Workers Comp Help
Attacked At Work
Introduction:
This is a shortened, condensed version of what’s happened to me. I wrote it so everyone would know (and hopefully) understand why I am where I am. For those of you who know the story, just delete this or pass it on to someone that might be interested. For those of you that don’t, read this, know that every word is true, and beware. It could happen to you.
The Injury
On 8-8-98 at quarter to 8 pm, I was struck in the head with a ballpoint pen while working at Kalamazoo Psychiatric Hospital. The insertion point was on the very edge of my left ear and narrowly missed the ear canal. I’m not deaf in that ear, but I do have about ¼ inch of pen tip, ink cartridge and all, resting very near the Carotid artery leading into my brain. It can’t be removed. Doctors tell me it could do more harm going in to get it than just leaving it there.
At first, in the ER, I was diagnosed as having a broken jaw. I was on a lower level than the attacker, and it was believed he kicked me in the head. My right side was covered in blood from head to foot, making it hard to actually diagnose what the hell happened. Although the ER doctor examined my x-rays, he didn’t see the pen tip. I was sent home.
Two days later, I was called at home. The same MD asked me if I’d ever fallen on a pen or inserted anything into my head before. I was on two different pain meds and didn’t understand what he was getting at. Finally, he asked me to come to the hospital for further examination. There I was shown x-rays of my head and the pen. It lies pointing left-to-right horizontally. If you put a finger directly under your nose, then one on the edge of your left ear rim, you can calculate about where it sets in my upper neck. I was horrified. It took another week to find out that a patient witness saw this person actually bend over and hit me with an upper cut through the stair railing I stood next to.
I was sent to several flavors of doctor. None of them were willing to remove the pen or treat it in any way. Although the ink cartridge was also in there, Accident Fund (my Workman’s comp), refused to send me to the Mayo Clinic for an opinion of what ink on the brain might do to me later. Finally, they refused to send me to any more doctors stating that they had paid enough trying to cure me. I was told to “deal with it”, and move on.
For the next year, I was in a misery of pain. I could open my mouth fairly well, but closing it was a slow, tearful process. Chewing was damn near impossible. I was almost put on a liquid diet for a while, but sucking hurt as much as chewing. I couldn’t sleep. I’d pass out from exhaustion eventually, but when I’d roll onto my side, my jaw would shift and I’d wake up screaming. (That hurt too!). By Christmas, I looked like a very tired and haggard anorexic.
Side Note
(I had moved in with my parents at their behest several years before the assault. During 1998, my father died suddenly of cancer. I was devastated and totally depressed. After my injury, my mother slowly started slipping away. She was already lonely when I got hurt, but I believe the seriousness of my assault put her over the edge. 12 days before Christmas, she died in our living room.)
I ate pain pills like candy; got addicted to them, and had to kick that cold turkey. Workman’s would nothing about the problem. I developed Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I couldn’t stand to be around even small crowds of people without freaking out. The only way I gained some control of the pain and paranoia was after I was taken off meds: I turned to alcohol. I was still in a great deal of pain, and I hated drinking alone, so I started going back to the local bar. It was there I found access to illegal pain pills. So, from that point on, I drank profusely to deal with the crowds while I waited for pain meds, and then took the meds ASAP to deal with the pain.
To this day I’m still utterly paranoid of mentally ill people and somewhat paranoid of large or unfamiliar groups of people. I still have a numb spot in front of my left ear, and I get occasional jaw cramps if I chew too much.
Workman's Comp and Me
After a year of workman’s, I was still unable to return to work. In part because of the paranoia, part because I still hadn’t recuperated physically. I was called into work and told to sign a paper that released my position for rehire to another person. In a nutshell, I was fired. My benefits were cut off. I left at the merciless control of WC (workman’s comp).
They sent me to a shrink. He was a good man who, thank God, was on my side. After a few weeks, he determined I probably could never work in a violent atmosphere again. WC then offered to send me to school for retraining. I signed a contract with them stating I would sign up for full semesters of college and carry a better than C average. In return, they would pay for school, books, supplies, and transportation to and from. Our final goal was returning me to the state work force in a different branch or position.
The first semester went well. I had an A+ average and made the top of the Dean’s list. From then on, WC let me down. I would sign for a full semester, send the paperwork to WC, and they would ignore it until my classes were dropped. It was frustrating since they wound never tell me they hadn’t paid. I’d attend classes for two weeks then be dropped from the roster. By then, of course, it would be too late to re-sign for all the classes, and I’d be left scrambling one or two classes instead of four. Afterwards, they would complain at me because I wasn’t in full semesters.
