Hope Fund App

To whom it may concern;
      My name is Stacey Bourdeau, I am 44 years old, and mother to two small children. I am without an income to support us, a condition which should only last for two months. Compared to all they have been through in their short 5 and 6 years of life, the next two months is just a small hill for my children as well as myself, but it is a hill we could use help climbing. The circumstances leading to this state of almost complete resourcelessness began in 2010.
     I was in an abusive relationship and developed severe digestive issues. It was painful and near impossible to get food down into my stomach. I spent my entire days over a sink or toilet expelling displaced mucus following every effort to eat or drink anything. The abusive relationship escalated to my abuser breaking and entering and kidnapping myself and my two small children. Upon fleeing with nothing but a few diapers and a single change of clothes for each of us, I entered a domestic violence shelter. It was a complete 14 week program including parenting classes, group therapy, education on how to prevent domestic violence, handle finances, etc. There they told me it was a good thing I got away- my abuser's personality type was statistically the one most likely to cause the death of his victims.
     I came back to Maine, got a restraining order and while living in an apartment in Detroit, Maine, began the healing process for myself and two children. My physical problems did not get any better, however. I tried to explain to the doctor for two years what I was going through but he kept treating me for acid reflux. He insisted it was nothing else.
   In October of 2013 I began seeking help in finding a new place for us to live. My landlord was failing to make her mortgage payments and eviction was imminent. I had just applied for SSDI and was on TANF-not enough income to save for security and downpayment on another rent. There was no room in any shelters available. The eviction put us out on Eastern Sunday 2014 while I was in and out of the hospital because my difficulty in swallowing increased so that only liquids would occassionally get through to my stomach and I was obviously deteriorating. The doctor at the hospital first insisted it was psychological and thus an eating disorder. He said he could refer me to a psychologist who could prescribe psych meds, but that is all he would do. Malnourished and weak, I began to be unable to even breathe without difficulty so I went back to the emergency room. Tests showed my stomach was not distending (had ceased to function), one of my lungs was partially collapsed and both lungs were full of lesions. I was given antibiotics.
    So, with failing lungs and an inability to get nourishment, I was living on the streets with my two young children while it was still cold enough to have frost on our tent at night. That was when I began collapsing periodically with no warning. Eventually room at the Trinity shelter in Skowhegan was found.



