I just posted this on my site: Last summer, my social worker informed me that, because I'd be turning 21, MediCAL would be cutting my hours down to 16 hours a day. Apparently 21 is the magical number where I start walking 8 hours a day. I think their reasoning is that either my parents can take care of me, or I can go into a nursing home. We've appealed the decision and have a hearing next month. I figure that maybe if I bring attention to this issue, there's a better chance of this ending well. The following is the statement I'll read to the judge: I remember back in middle school, before the ventilator and feeding tube, me and my friends would walk home from school everyday. It was a short walk, a little more than 15 minutes. We would joke and make fun of fun each other and say words our parents would never let us say. There used to be a mailbox that was put right in the middle of the sidewalk. In order for me to get past it, I had to get dangerously close to the edge. One of my friends would always have to stand next to me to make sure I didn't drive off the sidewalk. Nevertheless, it was always the highlight of my day; Because, for that brief period of time, I actually felt like a normal kid. One day, I got annoyed with my friends because they were taking too long. So I, being the cautious individual that I am, decided to walk home by myself. It seemed like a good idea at the time and, for about 15 minutes, it was. I felt empowered and independent. I was alone for the first time in my life, and it made feel more normal than ever. And then I saw it, the mailbox. It stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, taunting me. I knew I could make it through, but there was also a chance that I'd end up face first on the pavement with no around to help. So I had a choice: Go back to my friends or challenge the mailbox. It wasn't a hard choice in my mind, I was never one to let obstacles stand in my way. I took a deep breath, clenched my joystick and pressed forward. I imagined myself lying on the street, helpless, with cars whizzing by my head. I was afraid, but the thought of running back to my friends scared me more. I got dangerously close to the edge, but managed to make it through. I smiled triumphantly and made it home safely. I've always wanted to be like everyone else. Or at least to be as successful. I've fought all my life to be as independent as possible and to have a chance at a normal life. It hasn't been easy. There's always been mailboxes in front of me, but I've prided myself on meeting and tackling them with everything I have. I want to be independent, but I need 24 hour care in order for me to do that. I don't want to rely on my parents for the rest of my life. I don't want to be forced into a nursing home because that's where people go to die and, with all due respect your honor, I've only begun living. Please your honor, give me the chance to be successful and I promise you that you won't be disappointed. If any of you know anyone that might be able to help me get this story out there, I'd appreciate it if you linked them to this and have them email me. P.S. I know this isn't the post you guys want. I'm still working on it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ This board is really good at helping out, so if you guys could help me out one more time... I'll post my tits. For real. FOCUS: Tweet it, stumble it, facebook, reddit, share it. Anything you can do to spread it around would be greatly appreciate it.