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Welfare is not working! It is a trap. It is a vicious circle that pushes people down and tries to keep them down, no matter how hard they work to get up again. My family fell into the trap when my husband fell down the stairs at home.

My husband shattered his wrist three years ago. He had surgery and almost lost his hand. Eight pins, two plates, and four screws held his wrist together. He was in constant pain. He couldn't work and lost his job. We had a newborn and I couldn't work. This was no fault of our own. We lost our home, our insurance, our car, our savings, our self-esteem, our self-worth, our self-respect. We lost everything, except each other.

We sat in the welfare office, waiting for our name to be called. I hoped they would call a number, but it had to be our name. We waited and waited. Finally, we were able to go back and meet with our case worker.

She was nice. We filled out all the forms. She explained that we qualified for cash assistance, food stamps, Medicaid, and, possibly, public housing. We didn't know what those things were and she carefully explained everything. I sat there, listening. I couldn't believe that we were in this situation.

The cash assistance we qualified for as a family of three was $359 per month. We would also get $311 in food stamps per month. Medicaid would cover medical expenses, but there were restrictions. If we qualified for public housing, it would cost 30% of the $359 per month cash assistance we would be receiving.

Those numbers seemed so small. How could three people survive, let alone live, on so little? We were thankful, but I didn't know how we would do it.

"I'll be back to work soon," my husband explained as we started to leave. His voice quivered. He sounded as if his manhood had just been shattered.

"Don't worry about that now," the case worker told him. "Just get better."

"We won't need this for long." My husband was trying to let her know he wasn't a deadbeat looking for a handout. "I will be working soon."

"I know. We are here to help people in situations like this." She handed us her card. On the back, she had written her cell phone number. "Call me anytime."

Back at my mother's one bedroom apartment, I started calling about public housing. There was a six to 14 month wait. I kept calling, looking for further and further away from where were currently living. Three days later, found something. We could get in the next Monday. I got out the map to find out where we would be living. I had never heard of this town

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