I just recently surpassed my first year anniversary being employed full time for the Office of Veterans Affairs. The year went by quickly but was also difficult for me due to being blind. Some of it was on my end and some of it was on the V.A. end and most of it was all due to the fact that the V.A. technology was far from being current. I'm glad to say, though, that we've gotten over the first hump. This is a wonderful surprise because Central Office actually listned to my requests even if it took a whole year and a formal complaint to get there.
Another surprise was the knowledge that I am purportedly the only blind counselor among thousands who had the gumption to complian while also being employed as a counselor. So, folks, this means I'm an enigma, and exception. A front runner for the blind and visually impaired counselors employed by the VA Vet Centers Nationwide.
I find this hard to believe, but so far no one else has identified themselves since I came on board.
Sure, there have been, and still are, blind psychologists and rehab counselors. But I'm the first family therapist.
It's really quite weird and I don't want the label. I just want to do my job and at the end of the day, take pride in knowing I did good.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
newest poem
Break Away
By Ann Chiappetta
October 2011
She Hurts
I soothe by
traveling to the past
Littered with obsidian precipices
and blackness
caring for her
stirs vulnerability
like a cyclonic eye
determined to maim the heart.
Helping means
Chiseling grooves
The hammer blows striking
Shard by shard
Her prison begins to break away
As I fall apart.
By Ann Chiappetta
October 2011
She Hurts
I soothe by
traveling to the past
Littered with obsidian precipices
and blackness
caring for her
stirs vulnerability
like a cyclonic eye
determined to maim the heart.
Helping means
Chiseling grooves
The hammer blows striking
Shard by shard
Her prison begins to break away
As I fall apart.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Unfair Advantage?
An Unfair Advantage?
By Ann Chiappetta
Did you ever encounter a situation where no matter what you try, something gets in the way? I know, you’re thinking, oh, no, she’s going to try and pull off an Andy Rooney-like rant. If it sounds like it, feel free to go on the next article, but if you stay with me maybe we’ll both get something out of it.
To be brief, I’m registering for a licensing examination in New York State. The first step was to fill out the application. This I couldn’t do myself, as it is still a hand written submission. The process took two weeks from start to finish.
Three weeks later, I’m contacted by the person who processes the applications for the State Board of Higher Education and Licensing via email informing me that most of the auxiliary documents are in order and I’ve been approved to proceed to the examination registration. She asks for proof of my disability and I provide a form letter from our State agency for the blind, but she says that’s not good enough. I say it’s signed by a New York State rehab counselor, the very same State, in fact as the one she works for and if she can’t trust a sister agency, that’s pretty sad. So she accepts it.
Next, she wants to know why I’m asking for a reasonable accommodation, when, in fact, I did not request any while attending college. When I asked why that was needed, she answered that her job was to make sure I did not, “have an unfair advantage over my sighted peers,” before, during or after the test taking process. After a week of being very pissed off and feeling discriminated against, I got over it, wrote a letter stating how my vision had declined since then and that all my needs were addressed by outside agencies serving me. I added that if they wanted proof, to contact the rehab counselor who wrote the proof of disability letter. I concluded the letter by saying I thought asking for proof of my past needs was in no way relevant to what I required presently and that I found it an invasion of my privacy and insulting.
They, of course, moved on to a higher level of ignorance.
Next, the person says that since I’m legally blind, the testing facility can offer a screen magnifying program. I say I cannot use it because I no longer have useable sight. I describe the screen reading program I use (JAWS) and that I’m requesting to use it during the exam. They respond by saying, no, they do not have JAWS, nor will they obtain it, but they will, however make a reasonable accommodation by providing a human reader for the exam.
I ask if this is the first time the testing site has provided services for a blind candidate and, to their credit, no one responds to my question.
So, after ping-ponging with the woman and her superior, I fight for and receive approval for both a reader, responding person to take down answers, and double testing time. I receive a confirmation via mail instructing me to log on to a website to register and pay for a testing date and location. I go to the website and click on the PDF for instructions and guess what? It’s not accessible. I email them and guess what? The email is bad. So, this is what I mean by barriers. I’ve done it all correctly, crossing every t and dotting every I and I am still being denied equal access to something my sighted peers take for granted. We know who really has the advantage here, folks, and it’s surely not me.
