Hospital and Lovelace aka ALBUQUERQUE HEALTH PARTNERS has fallen into crapville. Though I could add a fictional twist, this is no laughing matter for dancing zombies but is a serious breech of all sorts of ethics and fun stuff. I think I will be fine, given that this has happened before and yet I also know that when they told me I needed a hysterectomy at 16 but they insisted on waiting incase I wanted children, that need likely hasn’t gone away. I still don’t have or want kids and this is one of the worst times I have bled like this. Not as bad as the time I ruined an entire mattress because I couldn’t get up, the wheelchair is making a difference but my pain level is far too high, and with my PTSD triggered there are other complications. Plus my cramps are so bad I can’t pee. I told my carer I may have to go back to the ER tomorrow if I still haven’t gone. I will update when I have the energy. I wanted to write this out so that you all know, and the details are there.

Nymph and Sprite are also helping as much as they can, neither is pressuring me for snuggling but if I let them they are like velcro. Nymph even let me trim her claws for the first time today and didn’t even try and run. Once it was done she just sat beside me and looked a little sad until I petted her. I know my health is in that dangerous spot between Oh Crap and Uh Oh, so I will try to stay towards the oh crap side on the woopspometer.

Oh and the names of the Guilty HIPAA and health code and common sense violating zombie medical staff have been altered to protect the names of said Guilty parties until I sue their pants off or do something else equally deserving with spite and fury.

Whiteness Means I am Smarter Than Who? (Trigger Warning)

I don’t know what made my brain connect the memory, perhaps it is because it is the least convinient time ever for me to go, “Oh… hey… institutionalized racism, fail on you Estancia New Mexico!” I swear, that town is the most ism fueled town I have ever seen. That is the town where I was burned at the stake, oh yeah, I am naming names now bitches. I should admit, my dear readers that I was angry before then. Between reading a crap ton of sexism about Zsa Zsa Gabour, my computer still acting up and so badly that I lost more data, more time, and had to reinstall things, and the rain… I woke up from my mad thinking it was six am, and suddenly this anger slammed into me. Likely I was triggered in my sleep but this anger was here first, not the idea, so my reaction may be disproportionate. Or not.

My revelation comes at the hands of my mother, I woke up and my first conscious thought was about the Gifted Program, a term I use lightly, and the special ed program. It was one shrouded in thunder like a horror movie revelation. Why were there no children of color in either program? Are you telling me that out of the majority of hispanic children there were no gifted kids? Wrong. Fail. Nope. This doesn’t seem factual, when some of the barbie doll white girls in my class were put back in regular cycles because they could not actually keep up with the school work and the gifted program was an at your own pace sort of class. Even the teacher, though she did a bang up job and did address racism, was the aryan dream. Well the first one we had was too but she was full of fail and was fired for being creepy, and has almost no bearing on my memories of the Gifted Program. Thunder Thunder.

I remember everyone they pulled out for IQ testing, and as an adult i know that the tests used were skewed not in my favor or in the favor of accuracy but these tests hailed from the days when white people tried to prove with science that black people and other “races” are just plain stupid. I am so glad that these tests failed but at the same turn there are more accurate assessments of a child’s needs and these tests were easily skewed. In fact, I remember clearly how angry the test assessor was that I passed the test and was deemed to be a genius. The twitching, the muttering with the principle who I clearly heard say, “Then we’ll have to deal with her and her mother, but you couldn’t just lie?” I asked what for, and that was it, I was stamped “Gifted but Troubled, beware the contents of this package”.

The thing is, they only TESTED THE WHITE KIDS. Each of us was taken one at a time, and it was announced on the PA. I won’t name their names, as these children did nothing to deserve being used as pawns for racism, but hello… the superintentendet was antisemitic, and clearly so, something I was aware of before the end of the first year of the gifted program. We were stuck in a windowless room our first year, with the teacher that was very much lost in her own illness both physical and mental, and mostly just futzed around. The cool part was when one of the boys’ fathers, who works at or worked at the time Sandia National Labs brought in a truckload of monitors, keyboards, and broken towers. Our job? Reprogram them, make them run then brand new XP, the Labs funded this, and set up the entire school district with an internet worthy network.

I was born for this. Though it was clear very rapidly my hands weren’t my mind was. I took over, and we split up into areas where we each excelled, I was the head programmer, and another person who was also less strong and agile helped me. We wiped hard drives, expanded ram, and essentially took several hundred computers, and mutated them into two hundred computers. Last time I asked, my brother and sister told me these are still the computers in use in that educational system. My teacher was fired, though possibly illegally I think there was more to it than I know. The next year we had windows and the teacher that I dream about often. Not sexually but as a guide.

She is still alive so I know this is just my imagination, but Miss S was the first teacher to teach me anything. I remember how surprised she was when for a project that required basic math, I asked for help. That was the first time I spoke in her class to say something productive, and the first time I asked for help. She had me stay in during lunch, and bought me pizza and we used pizza to get the problems solved. She then asked me if I wanted to type all of my assignments. Type? Really? I could use a format that didn’t send pain shooting through me and was so distracting that I could think my work through? I never said yes, instead I let out a squeak and ran away. All my assignments for all classes were then typed, printed, and I completed homework even in that year.

