Victims. Entitlement.

"There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it -- that that's an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what. ... These are people who pay no income tax. ... [M]y job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives."
                                                                        Mitt Romney
     I do my best to steer clear of political commentary.  Excessive ranting, raving does grave injustice to the issues that demand our attention.
     But...
     I must speak out against Mitt Romney's broad strokes.  You see, some may say I am within the group of which he speaks--not completely, but, sufficient to respond.  I no longer work.  Although I do pay taxes.  I receive SSDI.  I am covered by Medicare.
     Some may say, "Don't take Mitt Romney's words personally."  I must.  The only way I know to live is personally.  If I do not live from my personal experience,  then, I have nothing to offer this world.
     Oxford Dictionaries defines "victim" as, "[noun] a person harmed, injured, or killed as a result of a crime, accident, or other event or action."
      If you define "cerebral palsy," as a result of the event of my birth, then, yes, I am a victim.  However, "victim", when spoken in common parlance, has a heavy burden of pity that exceeds its dictionary definition.  I do not include myself in that group.
    "Personal" is defined as, "adjective.  of, affecting, or belonging to a particular person rather than to anyone else."
    "Responsibility" is defined as, "the state or fact of having a duty to deal with something or of having control over someone."
     I do what is within my power to take responsibility to care for myself--for the impact of "cerebral palsy," "osteoarthritis," "epilepsy," and "intentional tremors."  I take medications twice daily.  I swim three to four hours a week.  I use a straw to drink--to counteract a tremor-laden hand.  I adjust the arrangement of my home to accommodate my physical capabilities.
    Dependent?  Yes, I am dependent.
    I don an ankle-foot-orthotic--a leg brace--daily.  I use an electric wheelchair when traveling long distances.  I submit to lab tests to evaluate the amounts of medications in my bloodstream.
    Dependent?  Yes, I am dependent.  Everyone is.
    But...that is not the whole story of who I am.
    I do give back.  To my family.  To my friends.  To my church.  To my community.  As I am able, I do give back.
    Research.  Writing.  Listening.  Advising.  Advocating.  Volunteering.
    Entitlement is defined as, "the fact of having a right to something."
    Entitlement.  Respect?  Yes.  Respect--basic, human respect.  That is the Entitlement that I offer each individual I meet and know.  That is the Entitlement I expect from others.

Medicare

     Medicare.  White-haired senior citizens.  Medicare.  65-year-olds.  Medicare.  Part A.  Medicare.  Part B.  Medicare.  Part C.  Medicare Part D.  Medicare.  Medigap.  Medicare. Open Enrollment.  Medicare.  Fraud.  Medicare.
     Each of these are aspects of Medicare.  Yet, Medicare--the word, "Medicare"--evokes emotions as inflamed as arthritic joints.  I cannot--I will not--inflame the word further by engaging in the political debates surrounding the federal program.
     I find myself at a peculiar crossroads.  Had you told me five years ago that I would be selecting which Medicare Parts B, C, and D options to select, I would not have believed you.
     An envelope from the Social Security Administration arrived this week.  My question, "Do I need to initiate contact regarding Medicare?" was answered.  No.  As I hoped, I could read the wealth of information given to me, sign onto a helpful website, www.Medicare.gov, and create an account.  My guard against anxiety, and obsession is a playful detachment.
   I love crossword puzzles.  I love the World Wide Web--navigating the structure of its information, the internet.
   With playful discovery, I found a database into which I may search for my doctors, hospitals, pharmacies.  Nursing homes?  No, I am far from ready for that move.
    It is ironic.  I tell one of my nephews to join the world of adult responsibility.  Yet, I tell myself not to get too obsessed regarding the eventualities with which the plan options confront me.
    One of the options I will not select is Plan H--Political Hyperbole--which plays on the emotions of senior citizens, and others eligible to receive Medicare.  I will steer clear of candidates, who use a condescending tone in their discussions of Medicare.  I will steer clear of Victims' Volley--a game too often played by politicians, in which recipients of Medicare become political footballs.
     Do you think Medicare will judge ear plugs I buy as medically necessary?