Adventures in the Department of Children and Families

I have been in the process of applying for Medicaid, which is unfortunately a necessity in order to be able to afford hospital bills with junior. We are hoping that we don't have to use public assistance with Junior # 2.

Anyway, I have been stressed out because I did not understand how difficult and painful this process can be. First, I went online, as per instruction, to download and print a PDF of the form I had to fill out, which included our income, SSN, address, age, etc. Then, I had to go to a non-profit health center to pee in a cup and get a piece of paper signed by a doctor that I am, indeed, pregnant. I printed off paystubs, packed my filled-out form, birth certificate, marriage license, and every other document I could imagine that proved that I am who I say I am and headed off to the Department of Children and Families (a.k.a., DCF).

Now, we are all familiar with the DMV. Everyone has to go to the DMV. It is a frustration of waiting, of long lines, coughing people, and whatnot. The DMV is a cake walk compared to the DCF. First of all, the people who work there did not turn down jobs at NASA in order to be there. I'm sure there was a system for when they would help and who they would help next and how to properly apply for your selected type of assistance, but such a system was a mystery to me. Anyway, I jumped ahead, so let me back up.

I walked up to the desk with all my paper work in my fancy folder. I asked, "Hello, I need to apply for Medicaid for my pregnancy. Where do I need to go?"

"Did you already fill out your application?"

"Yes, here it is."

She does not even look at it. "No, the online application."

"What online application?"

"The one you where supposed to fill out."

"The DCF website only had this PDF, so I printed it and filled it out and here it is."

"You have to go online and fill out the application."

"Ok, can I do that here?"

"Yes. Then, when you are done, put your proof of pregnancy and a copy of your driver's license in that drop box." Here she indicates to a suspicious looking box with a hand-written sign that says "Drop box."

Oh brother.

So, I got myself a computer in their little computer lab and spent thirty minutes doing something next to an illiterate, coughing man who needed a DCF assistant to walk him through every step of the process that I could have done in my own bedroom at home. (When I picture how it could have been, I'm usually drinking hot chocolate while Adam rubs my shoulders and tells me I'm pretty, smart, and industrious.)

I finished up, sanitized my hands, and went to the desk again to make sure I knew exactly what was supposed to go into that little box. Proof of pregnancy, driver's license, AND social security number? Ok, but now I'm suspicious because just a minute ago she said only Proof of pregnancy and driver's license. Do these people really know what they're doing? I make copies of everything, fighting for the machine with an Eastern European couple. I put my documents in the drop box that was about as official-looking as a shoebox and scurried my way out of there as fast as I could.

This Friday (the 20th), I got a letter that said that I had to send in my paystubs by today (the 23rd), or my application would be rejected. Because they were so clear about how I was also supposed to put copies of my paystubs in the box, and what fool wouldn't know that that's what they meant when they said proof of pregnancy, driver's license, and social security number?

So I faxed them on Saturday and started to call the number to see if anyone was there to check on their arrival.

An automatic message picked up. "Welcome to the Department of Children and Families help menu. For faster service, please enter your social security number or access code now. For general information, press the 'pound' key."

"6****..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. For faster service, please enter your social security number or access code now. For general information, press the 'pound' key."

"6*****..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. For faster service, please enter your social security number or access code now. For general information, press the 'pound' key."

"#. ##. ######."

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. For faster service, please enter your social security number or access code now. For general information, press the 'pound' key."

Here I hung up as forcefully as one can on a cell phone.

I decided to go online and check my status there, because I'm supposed to be able to. I got routed to a registration page where I had to enter my name, date of birth, and zip code. That's all I had to enter. I got an error message that the information I entered did not match up with what they had on file. So, either my name, my birthday, or my zip code is wrong. Or maybe they are just a Department of Incompetent Morons and Second-rate Technology.

I got about 5 hours of sleep last night because I kept waking up thinking about this. I'm about to fax them and then call them again. Wish me luck.

*UPDATE*

I faxed, which the computer says was successful. I called. "Due to high call volume, all of our agents are currently busy. Please call again at a later time. Click." (WARGARBLE!)

All About the Belly

Well, I have finally popped out with regards to the pregnancy belly. I'm sure it was gradual, but it really seemed to happen overnight. I have been told that the first pregnancy takes longer to show because my uterus is taking longer to make room for itself. It's got to push all the other organs out of the way, you know. I think my small intestines are somewhere in my throat. At the next pregnancy, my organs will already know their places, and they'll move out of the way readily (*sirens* "Battle stations, everyone, all hands on deck! Liver, you're over here; pancreas, down there; stomach, stop trying to turn inside out - you know the drill here, people!" At this point the boatswain notices the colon trying to sneak out the back door wearing a hat and carrying a suitcase, so he drags it back into formation). I have a lively imagination these days.

Anyway, I'm also at the point where people are tempted to touch the tummy. I mean, like, complete strangers. It's reenforcing my notion that my size is reaching planetary proportions and that I'm developing my own gravitational pull.

I am completely over morning sickness! YAHOO!!! I have never felt so relieved. It's been replaced with heartburn and insomnia, but I can totally live with that. I've started to feel, not just human, but kind of wonderful. I have a bunch of energy coming back, and I get surges of elation that I'm sure are coming from some magical, hitherto inactive hormone. I have not had the mood swings as badly, either, so things are generally really nice right now.

I think the gods drank orange juice, by the way. And ate cantaloupe. Fruit has never tasted this good.

I am at 22 weeks with 18 to go. My baby is the length of a spaghetti squash and weighs about a pound. It punched me so hard that it woke me up the other night, so it seems really eager to get out into the world. My official due date is May 10, and I have a feeling it will be here before I know it.