Yet still, all of my classmates were white. Not all of them turned out to be gifted, despite this test. I have had my IQ tested several times and with several tests, and I am left to wonder, why weren’t any of the hispanic students tested? Our future valedictorian was hispanic, and I think she was gifted. Sure she was mean to me, but everyone was and if you weren’t mean to me it was social suicide. I understand that as an adult, and maybe have forgiven some of the kids who confused me by being nice to me alone, but if someone else was around out and out cruel. I can think of several students, especially in English and Math, that didn’t even have to think about the work as they learned it, they more than excelled.

None of the hispanic kids in my class actually left that town. All of them are trapped in tendrils of what is institutionalized failure. I know that my mother probably didn’t see it as racism as she said “Now you don’t have to be with them” but I did think she meant the horrible hispanic children. There are a lot of racist moments in my family as we know and a lot of moments where my mother failed but she actually fought for the gifted program to exist, because it was what I needed. My older brother also could have benefited but by the time she won this fight he was gone. I don’t think she would have done it for just me, but maybe? Maybe.

I asked the then Superintendent about it, and the answer I had was, “Well you are just smarter than them.” Them again. How can you know without testing? How? It makes absolutely no sense. I knew I was smarter than most of my classmates but I had some doubts. Sure I was the smartest in the gifted program but as an adult I still cannot add or subtract without a great deal of struggle and even then I have to use a calculator to verify my results. I have been told that is Autism which is ableim when said, just like my white skin automatically makes me worthy of the funding for this test.

I have no doubts I am smart, not many do. In fact the general presumption people have when meeting me is that I have several degrees. I don’t have any, which bothers me, because I wonder… if I was hispanic, black, or a person who is of First Nations descent, wouldn’t they presume I worked at taco bell, or am faking disability for the benefits? Is this why no one was tested but the handful of white students, and some of those were bumped up for appearances?

The popular girls were actually thrust into this class, and only two could stick it out. I remember the two that did because they were nice to me even infront of others after a month in the class. I think they saw that there was more to me than the beligerant and mean student who targeted every weak point with military prescision. In fact it was those girls that gave me some good memories of school, in the very cliched hollywood way that things went down. They could keep up with the advanced work, and yet… again… with the boys the entire football team was tested, the head cheerleader and football guy, no idea his position but I know it was his thing and he banked his future on it. They came into the class and were lost with some very basic things, which in the test you had to have in order to be used. Reading. Writing.

I am not saying they cannot be gifted, but how can you take a test that is WRITTEN if you cannot read it? They certainly didn’t read the questions to me. Theyhanded me the test and said I had all afternoon to complete it. I didn’t need that much time, which lead to another argument, me having to retake the test because I had to have cheated… but… you have to be able to read to do it.

That bothered me then, though then I thought it was just their popularity that got them in. Now I think it was the whiteness of their skin. Would my mother have even managed to make federally mandated special education programs availible if she wasn’t white? I doubt it. I think on that town and how everyone with any power is white. The mayor? WhiteyMcwhiterton, the superintendant? Hispanic last name but she has gone off the deep end with the bleach and presented as white. She may still be the super but I don’t care enough to check. The principals? Only one was not white. The high school principle also used his whiteness to bully teenage girls into sex acts. The track coach? Same. His kid may not want me believing that but I knew the man, and I never trusted him alone because of his grabby hands. Sorry, no need to name names, a simple google search reveals all.

This town, this town so chock full of religious extremism, racism, and of course crime… more crime than I can believe… this town also has the worst educational record in the state that often is the worst or second to worst. No point in differentiating when you are last out of fifty, and this school is last out of however many my state has?

Now, there is something else that I remember. I wasn’t put back in the gifted program in Highschool but instead the special education program, which I was familiar with. There I found most of the white football players from the gifted program’s first year… and a lot of hispanic kids that did know the basics of reading, writing, and had no actual issues that I could see. They were just deemed less than. My reason for being dubbed inferior was having mental health issues, though I still had my freshman year made of awesome between winning a national computing award and being valentines princess (Prom Queen equivalent). Still, the kids from special ed that I knew in Middle School, some of whom I kept in contact with after the advent of becoming “Gifted” because hey, lets make a term othering and one that can cause the majority of students to feel bad too…

None of those kids were in these classes. They were in a third level class, where they had even less instruction than the special ed class. I think that they tried to rename it remedial everything but that was too little too late by the time theyear was most of the way through, and yes I did find humanity in some of my fellow students in that class and vice versa but it wasn’t the Breakfast club, it was an educationless room where we were passed ahead, without knowing or learning anything unless like me you read a book and surprise surprise, the others got curious so you ended up teaching them some reading skills and had a book club. It was short lived because I broke down again. However, it was a start. If I could teach kids I loathed and thought were no better than animals, why couldn’t the teachers?

The teachers at this school, with a few minor but fantastic exceptions, don’t care and don’t try. Actually that’s the educational format for this state before you get culled out usually by education and color, or being form out of state between the local community college with it’s basic courses and the university for the “more advanced”. Yeah. They said it that way for a few years there. I think they stopped but wowza.

So there it stands… my entire memory collective of these events. In a town where the population divvies up between white people who are inbred with each other (literally) and a few outsiders who you just don’t talk to if you are local because they aren’t part of the Cult of Estancia, the town with a catholic or baptist (and that one methodist ) church on EVERY CORNER. They have one bar, and at least ten churches I can think off off of the top of my head… then the rest are hispanic folks, a lot of them are not legal, though every student was here legally born in either Albuquerque or Estancia itself. Even the doctor was racist, and would treat people’s ailments with some sort of outdated “medicine” that killed a lot of people.