The higher I go the more I find uncompromising attitudes. The simple folk are easier to deal with; I'm not quite sure why that is but it seems to be my experience.
In any case, I have to call the person and verbally recount my findings and hope they will not ignore me or it's off to the Dept. of Justice with an EEO compliant. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get my license.
By Ann Chiappetta
Did you ever encounter a situation where no matter what you try, something gets in the way? I know, you’re thinking, oh, no, she’s going to try and pull off an Andy Rooney-like rant. If it sounds like it, feel free to go on the next article, but if you stay with me maybe we’ll both get something out of it.
To be brief, I’m registering for a licensing examination in New York State. The first step was to fill out the application. This I couldn’t do myself, as it is still a hand written submission. The process took two weeks from start to finish.
Three weeks later, I’m contacted by the person who processes the applications for the State Board of Higher Education and Licensing via email informing me that most of the auxiliary documents are in order and I’ve been approved to proceed to the examination registration. She asks for proof of my disability and I provide a form letter from our State agency for the blind, but she says that’s not good enough. I say it’s signed by a New York State rehab counselor, the very same State, in fact as the one she works for and if she can’t trust a sister agency, that’s pretty sad. So she accepts it.
Next, she wants to know why I’m asking for a reasonable accommodation, when, in fact, I did not request any while attending college. When I asked why that was needed, she answered that her job was to make sure I did not, “have an unfair advantage over my sighted peers,” before, during or after the test taking process. After a week of being very pissed off and feeling discriminated against, I got over it, wrote a letter stating how my vision had declined since then and that all my needs were addressed by outside agencies serving me. I added that if they wanted proof, to contact the rehab counselor who wrote the proof of disability letter. I concluded the letter by saying I thought asking for proof of my past needs was in no way relevant to what I required presently and that I found it an invasion of my privacy and insulting.
They, of course, moved on to a higher level of ignorance.
Next, the person says that since I’m legally blind, the testing facility can offer a screen magnifying program. I say I cannot use it because I no longer have useable sight. I describe the screen reading program I use (JAWS) and that I’m requesting to use it during the exam. They respond by saying, no, they do not have JAWS, nor will they obtain it, but they will, however make a reasonable accommodation by providing a human reader for the exam.
I ask if this is the first time the testing site has provided services for a blind candidate and, to their credit, no one responds to my question.
So, after ping-ponging with the woman and her superior, I fight for and receive approval for both a reader, responding person to take down answers, and double testing time. I receive a confirmation via mail instructing me to log on to a website to register and pay for a testing date and location. I go to the website and click on the PDF for instructions and guess what? It’s not accessible. I email them and guess what? The email is bad. So, this is what I mean by barriers. I’ve done it all correctly, crossing every t and dotting every I and I am still being denied equal access to something my sighted peers take for granted. We know who really has the advantage here, folks, and it’s surely not me.
The higher I go the more I find uncompromising attitudes. The simple folk are easier to deal with; I'm not quite sure why that is but it seems to be my experience.
In any case, I have to call the person and verbally recount my findings and hope they will not ignore me or it's off to the Dept. of Justice with an EEO compliant. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get my license.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Verona goes to the Lake
Verona goes to the Lake
She knew where we were as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. Are we at the free place? She seemed to say, I love this place. I get to swim, hang out off-leash and poop in the woods. Cool.
We unloaded the truck, weaved through the other guests on the strip of patio on the way to our room and settled in for a fun relaxing afternoon.
Verona and my daughter, April, played in the lake for an hour, Verona chasing sticks and paddling around. The funniest thing was the way she would blow water from her mouth after dropping the stick. April said it made her lips puff out and it made a loud, spitting sound that I could hear from the patio.
