Abundance

I like to think I’m a grocery store Jedi – able to get in and out with a maximum amount of nutritious, tasty food for a minimum bill, all while talking myself out of the expensive junk food I so desire. (These are not the Pop Tarts you are looking for …)

During this week’s grocery trip, though, I decided to look for something at the store I hadn’t before: empty shelves.

You can probably guess that I didn’t find any. No sold-out items, or even waning ones. My cheese was one of scores of blocks. My milk was surrounded by dozens of identical gallons. Even the less common items – this week it was maaagical Odwalla bars, to fill my need as a nursing mother for massive amounts of food all day long – were sold in boxes and stacks and piles.

The store had an abundance of everything.

Here is what got me thinking about this:

Yayyyy fuzzy cell phone picture!

Yup, that’s a table full of bread. It’s in the lobby of my church, which runs a food pantry. Last week, that table was one of four holding breads, rolls, cookies, pastries, and cakes that we ran out of room for on the four big shelves in the food pantry itself.

Big, Blue Button

Here it is:

Recently I went to the Idaho Department of Health and Welfare’s Medicaid website in search of a phone number. It should have been easy to find – the 800 number for the processing center that deals with most Medicaid inquiries in the state – but that important number was tricky to track down.

You know what wasn’t hard to find, though? The giant blue button with big, bold “Report Public Assistance Fraud.” 

That button was right there on every page. As I saw it, and saw it, and saw it, I realized something.

That big, blue button was more prominent than any of the links to learn about how to apply for Medicaid, for food stamps, for emergency assistance. It’s easier to find than the information—like that phone number—that would help people currently using public assistance make sure they are communicating clearly with the state.

To me, that blue button is saying that the state of Idaho thinks I’m more likely to commit fraud than seek to use the public programs my family benefits from the way they are intended to be used.

I’m not saying fraud isn’t a problem, or it shouldn’t be reported (though Idaho apparently doesn’t have such a concern about legislators committing tax evasion, but whatevs).

The issue also isn’t whether Medicaid or other forms of public assistance should exist, or whether they’re the most efficient and effective ways to help those in need. The fact is, at this point in time, they’re the best way for families to receive help.

And the issue here is how we treat people who ask for help.

Troublebabble

I spent a while last night writing a blog post that -- for now -- you don't get to read.

It may or may not be an awesome blog post. Right now it's actually like the Schroedinger's Cat of blog posts -- simultaneously awesome and not awesome because it is not yet observed. Ooooh.

To extend (and slightly mangle) the S-Cat metaphor -- I'm reluctant about posting this blog because it could potentially set off dangerous material.

What do I mean? A story:

About 2 1/2 years ago, I got ticked off about a newspaper columnist's lament about the loss of personal responsibility, including a reference to people on public assistance as being "on the dole." So I -- who worked at said newspaper and wrote a blog about saving money -- wrote a post about being on Medicaid for the birth of my older son, and my mixed feelings of thankfulness and guilt about needing to ask for help to pay my medical bills.

I'd link to that post, but it's lost in the mists of the Internet. And frankly, I'm kind of relieved. That post was the most well-read thing I've ever written, and certainly the most responded to. But for all the nice back-pats that congratulated me for my honesty, there was a flood of negative responses. It was brutal. Some of the people who disagreed with me did so thoughtfully, with well-articulated arguments presenting their perspective.

But most most people didn't. Posters called me lazy and irresponsible, insulted my husband, even questioned whether I was fit to be a mother. Some made some pretty sweeping judgments about my financial situation,  suggesting that I was a fraud and should pay back any money I had received. (Seriously people, do you know how much small-town journalists earn?)