In a town of 90% color vs 10% Whiteness, why is it that almost all of the white children are in a special class? I wonder now if this is why that awesome teacher with the pizza (and a lot of other extra time spent teaching me things like advanced beading and how to focus even when angry) chose to teach us about the Nuremburg trials. She took history and made us reenact it. We had to work together to write a script, and every time I was triggered she would let me go for a walk as long as I came back. I was allowed to do what I had to in order to be okay with the work, and actually made more progress with my PTSD in her class than I ever had in an institution up to date. I played the roll of Herman Goerring, and we had the honor of performing our class play, which was actually ripped fairly much from trial transcripts, infront of holocaust survivors, one of whom presented evidence and reprised this actual event. Each survivor brought a piece of atrocity with them, and it stuck with most of us, these lamps of human skin, chairs with bone, and bits of humanity were all that the Nazis valued of people who weren’t like them. Infact, when these survivors thanked us for our portrayal (I even faked hanging myself) I was scared. I didn’t understand the waves of emotion, and I still cannot. I do know that the men and women that sat and watched children with great seriousness learning, and for some of us seeing when we held the actual items, such as a Nazi flag, the horrors that the impact was great, not great as in good but massive. Huge.

I remember many things about my teacher, including when she left. She left the school system when I went to high school, or as I oh so fondly remember it.. the land of no one cares because we’re almost done with you horrible children (except my computer sciences teacher who was known as an evil witch because she actually cared and had expectations the horror..) She left because they would not change the system. She told each of us goodbye and said, “There are things in your town that aren’t right. When you go elsewhere, people aren’t treated this way based on how they look but what they know or could learn. Keep that in mind, you aren’t the only smart people here.” I took this as a get out while you still can, and I still think that was a part of it. She wanted us to keep our minds open.

My teacher in her lesson on Nuremburg taught about not just the Jews but she taught about all of the other peoples targeted, she herself was of german descent, and as I said was the Aryan dream in appearance. I wonder if her teaching this was based on seeing the potential for the same crimes to occur, and feeling guilt because her family name is tied closely to the Nazis. I wonder… but all I can think of is… if I am the most successful by the traditional money money money standards, and also by my own out of these students what went wrong? I had the least amount of potential to succeed being that I was actually preparing to kill them all rather like a cartoon villain. What lead each of the smart women in my class to become pregnant and then housewives without fulfillment. I won’t say every housewife is unfulfilled but when I ended up back in that town a few years ago, it was clear that they wanted out. I even had one ask me why I wasn’t married and how I had managed to survive without a man. The outsiders were now insiders, married to someone else there, I think the fact that everyone in that town who remains has relations to someone else is a bit horrifying and someday I may write a horror movie based on the phenomenon… yet even with everyone there being mostly blood related, it was those deemed more than the others, because of last names bearing whiteness, skin, hair, in fact the entire gifted class had only one person without blonde hair in it, and one was me.

So… why was it that this old idea of whiteness being superior shaped the futures of children? How fair is it? Yes, my otherness nearly cost me the gifted program, but that is more proof isn’t it? They wanted the children with the “super good” label to be the ones who matched what they see on TV as superior. There was never consideration that the twins or their brother could have been smart. THere was never consideration that anyone excluding myself with a mental illness could be smart, or could be super frigging bored because there were a total of four teachers in my entire experience there that taught (though a few of them I had more than once). Why was it all of our teachers were white too…

The hell Estancia. How can a town that has such a rich history, one with so little whiteness, be so sick? Most of your white people are CRIMINALS. Most of your hispanics, at least while I was there, ran businesses,worked to make the town a better place. Sure, the serial killer that nearly got me there was a man of color but, he was the exception to the criminal scum there not the rule. Then again your town embraces criminals so why am I bothering to scold you? I just wish for the future children, those being educated now, that you weren’t run by racist scumbags. So glad I am out of there.

I will never cross your border again, I will never look back again, unless triggered like so. That is all you are to me you cesspool of a town, you are the worst years of my life. You contain my lack of recovery, a lack of love, and hatred. THe few exceptions stand out with gleaming clarity because they are EXCEPTIONS, and even those were tainted by my being other. Every moment in that town was a torture. Even the moments when I learned the most,s omeone was in pain at all times. How is that healthy? No being white doesn’t make you smarter. Neither does my autism. Just because you were forced to follow laws you have to find a way to sully the idea of smarts? Good frigging grief.

What Defines New Mexico? (Trigger Warning)

This post is going to make the New Mexico Tourism Board cry. As Nymph runs off after startling me because she jumped up into my lap and I laugh, my brain still turns and mulls over what created me as I am. As a person born in New Mexico, a person that has never left this dusty state except to go over the border into Mexico for a mile (it all looked the same, I got lost and it doesn’t count if I don’t know I left the country on purpose) I have a perspective on New Mexico that can be broken down as follows..

1. Education
2. Poverty
3 Religion
4. Healthcare

These four things combine to make New Mexico an unpleasant place to live. I hear so often how nice it is to visit my state, how beautiful it is, and how neat it is that all of the natives sell their homemade crafts at the various squares for thousands of dollars. That’s the tourism factor. New Mexico has great places to visit, places I enjoy. I love so much of the history and lore here. I revel in reading about Billy the Kid, in knowing that I have been in places that this young man had.

New Mexico has yet to stop being the wild west. The same mentality that created the gun fighter out of the ex soldier (That would be the James Gang lead by Jesse and his brother) on through the modern gangster there is an element of hopelessness in this state. It may have been here before the Civil War, but New Mexico is not a place that is nice to live.