When the geese and ducks realized she was visiting, they hot footed it off the grass and stayed in the lake or in the weeds near the dock. It was a thrill to see her body stiffen, her head and tail go up when she saw them. It made me feel proud to share this time together, giving her back to her instincts for just a little while. She’s going to be five years old, I thought, the time goes by so fast. Each and every year we have together is a blessing, a time for me to feel unfettered. As we stand and watch the birds quack and waddle down the hill toward the edge of the lake, I try to think back on the way life was before training with Verona but my mind veers from those dark moments and I let them go. We are here, listening and watching, being warmed by the late afternoon sun, taking in the fresh water aromas. We are dog and woman, partners for however long time and fate permit. I place a hand on her glossy head and stroke it; she gives me a quick poke with her nose before returning to duck watching as the sun dips below the hills.
Greenwood Lake -- August 2011
She knew where we were as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. Are we at the free place? She seemed to say, I love this place. I get to swim, hang out off-leash and poop in the woods. Cool.
We unloaded the truck, weaved through the other guests on the strip of patio on the way to our room and settled in for a fun relaxing afternoon.
Verona and my daughter, April, played in the lake for an hour, Verona chasing sticks and paddling around. The funniest thing was the way she would blow water from her mouth after dropping the stick. April said it made her lips puff out and it made a loud, spitting sound that I could hear from the patio.
When the geese and ducks realized she was visiting, they hot footed it off the grass and stayed in the lake or in the weeds near the dock. It was a thrill to see her body stiffen, her head and tail go up when she saw them. It made me feel proud to share this time together, giving her back to her instincts for just a little while. She’s going to be five years old, I thought, the time goes by so fast. Each and every year we have together is a blessing, a time for me to feel unfettered. As we stand and watch the birds quack and waddle down the hill toward the edge of the lake, I try to think back on the way life was before training with Verona but my mind veers from those dark moments and I let them go. We are here, listening and watching, being warmed by the late afternoon sun, taking in the fresh water aromas. We are dog and woman, partners for however long time and fate permit. I place a hand on her glossy head and stroke it; she gives me a quick poke with her nose before returning to duck watching as the sun dips below the hills.
Greenwood Lake -- August 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Finally met Buck Rogers?
Well, I finally went to the Verizon store and bought an I-PHONE. I was afraid, you know, sweaty palms, the tight knot of anticipation, etc. Once i instructed the sales girl how to turn on the cvoice over accessibility, however, and held it, all the doubts blew out the window and into the slipstream.
So, I've learned how to flick, tap, split-tap, triple flick, scrub, and touch type while interpreting the boings, doinks, gurgles, and chimes accompanying each new gesture. Very cool, though I still have trouble with the two finger wheelie thing that brings up editing and typing options.
One drawback, though, and this is not a phone problem; my ISP is somehow influencing my not being able to send outgoing mail. I have to get on the tech line and find out why. Grrr.
I am so happy with it, that even with the outgoing mail snag, I have confidence that I will also invest in a bluetooth keyboard
So, I've learned how to flick, tap, split-tap, triple flick, scrub, and touch type while interpreting the boings, doinks, gurgles, and chimes accompanying each new gesture. Very cool, though I still have trouble with the two finger wheelie thing that brings up editing and typing options.
One drawback, though, and this is not a phone problem; my ISP is somehow influencing my not being able to send outgoing mail. I have to get on the tech line and find out why. Grrr.
I am so happy with it, that even with the outgoing mail snag, I have confidence that I will also invest in a bluetooth keyboard
Monday, July 25, 2011
Survivor's Guilt
Survivor’s Guilt
By Ann Chiappetta
Flash fiction under 1,000 words
He didn’t come out here to live; he came out here to die. He would fall asleep and never wake up, his face poised in frosty rest, his hands clasped over his chest. He was ready, willing his body temperature to fall below normal so he could finally rid himself of the shame of being the one left alive.
