Monday 2 November 2015

Sudbury Accent: 'Now I'm just a number' | Sudbury Star

Sudbury Accent: 'Now I'm just a number' | Sudbury Star



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WSIB  Mental
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Sudbury Accent: 'Now I'm just a number' 0
Saturday,
October 31, 2015 1:48:11 EDT AM
Carol Mulligan/The Sudbury Star
Aaron Beland, now 27, with his mother, Silvie Horner. Beland was helping get Hart department store in Espanola ready for its grand opening in August 2005 when his head was crushed in an accident.
Carol
Mulligan/The Sudbury Star Aaron Beland, now 27, with his mother, Silvie Horner.
Beland was helping get Hart department store in Espanola ready for its grand
opening in August 2005 when his head was crushed in an accident.
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A group
of Sudbury psychologists is slamming an organization established to help
injured workers, saying it is traumatizing them a second time and defrauding
employers paying premiums for it.
Ed
Bassis, Keith Klassen and Lorraine Champaigne, all practising psychologists,
say that in many cases, the Workplace Safety and Insurance Board is doing their
clients more harm than good.
What was
a bad situation for clients -- difficulty accessing services and lost wages --
"has become horrible," said Bassis, "and it's become horrible in
a way that's significantly harming (them)."
Bassis,
Klassen and Champaigne have treated clients through WSIB for at least two
decades, and say it has become harder to do that effectively the last five
years.
WSIB
employees are making decisions harmful to those filing claims without the
proper information, they charge.
The
Workplace Safety and Insurance Board is not recognizing physical injuries can
lead to psychological problems that make it impossible for people to return to
work.
The WSIB
is putting pressure on clients to return to work before they are able and
calling clients telling them their benefits are being discontinued or reduced
without explaining why.
Perhaps
worst of all, the appeals process in which clients challenge WSIB decisions
takes so long, people's lives can unravel during that time.
Kelly
Studiman, 53, was working as a visiting nurse in April 2005, caring for an elderly
woman and her husband in their home. The woman had contracted Clostridium
difficile in hospital and been discharged. C. difficile is an infectious
diarrhea that can range from mild to life-threatening.
Studiman
visited the woman when the senior was very ill, quickly assessing her and
sending her back to hospital by ambulance. A few weeks later, the woman's
husband contracted the bacterium. Studiman became ill a few days after that.
What
followed was 18 months in and out of hospital as Studiman became physically
weaker from incessant -- and extremely painful -- diarrhea, severe cramping and
dehydration, and a host of complications.
In the
early days of her illness, she collapsed and was taken to hospital by
ambulance, "and then the story started," Studiman said in an
interview at her residence.
She was
treated with an antibiotic that wasn't effective. Doctors considered performing
a colostomy, a surgery in which a piece of the colon is diverted to an
artificial opening in the abdominal wall, bypassing the damaged part of the
colon.
"I
begged the doctors to hold off. I begged them ... and there but for the grace
of God," said Studiman, who did not go under the knife.
She had
C. difficile for 18 months. Many people who contract it get over it in a week,
but others are plagued with symptoms for a long time.
When she
was discharged from hospital early in her illness, Studiman had 24-hour home
nursing paid by WSIB because she couldn't get out of bed.
"I
was so sick, it was horrible."
Before
she contracted the infectious bacterium, she had started a new job with a home
nursing agency and was doing well. Studiman proudly showed off a certificate
she earned as Nurse of the Year in 2004 and other documents for advanced
nursing courses.
But the
next decade would be a nightmare of physical and mental illness, stemming from
contracting C. difficile on the job, she said.
Studiman
has a pile of paperwork chronicling what she has been through -- both medical
treatments and dealings with the WSIB.
She
recalls she was still on intravenous fluid therapy 18 months after getting
sick. At one point, the five-foot-tall woman's weight plunged to 70 pounds and
she was severely malnourished.