When you are a tourist it is easy to avoid the areas where people actually live and work outside of the glossy tourist shops. It is easy to see the big expansive sky, the glorious mountains, and even our gun fighter reenactments that happen every weekend in Old Town. It is easy to be sucked up by the dust and the wind, to feel for a moment you are somewhere else. Tourists are guided to specific areas JUST for this effect. Every city and place does this so that their dirty laundry is not aired.

New Mexico is not accessible for wheelchair users. When you visit in a chair you will find that downtown has great curbcuts and… that is it. A small section of the sidewalk is accessible, if you leave the Tourist Safe Zone you will be stuck. Even there you will be treated like garbage by the mindless peons of this state. They are educated to hate you, tourist, regardless of disability or no.

New Mexico has a long history of religious intolerance. This started back when Cortez rode through and spread disease looking for Eldorado. When you come and look at our history reveling in the ruins of churches, you are reveling in the murders of people. With that conquest came racism. The people of this state who claim they are Mexican are actually descendants of the first European rape marriages of the native daughters. This was done not out of love, no one married out of love before the Victorian period, but out of power. If you take their wives and daughters, you exterminate them. The devout Catholics could be practicing a variety of earth based religions, but most of their culture was beaten away or burned away. The chiefs and medicine men were killed over and over again. The image we have of the indigenous people also known as Indians, Native Americans, or first nations, this image is a construct by the first conquerors. This image is what tourists come to see.

Through the school system that we have currently, the children are taught to worship the conqueror. Those that can read will read books that talk about how impressive it was that these men brought horses, guns, and that yes a few of the First Nations died because of disease but Cortez didn’t really mean it, so that makes it okay. It was just an accident. The germs may have been accidental but pretending to be a deity was not. That was a conscious choice. Turning on the people that embraced these European WHITE men because of their difference? That was an act of hatred.

When you come to New Mexico as a tourist and are frustrated with your potentially not white counter clerk’s inability to count out your change properly or their not really smiling or enjoying their menial labour? You are feeding off of a centuries old hate crime. New Mexicans of color (Hispanics, Blacks, First Nations, etc) are given a poorer education. There are schools for the white children such as Saint Prius where if you can pay for the education or are smart enough you get in. in the Cities the education is better, but with a state that is made up of rural regions most of the people who come to the city as adults are not well educated or are from out of state taking advantage of the economic opportunity presented to them by the lack of local applicants that are qualified to do this job.

In the rural areas, especially Estancia (The worst school district in a state that is chronically the worst in the nation educationally) the teachers are often not certified. I haven’t checked since I escaped that school, but since a lot of the same teachers are there as when I went? You can BET that the teachers are either not caring, not qualified, or are the exception to the rule. There are a few of them and these people can make a difference in the education of a few students, but the majority in that area never learn to read, the focus is just on sports (though despite Brian Urlacker who is from Albuquerque not Estancia, this has never quite worked out for any of them). No one who leaves this small town returns. I did for a few months and that was under the guise of visiting and I got out again. The town is stagnant. The people never change. A few may come from outside, like my mother, but their children enter a society that is backwards. Anyone who was not born there is not accepted.

The culture here socially is also one of teen pregnancy. Abstinence only education as well as the idea that a penis will give you Aids (Not a lie but not a truth in how it is taught) lead many young women to being mothers. In Estancia every single girl in my graduating class was pregnant when I was 17 except for myself. Every single student is encouraged by the social culture to be sexually active. In a state wide experience as I have lived all over, I can tell you that girls are encouraged to become housewives and mothers. I suspect some of this is a national occurrence (This is according to an annual survey, the details of which have not changed enough to matter int he last few years. If anything the rate has increased). The system is set up so that it is almost impossible to become independent from these systems. With Welfare you are to hungry and tired from trying to work with your parents to learn. Every family dependent on Welfare that I know of is actually working to escape the need for assistance but with the set up that if you earn you lose the needed income so you can keep earning and eat, therefore it becomes a matter of starve or get off of welfare.

No one chooses poverty. No one chooses hunger. The image of the Welfare Queen of New Mexico interchanges one stereotype for another, and yet the one exception I know of to this rule is not a person of color but is a white person that feels entitled to not work. Parents with children struggle to better their education but this takes resources that we do not have. Each year education is cut, and each year it is the children who lose out. There are several remedial colleges in the area that help you learn the basics from elementary on through High school so you can get a degree, but this costs money and time. Not everyone has the time or money and many people here cannot qualify for federal aide because they do not have the knowledge to fill out the application.

This sends the locals flooding back to their churches. This state is stunted in many ways, and is so dependent on guidance from privileged white men or men who have fallen into the line of the Patriarchy and this leads to actions such as murder based on appearance, ability, sexuality and gender. This leads to people who may be declared a witch to actually be burned at the stake. Religion is used to prevent thought. When I was excommunicated from the Church, it was for asking questions to try and understand what I am being fed. This action is against the church and without education to encourage thought more people will not question. Questioning also takes energy and is a luxury in this state as if you are worked to the bone and exhausted there is no time to think. Church becomes a solace then, a place where you can dream of a heaven taht may or may not exist, where you can barter your soul on the chance that if you are a good enough person and suffer enough now you will not suffer when you are dead but oh you could be wrong.