 It was not long before I just could not get myself up and down the stairs to get meals for my children, bathe them any more or do our laundry. I called an ambulance and because I had no family to reliably care for my children, they had to go into foster care. Because my children were no longer living with me, I was no longer eligible for TANF or Mainecare. The first family my children were placed with had already planned to travel, so for the first month I was in the hospital my children did not see me once. DHHS reported to me that they had begun to exhibit concerning habits and behaviors, which was evidence to me that they were being traumatized in the household they were in.
    While my children were being traumatized out of my reach, I was bedridden in the hospital with a chest tube, a pic line, a g tube and a j tube (feeding tubes; one to the stomach and one to the intestines). I was in and out of consciousness. The doctors discovered my esophogus was not opening (a very rare condition called achalasia), I had several rare bacterial infections. My heart began to fail. My kidney function diminished. My veins were collapsing. I could not even move my legs from side to side. No matter what formula they tried to feed me through the tubes, my nutrician was getting no better, I was not gaining weight and unless the protein levels in my blood went up, I would not be able to survive the five hour surgery needed to open my esophogus.
     I was moved to a nursing home in Bangor, where treatment with antibiotics continued and different formulas tried. My children finally returned from the "family vacation" and were brought to visit me with bruising, scratches and complaints about the treatment they were receiving. The social workers heard all this and did nothing. Because the situation they were in was coming to a head, their escalating "concerning behavior" was blamed on their visits with me and thus me.
   Miraculously, one day my digestive system sparked back to life, my stomach began disdending and the protein levels in my blood began to go up. My children were emergency transferred into a new foster home when my son began to fight back and "his" behavioral issues became "more than what would be tolerated" by the foster parents. When I reached 100 lbs, the surgery was performed and I experienced great improvement as I began with an all liquid diet. My children were brought for more consistent visits. Their new foster home was a much better environment and all their behavioral issues disapeared. They had started kindergarten in the town in which they were living: Waterville. I received news that we had finally made it to the top of the section 8 list, but because I was in the nursing home, they had to give my voucher to someone else. Mercifully, instead of putting me back to the beggining of the process and thus at the end of the waiting list, they simply kept my name at the top.
     In October I was discharged from the nursing home because I could finally walk on my own and the limited medicaid coverage for someone in my financial circumstances would no longer pay for my stay. Having no where to go to continue recovery, it was back to the Trinity homeless shelter. The heat was not on yet there, so in the damp basement room, for single women, I developed a cough, further limiting my full recovery. Trinity is run on an all unpaid volunteer and private donation basis. They are neither trained nor equipped to completely care for those of us who really should still be in nursing homes, but with their big hearts and strong desire to serve, they overcome limited resources to make every possible effort to accomodate and care for us. Their loving support of families included making sure my children shared in Christmas, to my great relief and appreciation. They are all truly a blessing and absolutely heroic.
     At the end of November I was granted a section 8 voucher-I shook and cried as I showed shelter staff, I was so overcome with relief and gratitude and hope- DHHS has the same process for reunification whether there was abuse by parents involved or not and they simply do not return custody to parents in shelters......The possibility for me to make progress with increased visitation to get my children back had finally manifested with that voucher. However, I could not begin to look for a home yet: the voucher was for a one bedroom because I did not have custody of my children. It was not until the end of December that Maine State Housing got what they needed to up the voucher to the number of bedrooms we would need (they require a commitment from DHHS that I would have my children back in a certain amount of time, which was dependent upon my having a place with enough bedrooms, "catch-22"-couldn't get either without the other). I was told I had to find a place in Waterville because DHHS did not want the children to have to change schools; they had been through too many traumatic changes in a short period already. I agree.
   The Turmelles of Arcon Realty in Waterville were gracious enough to take a chance on renting to me despite my "weak application" for tenancy and I am so very grateful. I have to be on three antibiotics for 12 months. For the rest of my life I will be on what is called a "Soft Nissan" diet. I will have to sleep with my upper body elevated to prevent drowning in stomach fluids while I sleep because my esophogus now will not close (the muscles of the esophogus were all cut apart and remain seperate). Due to trying to force food through a closed espohogus for those years, the area in my throat above the esophogus is distended, catching food and causing occassional choking, so eating is an uncomfortable and slow process for me, often leaving me feeling weak. But, being in a well-maintained apartment where I can get plenty of rest is contributing to my over-all well-being. I am gaining weight, doc says miraculously my lungs sound like there was never anything wrong with them and my hair is growing back(lost it not only due to malnutrician but because I had to go under anestesia several times for the pic line, the g and then the j as well several attempts to treat the esophogus with botox injections before the referral for surgery).



      I still have no income as I was turned down for SSDI because they said I had not worked enough and now have to begin the application process for regular SSI. I cannot get TANF until we are 30 days from placement (we are just entering the unsupervised visit phase of the reunification process, which will be followed by overnights and then trial placement, approximately a 2 month process). I can't get an income for a household of three but we cannot become a household of three unless I can provide the housing, furnishings, and food to support us all during the visit stage of this process-another "catch-22", can't get either without the other. So, I could really use some help from local agencies and the community for the next two months.
     After two weeks of sleeping on the floor, someone gave me a broken futon I "bandaided"-so I am off the floor and general assistance helps with a few household neccessities but I do need many of those things they cannot help with:
First and foremost-
 prayers of praise to God for not just the miraculous physical healings I have experienced, or the miracle of a Spirit of peace, love, joy and hope only God could have provided through it all, but the smiles on the two brave, enduring faces of my children.