Why I'm raising funds for my brother Alan
Last summer, Alan spent two weeks in the woods to consider his options. Hedidn't use the gun. He says he probably won't. But it's an option.
Because of the tumor growing around his spine, Alan can't use hisright hand much anymore, so he duct tapes a paintbrush to his hand inorder to paint and stain the cabinets and furniture he makes. He hasto sell as much as he can; his medications alone cost $700 a month. The pain makes it impossible for him to ride his motorcycle, but hestill walks a couple of miles every day, and the local police make it apoint to drive past and check on his progress, as Alan's gait isn'tvery steady anymore and they're a little worried about him out there.
He turns 48 three weeks from today.
Because of the tumor growing around his spine, Alan can't use hisright hand much anymore, so he duct tapes a paintbrush to his hand inorder to paint and stain the cabinets and furniture he makes. He hasto sell as much as he can; his medications alone cost $700 a month. The pain makes it impossible for him to ride his motorcycle, but hestill walks a couple of miles every day, and the local police make it apoint to drive past and check on his progress, as Alan's gait isn'tvery steady anymore and they're a little worried about him out there.
He turns 48 three weeks from today.
What do you say to someone who has to include suicide as a health-care option?
If this story were unique, we could raise money and send Alan to acenter of excellence that specializes in the spinal surgery that mightor might not work. Unfortunately, he's just one of millions of peoplein the U.S. who can't afford the $15,000 it's already cost him fortesting, let alone the hundreds of thousands it would cost to get himto Minnesota or Ohio for surgery to remove the tumor.
Alan's just another person in the U.S. whose life isn't worth much.So last summer, Alan went to the woods by Bryce Canyon. Hefasted. He prayed. He did the math on how much it would cost to stayalive through 2008. He found a hummingbird's nest and camped nearby towatch the eggs hatch. With the use of his right hand dimishing every day, he refigured howlong it will take him as a lefty to finish the art project he startedlast year, a 25-foot-tall picnic table that will double as a campingshelter in a state park. There's a Boy Scout troop helping out so theScouts can earn their woodworking badges, and several kids from ajuvenile detention facility are building some of the components. Alanhas a past himself -- a former runaway and drug addict who stole a carwhen he was 17 to escape an abusive home life. He's very patient withthe kids and he's a little crazy, too, but he expects them to beserious about their work, and they respond.
About four years ago, he and his wife Cathy took in one of the boysfrom the detention facility. Evan's own family wouldn't let him comehome after his release. Even though Alan and Cathy have six childrenof their own (four still school-age) and a grandchild they care for,they readily opened their hearts and home to Evan, who'd helped Alanbuild some cabinetry for a local hardware shop and who seems to have akindred knack for seeing possibilities in grains of wood.
Alan does things like that all the time. There's an elderly man intown whose failing eyesight made it hard for him to find things aroundthe house, so Alan build him a custom pantry with Braille labels on theshelves and a special end table with cubbies for his telephone andremote controls. He made a window garden for a little girl strandedindoors while going through chemotherapy and radiation. When asnowstorm paralyzed the small town where he lives, he chopped andhauled wood for many of his neighbors, using a sled he build himself.
But none of that matters to Alan's insurance company. And itdoesn't convince the Medicaid people, who've decided that he and hiswife aren't poor enough to warrant coverage. Even if Medicaid did pickhim up, he wouldn't be sent to Minnesota or Ohio, where skilledsurgeons might be able to remove the tumor without paralyzing him. Alan just isn't worth the expense.
Which is why my little brother has that gun. And why he feels he'sjust a prayer away from its being his family's last best hope.
Alan is immensely grateful to everyone. Although at first he was alittle ticked off about my making a public fuss, he began to tell meabout some of the people he heard from, and he tried to send some ofhis custom-made jewelry boxes to as many people as he could.UPDATED UPDATE: My brother had been doing very wellthe past year since I first wrote about him. The contributions andthe tremendous advice we received buoyed his spirits and made a hugedifference. He was able to get assistance with his medications, and hewas hugely relieved to be able to keep up with what his family needed. His wife and children and grandchildren mean everything to him.
But in April 2009, he received notice that his home was inforeclosure. He called me just before Easter weekend, and although Itried to link him up with government assistance to help homeownersfacing foreclosure, the holiday weekend meant it was tough to get holdof people right away. Alan became despondent over the weekend andthings spiraled out of control. He called me a few days later, sayingthat he loved me but he knew his family would be financially better offand have less stress if he died. He'd taken a bunch of medications andhe wanted to get his gun, but he couldn't reach it because he keptfalling down. So while he could, he wanted to tell me he appreciatedeverything my DailyKos friends and other family had done to help. Hespoke especially of some DailyKos people who had written him directlyand hoped they were ok.