This culture of underpaid labour is not at all threatened by immigration, when the children here are not educated enough to know their own legal rights when it comes to working. This means that there is a higher incidence of sexual harassment, dangerous working conditions, and those that speak up are more likely to be fired because they have no resources with which to fight back. In this culture that you visit and say is so wonderful, the people who are selling mass produced silverwork at a high price are doing this because this is all that is expected of them, and for many this is all they can do. Some do make their own jewelry but most of the merchants buy those works at a pittance of what you pay. There are some sellers that are reputable and will price their works fairly, but they often are told by you white tourists that this piece of jewelry must not be as good as the same one that costs YOU more at another store, you reveling in your privilege and showing your own lack of thought.

In New Mexico in these tourist areas people are often run down, because the worker there is not seen as a person but merely a prop to bring in your money to our state. People die because you choose to run them down out of the claim of being so tired from walking all over our cities on through you just not giving a damn. Yes sometimes it is a local driver that has mowed down a pedestrian but it is such a common occurrence that many people don’t notice anymore. The closer I am to a tourist spot the more likely I am to be killed.

With the movie industry coming to New Mexico there is another form of financial gain and another element of tourism. Our open spaces are now inundated constantly with the cameras. I fall prey at times to the excitement but now I am noticing that a large number of smart young people are choosing to try to get discovered instead of working or furthering their education. Hollywood is a shining element of fools gold showing a way out, that is another form of a trap. Such a low number of people actually become famous or rich, that this is creating another strain on the resources of the state. In order to not starve prospective actors and actresses turn to food stamps and state assistance or unemployment between gigs as extras. I consider periodically trying out for a space myself but it is always a choice between their privilege or my dignity. So I choose my dignity.

With so much hunger and often governmentally enforced squalor (Looking at you Denish and Richardson) where the funding is sent away from the programs that need it most and into cronies pockets the healthcare system is irrevocably broken. I am lucky enough that my insurance which often refuses me basic needs like medication forcing me into the hospital is here. Most New Mexicans will not recieve medical insurance until after the Obamacare plan has been enacted at it’s fullest. Then it is a matter of this plan being enforced, as enforcement is something you rarely see here unless it is law enforcement using their power to oppress a minority. The hospital connected to our University is never empty, the emergency room is always so full of the crushed and downtrodden humanity that people bleed to death in the emergency room before they are given care. People are dying there needlessly as there are only so many hands and many of them are simply students trying to learn the trade of medicine.

Between the countless malpractices, of which I am a victim, and misdiagnosis you will find mothers with screaming and sick children, people with a simple cold, and people that are dubbed homeless, pushed into a warm space by the lack of appropriate and accessible shelters. Between the dying are those who truly need a primary physician but they can get medical care in the ER and they cannot do so with a regular doctor because the fees are so high. If someone has the state’s Molina insurance they are forced into this system, and they may wait months before seeing a doctor. It is better to spend 48 hours in the ER than a month without care.

There are other hospitals, which I personally use but they often face the same problem. The overflow of emergency into their wards and those who want to try and avoid the crush of humanity at University of New Mexico Hospital enter these halls, it is the same. Long wait times, mass suffering, and the dying who would not be dying if they could just see a doctor on a regular basis. I am told there is no need for socialized medicine by you and those who can afford to travel, which denotes immediate privilege. I am told as you go to the nicest ER if something occurs on your trip that things surely are not this bad but this is my version of a happy tail for New Mexico.

The people are suffering, they are oppressed, and pushed down. The children do not know the benefits of education and are taught often with physical violence that questioning anything is wrong. It creates a mindless hive that is then sold to the consumer as an authentic culture. The authentic culture of the people here has been murdered long ago. Each time you come and consume us, you add into this even more. I know no one will stop coming after this, and yet there are things in this state beyond the borders of your safe tourism friendly areas that are fantastic and interesting. There are people here that are taught beliefs and educationally things that you see as archaic. You could explore the world of living anachronisms.

The people can be wonderful, sweet, charming, and amazing. The conversations you can have with some of the children and elders in my state about it’s history may disenchant you a bit, but isn’t this better than a ghost story that was manufactured for your fifty dollars? Wouldn’t it be better to hear about why the James Gang and Billy the Kid were seen as heroes from the descendants that still feel attacked, and rightfully so by the government?

What defines New Mexico is not the beautiful skies and wide open spaces that are nice to visit but instead is the massive amount of oppression, appropriation, and torture forced upon those born here. I have not spoken of the domestic violence culture that you are supporting by visiting… but it is a nice place to visit, so I hear. It would be better if it were a nice place to live.

I live!

I hope you all can forgive my silence. Here is a quick rundown of why my blogging may become a bit more sporadic. I will try to not be so lack luster in my posting, and I have stories to tell!

1. I am starting a public speaking business. I will try to travel and blog, though until I get a laptop that might not happen. I will try to use the scheduler on WordPress, if I can figure out how to make it actually post.

2. As an ordained interfaith minister at times I perform weddings. I like to assist with the planning, networking resources, and it is another time consuming affair, also at times with travel involved. I am currently in the process of helping plan a huge wedding with in three months.

3. I might have cancer. This year I am getting a double cancer scare. I have posted before about the annual cancer scare. This time my doctors think I have both skin cancer and uterine cancer. I don’t think I have either but we are doing biopsies (which left me incapacitated for three days) and tests just to be safe.

4. I am trying to keep my commitments as well. I am helping to start a new Toastmasters Club at both the local University and one at the other end of town. I am also going to be active in my regular two clubs.