During
that time, she suffered three cases of shingles, multiple fractures from falls,
an allergy to medication that turned her purple from head to toe and caused her
skin to peel, kidney failure and what was first thought to be a heart attack.
She and
her 12-year-old daughter moved into her parents' home where Studiman continued
to deal with the complications of her illness. She wondered at one point why
her daughter wouldn't attend sleepovers at friends' houses, asking them to her
home instead. The girl said she was afraid her mother might die and she didn't
want to be away if that happened.
An
existing mental health issue Studiman had been managing worsened during her
long illness, not surprisingly.
"I
got to despair," she said. "I hated, I loathed myself. Then I started
not answering the phone, missing Christmas dinners. I'm talking years."
All the
while, she worried constantly WSIB would cut off her benefits.
In the
fourth or fifth years of her illness, she began seeing Bassis for counselling.
She had returned home from another bout in hospital and WSIB called her soon
afterward to talk about her about returning to work.
"I
couldn't even get out of bed and they were talking about returning to
work," she said.
There
were threats about her benefits being cut. Studiman said she doesn't know what
she would have done without Bassis's assistance.
As
recently as September, Studiman was hospitalized four times, with pneumonia,
then kidney failure and cardiopulmonary syndrome, in which failing kidneys
cause the heart to go into over-drive.
"It
doesn't stop," she said.
Difficulties
dealing with WSIB didn't help.
"You
feel like, if something's not done, they always say, 'it may affect your
benefits.'"
It was
hard at times to get doctors to fill out reports to support her medical claims
to WSIB so Bassis took that on, she said.
During
one of her falls, Studiman suffered a brain injury. WSIB made "an
issue" about her having psychiatric problems before she became sick
because of her work.
Before
being infected, Studiman worked long hours, volunteered, and took belly-dancing
lessons with her daughter.
"Life
was grand and they're trying to say I had a predisposition" to mental
illness, she said.
At
varying times, WSIB workers told her she was well enough to go back to work,
then she wasn't, then she was. When they tried to force her back, Bassis wrote
a harsh letter to WSIB on her behalf.
Bassis
told a WSIB official clients such as Studiman were being placed at risk by
"the process."
He asked
what safeguards were in place to avoid risk and why the board had made the
decision the woman should return to work.
A few
months ago, when WSIB was going to slash her benefits, Bassis took her case to
WSIB's Fair Practices Commission and had her pay reinstated.
Studiman
was told two years ago her benefits would be locked in, which they often are
after a client has been on them 72 months if they can't return to work.
As
recently as this summer, WSIB told her she was well enough to work a sedentary,
minimum wage job and her benefits were adjusted based on those potential
earnings. That's went Bassis contacted the Fair Practices Commission.
Throughout
it all, Studiman said she felt like a number to the WSIB workers with whom she
had contact.
"I
have a name," she said, "and it's Kelly Studiman. I was a happy,
healthy registered nurse, and now I'm just a number."
Head was
crushed
Klassen
speaks about a client who was 16 and in high school when he was injured working
a summer job.
Aaron
Beland, now 27, was helping get Hart department store in Espanola ready for its
grand opening in August 2005. He and a coworker were to unload a transport at
the loading dock.
Beland,
who had just passed Grade 10 and made the honour roll at Espanola High School,
had his head crushed between the transport and the edge of a quarter-inch steel
ramp when the truck driver backed up without seeing the teenager.
Neither
he nor his coworker were trained to operate the loading ramp, said Beland, and
the Ministry of Labour agreed. Quebec-based Hart Stores Inc./Les Magasins Hart
Inc. pleaded guilty Oct. 19, 2007, and was fined $70,000 on two charges under
the Occupational Health and Safety Act. One was failure to train employees
properly and the other improper reporting of an accident. An investigation
found the incident wasn't reported to the Ministry of Labour by the employer.
Beland's
mother, Silvie Horner, was supervisor of the Hart store at the time, but was
off when she received a phone call at home. She was told to come to work right
away. When she got there, her son was lying on the ground behind the store and
an ambulance had just arrived.