When he was a teenager, he was rescued from freezing to death at a winter jamboree. The four other campers with him didn’t make it. The wind chill had dropped the temperature to ten below in the after midnight hours and when the fire went out, they didn’t wake up. The next thing he knew, he was in a chopper and he was burning all over, the medical team telling him he was lucky to be alive. He remembered wanting to scream for them to stop, that he wanted to die. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone and help the other kids instead. He wanted nothing to do with coming back to life. There was no one and nothing to look forward to back then or even now.
This brittle night he was back where he wanted to be, just like the freezing night of the jamboree. He was four years older, four years wiser, and felt cheated. No one waited for him at home; he had nothing left--even if there was someone to argue with him about it. His best friends died that frigid night and now he wanted to join them.
The moon was full and ice white against the depthless sky. The stars floated in cosmic patterns he knew but had lost since he began to freeze. The shaking had subsided. He smiled, thinking they were so pretty. He began singing, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. He giggled when he realized he had forgotten all the words. He hummed them instead.
Hot breath found his face and he turned from it, barely able to do so in the frosty air. He flailed and tried to move away from the warmth. But the warmth continued to take over. First one side began to burn as it warmed, and he imagined he was in Hell, lying on the coals of his sins. When his other side began to feel again, he tried to sit up but his arms were like cinderblocks and the best he managed was a hoarse croak. Something warm and damp caressed his face and tickled his nose.
He looked up at the moon, his eyes tearing with the effort. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to have any regrets, but for some reason, those soft, warm rubs made him ached for more.
His tears were taken away as soon as he shed them. His thawing flesh was being warmed as it came back from its hypothermic repose. His desire to die thawed, too. As the sky altered its depths from night to dawn, the young man tried once again to sit up. He realized as he tried that he was already propped up against something. He reflexively grabbed at what was closest to his hand. His hand closed over something warm and soft. He grabbed again and his mind flared with recognition, but he was still groggy and he fell back into the warmth, almost against his will.
The next time he awoke, it was close to dawn. He began to understand. He saw that the ice white moon had begun its descent and the weak, pale sun was ascending in its place.
He felt alive, and it jerked him awake as if he was a pike snagged on a line in an ice-hole. What he saw made him freeze but not from hypothermia. Four grey animals lay against him, one behind his back. One at each side and one cradling his legs. All four sets of amber eyes gazed at him, and one of them whined and cocked its head, as if questioning him. He looked at his fingers; some were frostbitten but he didn’t care. He’d look at his feet later. He felt his face and wondered if he’d gotten any frostbite on his nose or cheeks. But it would have to wait until he got back to civilization. He was shaken but far from dying.
The wolves stood close by as he rose, watching him with amber eyes. He got up, pulled the hood around his face with numb fingers. His truck wasn’t far off, maybe a quarter of a mile away. He made sure he had his keys and turned to go. Then he turned back and felt disappointed when he saw the four canines had already loped off.
“Thanks, anyway.” He croaked, watching them.
The four companions trotted and bounced shoulders, great bushy tails swishing as they made their way up the path. Three loped on ahead, topping the rise, disappearing over it. But the biggest one, the one who he thought had probably licked his face, sat and raised its muzzle to the sky and howled.
The tears ran along with its woeful sound, and when it ended, the young man turned and walked to the truck.
By Ann Chiappetta
Flash fiction under 1,000 words
He didn’t come out here to live; he came out here to die. He would fall asleep and never wake up, his face poised in frosty rest, his hands clasped over his chest. He was ready, willing his body temperature to fall below normal so he could finally rid himself of the shame of being the one left alive.
When he was a teenager, he was rescued from freezing to death at a winter jamboree. The four other campers with him didn’t make it. The wind chill had dropped the temperature to ten below in the after midnight hours and when the fire went out, they didn’t wake up. The next thing he knew, he was in a chopper and he was burning all over, the medical team telling him he was lucky to be alive. He remembered wanting to scream for them to stop, that he wanted to die. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone and help the other kids instead. He wanted nothing to do with coming back to life. There was no one and nothing to look forward to back then or even now.