I took the contract to my lawyer. He told me that it was legally binding to me only. That, thanks to former Gov. Engler’s new injury policies, WC could leave me hanging as long as they wanted and there was nothing to be done about it. In all, it took four years to finish my Associates in Microcomputer Technology.
Yet Another Side Note
(I got married a halfway through college. WC promised me they’d do better to pay for my classes, so I didn’t worry about supporting my wife. After all, I’d be back to work soon, wouldn’t I? Accident Fund also quit paying my shrink, and he quit seeing me. To this day, they still owe him over $400. Also, during the last year of college, I was switched to a new WC company, Citizen’s Management, and, later, a new caseworker. They, too, couldn’t pay for college on time.)
Workers Comp's Idea of "Work"
While WC dicked me around, the state got a new governor. She immediately put Michigan under a hiring freeze. I was screwed. There were very few jobs open I qualified for, but my former caseworker found an internship with the Coldwater prison system (a state position) administering their computer systems. I was told that I would be paid $5.15 an hour by a temp service (normally a $18 job) for the hours worked and WC would make up the difference weekly, plus pay for transportation. My caseworker also implied I might make a little extra money by taking the internship.
As it turned out, I made less per week. Worst of all, WC refused to send my compensation checks on time. I waited two weeks for my first one-week check to come. It eventually got up to three and four weeks before a weekly compensation check would be mailed. I was forced to pay my $1,100 house payments on the $560 I made monthly at the job. All of my bills fell behind. I was forced to file bankruptcy on over $168,000 and almost lost the house twice. When I complained, my caseworker told me WC could not “expedite their turnaround” any quicker, and keep going to work. There was nothing I could do to get my money. My lawyer agreed.
Finally, I quit. For the last two months, I’d skipped lunch because I couldn’t afford gas to get to work and still buy food. I’d lost so much weight that only two pair of my pants fit me. The day I quit, I’d been left alone to manage 2/3s of the prison while my boss managed Jackson prison for two weeks. I was helping another tech move some printers when one spilled ink down the front of my pants and shoes. I was soaked in ink, but neither the state, the temp service, nor WC would reimburse me for the damage to my clothes. As I said before: I only had two pairs of pants. I couldn’t wear the same pair day in and day out forever, could I?
At that time, WC was three weeks behind paying me. The day after I quit, I got a $300 check in the mail and directions to an independent shrink in northern Detroit. The check, you see, wasn’t back money they owed me. It was for my appointment. I cashed the check, paid bills, and told WC that if they wanted me to attend any appointment, they’d better send my money pronto. All of my back pay was there two days later.
I saw the shrink in Motown. He decided I was definitely still in need of compensation. Then I sat around waiting for WC to set me up with the state. It didn’t happen. Instead, they started finding me minimum wage jobs. One, for instance, was flower delivery boy. I’d work part-time for minimum wage and use my own car to deliver flowers. I told them I wouldn’t take it, that I’d done that job for my dad in 1975 and made more money.
I found my next two jobs. The first was working for a friend. He paid me $6 an hour to be his part-time secretary. WC immediately started sending my checks late. My bills all fell behind again. I nearly lost not only my first mortgage, but also the second one I’d taken trying to save myself from bankruptcy. So, I quit there, too. My third job paid $9 an hour. It was better pay, but by then I was so far behind it didn’t matter.
The Present
I’m now losing the house for sure. I’ve done everything I can. I’ve cooperated with WC in any and every way ever asked of me, but my house is still a cave of broken appliances and crushed dreams.
Last month, the woman in charge of returning people on WC to work forced me to take a temporary full-time job with the state. It was for a park cleanup boy at a state park over 40 miles from my house. The pay was $7.65 an hour for 720 hours this summer. I had to take a drug test. I tested positive for Ultram. It’s a medication a doctor gave me in sampler packets for my spinal arthritis (something I developed while fighting patients at the hospital). Although a doctor gave it to me, that didn’t count with the state. Nor did they care that I hadn’t been working anywhere and felt ok about taking a med the doctor gave me. They immediately terminated my compensation and made me ineligible for state employment for the next three years. This I am fighting, but don’t have much hope of winning.
I find it ironic that I was practically forced to pay for Workman’s Comp and long-term disability all those 22 years and this is what I‘ve gotten for my hard earned money. I’ve been lied to, used, and manipulated every step of the way and treated like a beggar at WC’s doorstep. I’ve lost over $95,000 in income (not counting benefits) since I had the nerve to be hurt at work. If I ever return, I’ll be forced to take a “break in service” because I didn’t get back in three years or less. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t cause a seven-year break in my service.
Robert
Colon, Michigan