Although I live 3,000 miles away, I was able to call around thesmall town in Utah where he lives and find his wife. She rushed home,gave the gun to someone else, and got Alan to the hospital over hisprotests.
He's been hospitalized off and on since then. My friends here inNorth Carolina and I have been able to chip in for his family's groceryand utility costs.
I'm still working on the foreclosure situation and the paperwork's in process to get them some help.
If this story were unique, we could raise money and send Alan to acenter of excellence that specializes in the spinal surgery that mightor might not work. Unfortunately, he's just one of millions of peoplein the U.S. who can't afford the $15,000 it's already cost him fortesting, let alone the hundreds of thousands it would cost to get himto Minnesota or Ohio for surgery to remove the tumor.
Alan's just another person in the U.S. whose life isn't worth much.So last summer, Alan went to the woods by Bryce Canyon. Hefasted. He prayed. He did the math on how much it would cost to stayalive through 2008. He found a hummingbird's nest and camped nearby towatch the eggs hatch. With the use of his right hand dimishing every day, he refigured howlong it will take him as a lefty to finish the art project he startedlast year, a 25-foot-tall picnic table that will double as a campingshelter in a state park. There's a Boy Scout troop helping out so theScouts can earn their woodworking badges, and several kids from ajuvenile detention facility are building some of the components. Alanhas a past himself -- a former runaway and drug addict who stole a carwhen he was 17 to escape an abusive home life. He's very patient withthe kids and he's a little crazy, too, but he expects them to beserious about their work, and they respond.
About four years ago, he and his wife Cathy took in one of the boysfrom the detention facility. Evan's own family wouldn't let him comehome after his release. Even though Alan and Cathy have six childrenof their own (four still school-age) and a grandchild they care for,they readily opened their hearts and home to Evan, who'd helped Alanbuild some cabinetry for a local hardware shop and who seems to have akindred knack for seeing possibilities in grains of wood.
Alan does things like that all the time. There's an elderly man intown whose failing eyesight made it hard for him to find things aroundthe house, so Alan build him a custom pantry with Braille labels on theshelves and a special end table with cubbies for his telephone andremote controls. He made a window garden for a little girl strandedindoors while going through chemotherapy and radiation. When asnowstorm paralyzed the small town where he lives, he chopped andhauled wood for many of his neighbors, using a sled he build himself.
But none of that matters to Alan's insurance company. And itdoesn't convince the Medicaid people, who've decided that he and hiswife aren't poor enough to warrant coverage. Even if Medicaid did pickhim up, he wouldn't be sent to Minnesota or Ohio, where skilledsurgeons might be able to remove the tumor without paralyzing him. Alan just isn't worth the expense.
Which is why my little brother has that gun. And why he feels he'sjust a prayer away from its being his family's last best hope.
Alan is immensely grateful to everyone. Although at first he was alittle ticked off about my making a public fuss, he began to tell meabout some of the people he heard from, and he tried to send some ofhis custom-made jewelry boxes to as many people as he could.UPDATED UPDATE: My brother had been doing very wellthe past year since I first wrote about him. The contributions andthe tremendous advice we received buoyed his spirits and made a hugedifference. He was able to get assistance with his medications, and hewas hugely relieved to be able to keep up with what his family needed. His wife and children and grandchildren mean everything to him.
But in April 2009, he received notice that his home was inforeclosure. He called me just before Easter weekend, and although Itried to link him up with government assistance to help homeownersfacing foreclosure, the holiday weekend meant it was tough to get holdof people right away. Alan became despondent over the weekend andthings spiraled out of control. He called me a few days later, sayingthat he loved me but he knew his family would be financially better offand have less stress if he died. He'd taken a bunch of medications andhe wanted to get his gun, but he couldn't reach it because he keptfalling down. So while he could, he wanted to tell me he appreciatedeverything my DailyKos friends and other family had done to help. Hespoke especially of some DailyKos people who had written him directlyand hoped they were ok.
Although I live 3,000 miles away, I was able to call around thesmall town in Utah where he lives and find his wife. She rushed home,gave the gun to someone else, and got Alan to the hospital over hisprotests.
He's been hospitalized off and on since then. My friends here inNorth Carolina and I have been able to chip in for his family's groceryand utility costs.
I'm still working on the foreclosure situation and the paperwork's in process to get them some help.
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