This brittle night he was back where he wanted to be, just like the freezing night of the jamboree. He was four years older, four years wiser, and felt cheated. No one waited for him at home; he had nothing left--even if there was someone to argue with him about it. His best friends died that frigid night and now he wanted to join them.
The moon was full and ice white against the depthless sky. The stars floated in cosmic patterns he knew but had lost since he began to freeze. The shaking had subsided. He smiled, thinking they were so pretty. He began singing, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. He giggled when he realized he had forgotten all the words. He hummed them instead.
Hot breath found his face and he turned from it, barely able to do so in the frosty air. He flailed and tried to move away from the warmth. But the warmth continued to take over. First one side began to burn as it warmed, and he imagined he was in Hell, lying on the coals of his sins. When his other side began to feel again, he tried to sit up but his arms were like cinderblocks and the best he managed was a hoarse croak. Something warm and damp caressed his face and tickled his nose.
He looked up at the moon, his eyes tearing with the effort. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to have any regrets, but for some reason, those soft, warm rubs made him ached for more.
His tears were taken away as soon as he shed them. His thawing flesh was being warmed as it came back from its hypothermic repose. His desire to die thawed, too. As the sky altered its depths from night to dawn, the young man tried once again to sit up. He realized as he tried that he was already propped up against something. He reflexively grabbed at what was closest to his hand. His hand closed over something warm and soft. He grabbed again and his mind flared with recognition, but he was still groggy and he fell back into the warmth, almost against his will.
The next time he awoke, it was close to dawn. He began to understand. He saw that the ice white moon had begun its descent and the weak, pale sun was ascending in its place.
He felt alive, and it jerked him awake as if he was a pike snagged on a line in an ice-hole. What he saw made him freeze but not from hypothermia. Four grey animals lay against him, one behind his back. One at each side and one cradling his legs. All four sets of amber eyes gazed at him, and one of them whined and cocked its head, as if questioning him. He looked at his fingers; some were frostbitten but he didn’t care. He’d look at his feet later. He felt his face and wondered if he’d gotten any frostbite on his nose or cheeks. But it would have to wait until he got back to civilization. He was shaken but far from dying.
The wolves stood close by as he rose, watching him with amber eyes. He got up, pulled the hood around his face with numb fingers. His truck wasn’t far off, maybe a quarter of a mile away. He made sure he had his keys and turned to go. Then he turned back and felt disappointed when he saw the four canines had already loped off.
“Thanks, anyway.” He croaked, watching them.
The four companions trotted and bounced shoulders, great bushy tails swishing as they made their way up the path. Three loped on ahead, topping the rise, disappearing over it. But the biggest one, the one who he thought had probably licked his face, sat and raised its muzzle to the sky and howled.
The tears ran along with its woeful sound, and when it ended, the young man turned and walked to the truck.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
so sad, but life goes on
I found out yesterday that one of my ex Medicaid clients died. He was 48 years old. I had gotten him out of a nursing home and back into an apartment.He was so happy to get out of the place. He had strokes and diabetes and was a heavy smoker and knew the risks but didn't make the changes to help himself. His name is Jose Rodriguez and he was a very nice man. I wrote an article about him in the agency newsletter last year, too. Verona liked him, too, always finding him when we looked for him in the nursing home when we visited. He died of a brain aneurysm from a blood clot which originated in his lungs. He hung on for a few days, then slipped away. I wish I could've gone to the wake. I found out via email from the man who took over for me when I left the agency to work for the V.A. What a crappy way to find out. Not even a phone call -- freakin' email. I guess I didn't even rate to be called. Pisses me off.
Well, Jose, I'll miss you and I'm sad you only got to enjoy your freedom for eight months after being forced to stay in that horrible nursing home for over two years, with no one to help you . I'm glad I helped you and wish you didn't die. It was great knowing you, my friend. I'll see you again someday at the end of the path.
Well, Jose, I'll miss you and I'm sad you only got to enjoy your freedom for eight months after being forced to stay in that horrible nursing home for over two years, with no one to help you . I'm glad I helped you and wish you didn't die. It was great knowing you, my friend. I'll see you again someday at the end of the path.
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