This is all between writing my novel, on the blog, working on my art and I will also be crafting things to sell at craft shows and as special commissions. A lot of this occurs around wedding time. (Feel free to book me as a minister, I can legally marry you in most states and as an interfaith minister am able to work with many faiths. I also perform commitment ceremonies for those who cannot legally marry their life partners in most of the US at this time.)

I will continue my activism as well. It never ends, and although I am tired when writing this, I still need to wash my face to remove the eyeliner Day of Silence writing from the protest, I am exhausted but content. I will try to write tomorrow, and due to the incliment weather might just have more time.

It is spring and SNOWING!

Diagnosis! Gotta Catch’em all!

I am in an emotional upheaval. I found out today that Block Insurance does not have any non Walmart Eye doctors. All of the numbers they gave me were between disconnected or offices without actual vision care professionals. I also was told to choose between Walmart and Eye Masters which is the Walmart of eye care. Would you go to Walmart for diagnosis and treatment of anything medical? I won’t. I want options. I want to see a doctor I trust, not Mr. Walmart Doctor.

I spent several hours on hold, trying to get an appointment. My right eye has an existing hole in the retinae, but no one wants to treat it. Now that hole has some little friends. I can see them, the spots grow and most of my vision is gone in that eye. I can barely see my monitor, and am defendant on the Windows built in Magnifier to see. I no longer read paper, I can’t see it. I no longer watch TV. I listen to it. I did reach the point of yelling on the phone.

The conversations were comically inept. “Thank you for Calling Block Vision, what can I do for you today?” “Yes, I am calling to try and find a provider. I …” Interrupting me, “Did you use the automated system?” “Yes, and the numbers were either invalid or the offices wanted to charge me despite my qualifying for zero copay. I also am not comfortable with Walmart for my eyecare needs. I have some advanced care issues.” I made a mistake. I admitted I need more than they want to offer.

“Spell your name.” I did. “You can’t spell your name like that.” Since it is my name and has been for a long time, I would not know how to spell my legal name. My last name is the issue of course, not the first. I spell it again, and get the same response. I am done. I want to make this person cry, I want to rain fire down upon them. Instead I take a deep breath. “Could you please transfer me to someone else?” I did not ask for a supervisor yet. “If you cannot calm down I am goin to hang up on you.” “I am calm, I just asked for you to transfer me to someone else, I do not think we are communicating well.”

She hung up. I kept getting the same person too, and after six calls I let go. I was already in tears so I screamed. I cussed. I told her exactly how good she was at her job, and since they claim to record these conversations, I hoped her bosses listened in and fired her. Not my best move, but, being treated like crap gets to me. The last thing I want is to be blind, unable to move, and unable to hear. I am being told that all that I and anyone else who is on Medicaid (mostly children) deserve is WALMART?!

Walmart screws up everything. I want a real doctor. Not some brainless person who barely managed to graduate. I want someone I can put my faith in. Wouldn’t a real doctor be hired somewhere else? I am not saying that every doctor gets the cushy jobs but I want access to the doctor of my choice or at least a variety. I do not want to be told I am insane for desiring trust with my medical professionals. I do not want to be told I have to pay out of pocket because I am low income and have other medical issues. I want medical care.

I want to see. I miss being able to see the faces of my friends clearly. I miss being able to see far enough to give safe directions. I do not drive but, shouldn’t I be able to see the end of the hood? A van doesn’t have a very long hood. I also want to do more than push and push to try and get proper care. I am so tired. I am tired of having to advocate. I have been advocating for people and fighting my entire life. I have always been the caregiver. I want someone else to do it.

This doesn’t work however. I can’t just stop advocating. I can’t because I do not know how. I instead took the time to calm down enough to call the Governor. I left him a voicemail along the lines of this, “Governor Richardson, I am a voter who encourages others to vote, “I always start out with the secret threat that if you do not help me I will not vote for you. “I have been trying to find an eye care provider.I recieve SSI benefits and am on Medicaid via the COOLTS program. You have influence here, the program has farmed out their providership for vision care to Block Vision. Block Vision is only allowing a selection from Walmart and Eyemasters doctors, I cannot get an appointment with them and my vision is degenerating. I need your help to fight for your constituents.” I left my number, and I know I should have been calmer but my voice likely gives away my frustration and the fact that I have been crying for the last few hours.

I cannot see. I am thankfully able to type with my eyes closed but there are errors. What if I wait too long to see someone and wind up unable to save my sight? I am not faithful in the system. Right now I am afraid I will be deaf, blind, immobile, dealing with the Autism, and autoimmune. I have one of every type of disability, it seems. I am losing hope today.

If I want to pay for my eye care out of pocket, I can manage that how? They want more money than I get a month. Why are we choosing between Rent, Medicine, or Dental/Eyecare? Why is it you can eat but not see. Oh wait, I can’t afford food. I am a celiac. Silly me. Bread is at least seven dollars. I don’t buy bread. I don’t buy anything beyond just enough meat to survive. I am HUNGRY but there are no food programs that can accommodate my allergies. I am greedy to want that right? I am greedy to want someone to help me. I am greedy to want a break from advocacy. Right?

No matter how many other advocates there are, I feel alone. I feel as if there is no where to turn. I have to do this alone. I have to do this by myself. Who can I ask for help? What would they suggest that I have not done? I am all alone, as every advocate is at some level. There is only so much you can have someone else do for you.