After being
X-rayed at Espanola General Hospital, the teen was quickly taken by ambulance
to what was then Sudbury Regional Hospital's Laurentian site.
Beland
remembers the incident. His coworker tried twice to move the ramp, the edge of
which was pressing into his skull. On the third attempt, his skull
"shattered," Beland said in an interview in Espanola.
He spent
a month in the intensive care unit in Sudbury where he marked his 17th birthday
with his mother and younger siblings. He was in hospital almost three months,
undergoing intensive in-house rehabilitation and later out-patient rehab.
When he
finished rehab, he tried to get his life back on track. Beland had planned
since he was a boy to enter military college, then a police academy and train
for a tactical team as a sharp-shooter.
He went
back to high school after the accident and graduated from Grade 12, but not
with the marks he used to earn.
He
received a small sum of money -- about $50 every two weeks -- from WSIB for
lost wages. Horner called the small sum "a kick in the face" because
Aaron had been making more than that at his jobs.
Beland
received a small cosmetic settlement to fix the scar where the edge of the
steel loading ramp dug into the side of his head. He removes his ball cap to
show the hat is indented from the dent left in his head where the ramp struck
him.
After
high school, Beland worked at a dozen or more jobs including construction, at a
restaurant and at a gas station. He took the personal support worker program at
Cambrian College, but didn't pass his probation, he said, because he couldn't
remember the medical terminology.
He began
suffering depression and anxiety, "all traits that were lying dormant,
waiting to come out," he said.
Beland
had a couple of failed relationships, one of which produced his daughter, now
four, of whom he has sole custody.
He began
seeing Klassen for counselling shortly after his accident and still sees him
although the psychologist is not being paid for the visits.
Klassen
has helped him deal with frustration and anger issues. Beland admits he has a
temper and snaps, partly because he doesn't see "the whole picture"
and partly because he believes his problems "over-trump a lot of
peoples'."
He is
receiving benefits from the Ontario Disability Support Program, barely enough
to pay the rent on a small apartment and take care of his daughter.
He hasn't
been able to retain a job.
WSIB has
closed his case "and said I have recovered as much as possible," said
Beland. And while WSIB accepts he has a brain injury that will impair him for
life, it won't pay for the services he needs now or the wages he might have
earned.
Beland
suffers sleeplessness and migraines, and has difficulty with chores such as
shopping because his mathematics skills are poor.
"Honestly,
I don't even know what I can do any more," he said. "I don't know for
a career. I'm out of options ... I am so frustrated at this point, I don't know
what to do with myself. My life consists of me taking care of my kid and that's
it. And, honestly, without my kid, I am nothing."
He and
his mother are angry at WSIB because they believe Aaron didn't get enough
financial assistance or services to help him adjust and learn to live a
productive life after the accident.
"My
life was ripped from me and I was given nothing," said Beland. "I
don't know what I want, but I need something. There's just something missing,
that's all I'm saying. Help me with something. I don't know what I need help
with any more, but I need something."
He echoed
what Studiman said about the way he felt he was treated by WSIB officials.
"I'm
a human being, not a number. You can't treat people like numbers. They need to
learn more about people's cases and the actual facts before they make ultimate
decisions on how much they're willing to give them."
He
understands some people try to cheat the system, but "there are serious
people who need serious help and aren't receiving it. It is a big issue."
Klassen
is all too familiar with the psychological problems Beland is suffering. When WSIB
is questioned about why services won't be paid for him or other clients,
Klassen said psychologists are told WSIB is "not obligated to provide
rationale to health professionals for their decisions."
He calls
Beland's a "classic story. His life is ruined on the job, and there's
nothing you can do except get him six sessions (of counselling)?"
Klassen
wrote a two-page letter to WSIB outlining Beland's situation, but it could be
years before his appeal is handled. The young man's life is on hold in the meantime.
Bassis
argues it doesn't make sense for WSIB to scrimp on services and assistance to
injured workers because they often end up hospitalized or on welfare. "The
cost is just transferred to someone else from WSIB who doesn't meet their
obligations."
