Friday, February 23, 2007
Social worker arrogance in British Columbia
Was just told that three years ago, when my granddaughters had been moved into the adoption stream, where they were adopted by a fabulous couple who have made us part of their extended family, the girls’ profiles had a note added to them in the “Special Needs” section. This is the section where you list the burdens that prospective parents should know about, such as Autism, ADHD, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and so on. Evidently, the social workers had labelled the girls as having “grandmothers.”
So ... advocates or burdens? I suppose that advocating for our children’s well-being impedes social workers from operate their little fiefdomswith impunity, and as such, we are burdens to them. What saddens me is that so few children have such advocates.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Family drama strikes
I haven’t been posting lately because I’ve been too caught up in trying to support family members who are facing a heart-wrenching dilemma. I can’t go into it (yet) and hope I will never have to go into it in a public space like this, though I will if I must. But let’s just say that there is a certain government ministry, that I’ve been dealing with for some ten years now, that is once again showing me how their need to cover their own bureaucractic bungling surpasses (and by far) the emotional needs of a very vulnerable client population. If you know anything about my life, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. Fortunately, I’ve learned a thing or two from my three previous dealings with them: (1) document everything because they will “lose” things when it suits them, (2) make secret tape recordings of conversations with them because they will lie when it suits them, and (3) be prepared to have to think for them, because those that aren’t busy scheming won’t be able to reason their way out of a paper bag. (Email me for a link to my old blog for some rollicking good laughs about where your taxpayer dollars go!)
Gentle readers, in anticipation of your next question, yes, I was led to believe that there was a new sheriff in town who was changing things. No, I haven’t heard back yet. No, I am not ready to sit back and let this travesty of justice happen without exposing some pretty embarrassing incompetencies. Stay tuned - it ain’t over till the fat lady sings. And if this goes on much longer, I’ll be much fatter (though I doubt my singing will improve much - I’ll still be offkey!).
Friday, December 29, 2006
Communicating with cats
We have a cat named Sam. It’s a long story, but basically Sam is a Persian rescue cat with a snaggle tooth. He is very smart, quite talkative, and more than a little neurotic. When he started having less than pristine litter-box habits, I started to worry. But his “accidents” were irregular and erratic. We tried cleaning the litter more often and watching for all sorts of other signs, but no luck. Eventually, I reached my limit, and said, “We’ve got to call in Lydia Hiby.” I’d heard about Lydia on a radio show a number of years ago, and we’d used her to communicate with a previous cat who had some issues. She was so successful in her diagnostics that we thought we’d try her again.
To make a long story short, in the new place, we’d put Sam’s litter box in the laundry room, and Sam was so freaked out by the vibrations of the washer and dryer that whenever we did laundry, he couldn’t bring himself to go into the room. And when we were away and my son would come over, he would do marathon stints of laundry, so the cat would sneak into the den and pee there. When I finally went into that room to unpack, and found little puddles, I started keeping the door closed. Then, he’d go on the bath mat, but one day I caught him doing it outside the closed door of the den and when I yelled at him, he disappeared under the bed and didn’t come out for the better part of the day. After the consultation, we moved the litter box, and Sam hasn’t had an accident since. Unfortunately, the only other place we could fit a litter box was just inside the front door - not a very nice welcome - but I suspect we’ll have some custom cabinet built that can hide a litter box beneath it it, and everyone will be happy.
The odd thing is that at the end of the 15-minute consultation, during which time we discussed all sorts of things (Lydia used to be a vet tech, so she can discuss health issues as well as psycho-social issues), I asked if there was anything else that Sam would like us to know. She said that Sam asked to have a bandana. I have no idea how he knows about such things, but we did get him a little cat bandana, and from the time we put it on him he has liked it. Now, I was prepared for her to relay answers to the questions about whether Sam was lonely (no, he loves being the only cat), why he doesn’t like to sit on our laps (he has some arthritis in his feet, and doesn’t like to have to jump up quickly, so prefers to sit beside us), why he is so fussy with his cat food (as a kitten, he was given baby food because he was so little and sickly), and did he mind when we went out of town and left him alone (no, but could we leave a t-shirt on the bed for him). But a bandana? Go figure. But I did notice that since the session, Sam and I seem to be getting along a little better. Or maybe it’s just my imagination.