It isn’t hopeless. I am after the jobs of the employees who hurt me today. That means someone else can be hired if they are fired for their incompetence. This might seem cruel, but, isn’t it just as cruel to mock someone for wanting medical care? It is just as cruel to treat someone like garbage because they are disabled. I have HUMAN rights. I have CIVIL rights. You want to mess with me? Go ahead. I bite.

Edit and End Notes:
I do not care what your God or Bible says about being alone either. I have been preached at, as if somehow my choice to not pray every time some idiot steps on my civil rights is my fault for being a non believer. I do not believe religion has much bearing on the affairs of the state. So, yes, this is a snarly article, and yes I admit I messed up by yelling and plan to keep fighting but leave your god out of my life. I haven’t needed your god to chance things for myself before, I will not need YOUR god now. Thanks for respecting my religion.

It is not religion that is shared when you ask an opinion or vent to me. I offer ideas. I do not expect you to worship me, my gods, nor is this the same as pointing out that I surely would feel better with YOUR God receiving my prayers. Seriously, are your gods somehow starving to death or something? I know plenty of people in those religions who are. So keep religion out of it. You won’t find my religious identity posted clearly anywhere.

Poverty and Cultural Hate

I grew up hating my state. It took me a long time to see the good points of living here, especially when the only things that seemed to come up were Bad. Growing up in a myriad of small towns I was never an insider, and I did develope a good deal of hatred for my Hispanic neighbors. I hated the rednecks, the popular girls, I hated the girls who put out and the other outsiders who were still virgins. Eventually I was the only virgin in my school, and the pressure was unbearable. On top of that I had to hide self loathing. My family sucked, as far as I was concerned. We were poor and white. That meant we were just trash and no one wants trash.

Today I found out about this. Cheese Sandwiches do not accommodate potential allergies for these children, and they do humiliate. I was humiliated often by my peers and the adults in my life as a child. I never got to eat the school lunches because they made me sick but we could not afford anything else. I can taste my own cheese sandwiches, the ones I ate during my tenure in this same school system.

I also know how APS (Albuquerque Public Schools) is going to handle the repercussions of media attention. They will instead offer Peanut Butter Sandwiches. That is how they handled it when I was a student there. This is not a new policy, this is instead just a new excuse to deprive.

New Mexico has a fundamental hatred of it’s children. I have yet to see much proof to the contrary, when, the school systems are cut first, then public health. Anything that benefits the children lacks security. I do wonder, when we are of the age of grandparents, wizened and realizing our errors, if it will be the lack of care our children show us that makes us stand up and say “Sorry.”

The only things I really gained from my APS Education are an overwhelming sense of regret, and a GED. I am one of the infamous drop outs. I was always hungry, I was rarely reached out to by my teachers, and I am aware that the problem has merely gotten worse. The hunger I felt masked any outreach that was there. How can we expect these kids to learn when we starve their bodies? Some might not even get to eat at home. School might be the one meal they get a day.

So much for the economic stimulus package. Now we will have another generation of hate filled youth. Few will wind up okay, those kids who are singled out now are at greater risk for mental difficulties. They might have easy access to guns too. Albuquerque has a healthy gang community, and, improper diet will cause more drop outs.

Children need to feel loved. They need to feel like the adults want their success. I never felt that. In retrospect I can see it, but, it was so rare to have anyone wanting me to succeed that it never made a big enough impact. The impact that good people are trying to have is being deadened with this stupidity.

How can I help these kids? I am not sure. I do know that the public being made aware is a step. Maybe Bill Gates will remember being in APS and will provide the funding for food. He still has a charity right? Oh, top it off with the local coverage. There is so little it didn’t even make the news advertisements, instead they talked about the Governor being busy. I found out about this on my favored Feminist Blog, Womanist Musings. The local news has not aired yet, but will they even cover this topic? they did not mention it yesterday either.

Are our children truly this disposable? I look forward to the baby boomers joining me on the caregiver train. This generation which we just sentenced to starvation will be theirs. Perhaps they will find that anger in youth begets anger in the adult world. I am not wishing them harm, but, I am wishing that the adults and people with the power to change the future see that the future is in our children. They will someday make the policies that shape who gets to eat, and they will take away from those who wronged them.

The Antidote for Discrimination Is…

I have felt the urge to blog repeatedly, but until now I have not given in. Blogging can be as personal as writing. I have spent the last week in preparation mode skimming the internet reading other blogs, seeing what I liked, what I didn’t like, and the power behind the words. Some of these bloggers brought me to tears, and that is no small feat. Others made me laugh, some caused me to feel sorrow, and a few gave me the chance to feel angry.

I wasn’t sure how to start my first post, but, since I am an advocate for all disabled, all women, all men, all people in need I will start there. The topic nearest and dearest to my heart is Service Animal Law. Some of you who read this might think you know about service animals, and you might be right. Others will presume that a service animal is only for a blind person. You are not correct. A service animal, by the federal definition, is any animal trained to assist a disabled person with a task. This does mean that if you have a seizure alert dog, it has to do more than that. The law even gives behavioral guidelines.

I have a service cat. She is trained to do things including retrieval, seeking assistance from specific humans in the case of an emergency, medication reminders, object retrieval, and she has also been trained to help me balance. A lot of these tactics came out of her instinctual responses, but those needed to be honed. She also had to be trained to handle a crowded mall. Now she handles it better than I do. People often ask me why a cat, and my response is simple. I am not allergic to cats, most of the time but I am allergic to dogs. I also trust cats, and I haven’t trusted many dogs in my life. I have to trust my service animal partner.