He has
had clients who were not offered help to transition to other jobs and then had
benefits cut or discontinued.
Klassen
said it doesn't seem to matter to the WSIB what the injury is, "they want
you to go back to work."
It's
almost as if WSIB has adopted a policy, Bassis said, of "turn everyone
down. It doesn't matter what's going on. Let them appeal."
Bassis
talks about a client hurt badly in an industrial accident who was flown to
Toronto by WSIB every week for nerve blocks for pain. WSIB decided he was ready
to return to work and were cutting off his benefits. The client agreed
"because he was scared," said Bassis.
He has
reached out to Elizabeth Witmer, former Progressive Conservative Health and
Long-Term Care critic who is now chair of WSIB. She would not meet with him and
referred him to WSIB's chief medical consultant. A request by The Sudbury Star
to interview Witmer about problems cited by Sudbury psychologists was turned
down.
If
there's a positive note it's that the Fair Practices Commission is empowered to
look at WSIB and determine if it is following its own policies, and it can
force them to do so, said Bassis.
Champaigne
said problems with WSIB make her "feel bad as a person and a
psychologist. When you conduct an assessment of a patient and start building a
therapeutic alliance ... you have created an element of a ray of hope."
Building on that trust and hope can make a huge difference for people, she
said.
It takes
time to do a proper assessment and then to wait to have it approved by WSIB. Some
clients have suffered trauma, "so then they become traumatized
again." Companies, in good faith, have paid premiums for workers and those
employees "don't feel they've been treated right. They feel victimized,
then the system becomes a trauma for them."
A client
of one of the psychologists got to the point he was afraid to answer the phone
because it might be a WSIB official.
Champaigne
speaks about a client who only spoke French, and was told by WSIB he had to
learn to speak English in two years. He received a little physiotherapy for
neck injuries.
"This
makes no sense," said Champaigne. "You can't learn a second language
and go back to work in two years. You can't expect a 63-year-old man, with
Grade 8 education," to do that.
Klassen
said many physiotherapists and registered massage therapists won't take WSIB
clients because they may see them for a short time, make recommendations for
treatment and not be able to follow up.
Said
Bassis: "They're destroying our clients, literally." He wants to know
why people are not being treated with more dignity and respect.
Klassen
agrees. When you've been injured, he said, "you become a second-class
citizen with no rights."
Bassis
challenges claims that clients are defrauding WSIB, saying: "The fraud is
on the part of WSIB. When you charge for a benefit and you don't deliver it,
that's fraud."
Klassen
said psychologists are speaking out because they believe they have a social
responsibility to put the issue on the table.
Michel
Lariviere is a psychologist who has a private practice and also teaches at
Laurentian University.
When his
colleagues speak about a lack of services, it could be that clients need more
psychiatric services and mental health care. "And WSIB says, 'no, they're
done with you. Wrap it up.'"
That doesn't
happen often in his practice, he said, if he "petitions" sufficiently
for his client.
A big
issue for WSIB clients is chronic pain, which causes them to become depressed.
"Many, if not most of them do. Their physical injury may or may not
improve, but there's an expectation at WSIB they can go back to work."
That
depression can become "entrenched" and WSIB can rule it has nothing
to do with the injury suffered, "which is absolutely bizarre. Or they will
say the depression has sufficiently remitted for them to work now, and that's
where we get into it."
Lariviere
agrees it takes a long time for a client's appeal of a WSIB decision to be
resolved.
"That's
the killer right there, because now they're facing one, two, three years' worth
of petitioning. Meanwhile, they lose their house, their cars, their wives ...
that's where things start really falling apart."
Expediting
the review of some cases would improve the situation for clients. So would not
regarding practitioners as "biased advocates for their patients. (WSIB)
should still give their opinions very, very strong consideration because, in
the end, we know the patient best."
carol.mulligan@sunmedia.ca




 


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