I have faced some serious discrimination because of being disabled. When I was still walking most of the time, it was harder because I was in extra agony since forcing myself to walk through a store took all of my energy. The more tired I am, the more pain I feel. There have been times when I have had shopping carts jerked out of my hands, causing me to either fall or nearly fall. I have been denied the right to buy groceries, and recently I have been illegally denied medical care.

I am perusing legal action but I am well aware that other people might not know how. Today, one of the blogs I read, reminded me that not every person is trained in how to handle discrimination. When you are disabled, you might feel more vulnerable to attack, and when people threaten to take away your service animal or refuse access, it can be terrifying. I feel often as if I am going to be hit if I push forward. I was an abuse victim for most of my life, but, adulthood came and I found a way to break free. Not everyone is that lucky.

So, here it is, my guide for other disabled people with any LEGAL service animal on how to advocate their rights. A side not before I begin, if you do not need a service animal, do not lie. We will catch you eventually, and the crime has a punishment. Depriving people of their rights through your shallow behavior is the worst thing you could possibly do, and, whether you believe in Karma, Hell, or just recriminations in this life from other people, you will pay for it. The law will get you, Advocates will get you, and if Karma gets you, it will be worse than anything I could dream up.

The Guide– Dedicated to Renne, Helen, Aimi and Snow, but especially Bree. (All Links will open in a new window/tab.)

Step 1. Stay Calm. This is for me the hardest part of advocating for your rights. Sometimes I want to run, other times I want to scream and cuss. Neither tactic is helpful. As hard as it is, you have to be the bigger person, and stay nice. You can have anger in your voice, do not deny the emotion but do not let the emotions over ride your goal.

Step 2. Calmly as you can, state that they are breaking the Federal Law. This is what I have practiced saying in the Mirror daily for the last two years. “You are violating the Federal Law. The Americans With Disabilities act provides protection for my use of my service animal.” When I say this I hand them a copy of the law. You can get a copy of the service animal laws from the ADA.  I  have the business brief printed with my state law on the reverse side. You can obtain access to your local service animal laws at http://www.animallaw.info/ I carry  my print out in aUSB case on my scooter keys. You can also buy laminated cards from various businesses with the law on it that explain your rights. For some people this is easier. Those cards are usually kept on your animal’s harness.

Step 3. Explain the law in simple terms and how they are violating it. This does mean you need to know the law. Not only does knowing the law protect you from discrimination, but, it lets you educate people. The biggest cause of discrimination in my experience is a lack of knowledge. If someone isn’t willing to learn, or admits they know, then you have a larger problem. One of the main causes of confusion with service animal awareness is that few businesses train their employees. It is illegal to require a service animal to wear a vest or show an ID tag. When someone asks me for this for my cat, I show them the law and educate them. Often, they will try and state she cannot enter because she is not a dog. My local laws state only dogs can be service animals. The laws are written so that the stronger law prevails. This means that if the Federal law says I can have any animal, that is trainable and meets the standards and the local law does not, we refer to the federal law. However if you live in a state like California that requires ID tags for all service animals, then, the law requires you have an ID tag. This is another source of confusion, but, it is an attempt at increasing the rights of many.

Usually by this point I am either in the building or they are just going to break the law anyway. If you have reached this point, it is time for Step 4.

Step 4. Take a very deep breath, and remember Step 1. Then ask to speak to their supervisor. If they refuse or are the supervisor you can try explaining the laws again, or calling another advocate to try and help. I keep the number handy to the local advocacy organization, and they have helped me countless times. Even knowing I can call day or night, is helpful because I do not feel alone. At this time I have no national links, but if you are in New Mexico, contact Service Animals and the Law. (Link forthcoming). If you have links nationally to websites that can help, post them in a comment. I want this page to be a resource for any person in need.

At this point you should be through the trying time, most managerial staff listen well and correct their employees. Recently I had to fight my way into an apartment complex using this tactic for three months. Even when I had food poisoning I had to try and follow my rules, but, eventually I prevailed. Advocating for yourself is the hardest part of having a service animal.

Not every person responds to this and if you still cannot get through to them, you need to contact the ADA. You can email them a detailed complaint, include names, addresses, contact information for both parties, and send it to ada.complaint@usdoj.gov . If you would rather call you can contact the ADA via their hotline using these numbers: 800-514-0301 (TTY-800-0363).

Remember, you are strong, you are beautiful inside and out, and you are not alone.

Other posts in this series: What is a Service Animal?

Additional Resources will be added as I find them:

Information:
http://www.assistancedogsinternational.org/
http://www.deltasociety.org
http://www.ada.gov/svcanimb.htm
http://www.ada.gov/qasrvc.htm
http://www.equipforequality.org/resourcecenter/ada_serviceanimals.pdf

http://www.animallaw.info/
Service Dog Vests and Supplies:
http://www.pettop.com/
http://www.raspberryfield.com/
http://www.activedogs.com/servicetherapyvestharness.html?gclid=CI-6iKm7rpgCFQEpGgod3QL9Ug
http://www.ldsleather.com/patches.html
http://www.petjoyonline.com/ADA_Federal_Law_Information_Card_for_Service_Dog_p/svd-0054.htm The Law Info Cards
Scholarships
http://www.assistancedogunitedcampaign.org/scholarship.html
http://www.keystonehumanservices.org/ssd/ssd.php
Blogs:
http://www.servicedogblog.com/

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