Crashing

Well, the doctor did tell me to use the walker, at least till I meet with the rehab specialist.  I rang this week and he doesn’t accept my insurance,  However, he will see me at a clinic.  Tom doesn’t like that but we are just going to have to suck it up and go.

I have been unable to go to the gym this week as Tom is on another binge.  Aside from  the fact that the gym and liquor store are in the same center, he’s been too drunk to really go out in public.  It is what it is.  So, as an alternate measure and part of my plan anyway, I have been doing the stair stepper as much as possible.  The  most I’ve reached is 6600 steps, not enough.

So, what I did on Thursday, was lock the room door.  It is the only room in the house with a door.  This allowed me to do some thinking, writing, reading and even watch programs that I like while I did the stepper. I did get a bit wobbly.  Tom spent most of the day passed out.  After 5, I unlocked the door.  Dunno why.  Just did.  And years ago, he did destroy the door so it’s not like it means anything except symbolically.

The last few weeks I have felt myself deteriorating.  Ever optimistic, I have tried to attribute it to the intense stress that I have been under as well as the lack of activity.  In order for me to take control, I took the walker out from behind the door yesterday.  I need to practice with it before I use it outside and frankly, I needed the extra support.  I almost  never use the spectral leg or cane in the house but I guess life is beginning to change.  I struggled not to weep.  How did this ever come to pass? How can I consider this a viable option?

It happens sometime after you become an    adult.  You walk down the street and see a reflection in a window.  Who is that adult that resembles you if you were grown up?  Wait a minute!  It’s you and you are grown up.  The next step is inevitable.  You catch sight of yourself and….  Yes, I see a little, fragile, misshapen old lady.  How the hell did that happen?

It’s after 5 and I felt a bit weakish.  I didn’t have the cane in my tiny room.  I went to sit down and somehow I didn’t sit on the chair correctly, lost my balance and fell.  I fall well but still make all kinds of noises along the way down.  Tom had been passed out in the other room.  He rushed in bloodshot eyes and all.  This man does not wake up well in the best of times.  I was flat on my back on the floor.  There’s an upside to everything.  Due to drunkenness, I had  a bag filled with bags of tea on the floor.  It was supposed to have been taken upstairs and out of the way.  I can no longer go upstairs without help so it was lying there.  Lucky!  My head hit tea instead of the floor.  So there I was.  I wasn’t hurt but couldn’t move.  This is a man with three sisters and I think he might have played with dolls or maybe not because he has no concept of how real limbs work.  I literally can’t sit up.  First order of business is to get me upright.  He pulled but I have no strength at all apparently in my core.  I slid back down.  It took awhile to explain I needed something to hold onto to keep me in a seated position.  We get there.  Next step is get me to stand or into a chair. Ha!  This is when I discovered my right leg  no longer works.  It cannot bend .   I cannot even cry.  Picture this.  Sometimes, I have problems getting out of the tub.  I lift my right leg with my arm.  If it doesn’t stay up, Tom comes in and lifts it for me.   I explained to Tom that we were going to have to do the same action but not in the tub.  He was still fuddled. Back to I do not have doll limbs.  The video would have gone viral.  Somehow, we got both legs bent.  Then  I flipped over like a bug.  Somehow, I managed to pull myself up onto the chair.  Tom stumbled back to bed.

This was a pretty devastating evening.  I knew I had deteriorated but not to this point.  I guess I need to buy one of those I’ve fallen and can’t get up devices.  I am so scared and frightened.  I WILL NOT BE IMMOBILE.  I WILL DANCE AGAIN.   I must be delusional.  The only thing to do is fight harder  Someone just told me today, in another matter, that my persistence paid off.  I guess I need to keep it up.  I am losing strength all around and crashing

Saved by the Web(Spider) and Other Stories from the ‘Hood

Last week, when Tom was in the  hospital, J and L drove me home.  I have two steps up into my home, covered by a metal canopy awning.  When we bought the house, Tom said the awnings would be the first things to go.  We actually love them and want to replace the ones the previous owner removed. However, last week the awning provided the base for the movie spider from Hell and its web.  I looked up and said simply, “F*ck!”  L said, ” I have never heard you use that word.”  Quite an accomplishment, considering I have known her for almost five years.  J, who loves all creatures had to dispatch it.  “Ya know, it’s trapped about 30 insects in the web so it’s doing well.”  Okay, I really don’t mind spiders.  I don’t like being bitten by them.  I dated someone during the Son-of-Sam summer who was terrified of them.  That fear, coupled with Son-of-Sam, led to minimal groping.  And yes, when I was at camp, I used to bring daddy longlegs into the tent for their mosquito killing abilities.  Natural insect repellant.

When I was married to my first husband, I was growing my hair out because I couldn’t afford to cut it.  I was reading the latest Patricia Cornwall in the tub.  A brown thing dangled by my eye.  Oh, my hair has fallen down. NO!!  Big, hairy movie spider.  Cornwall in tub.  Me screaming.  First husband, deaf and detached.  Reasons to leave, Part 1.

So, J wouldn’t kill it.  I agree.  It’s hard to kill things with bodies.  He captured it and moved it to the end of the yard in the petunias.

Yesterday morning around 1:40  a.m.  I got up to go to the bathroom, not my usual hour.  Tom gets up too as he is nervous about my walking to and from the loo. With this condition, I have been known to stagger, stumble and fall.  He looked  out the front door panels.  “There are cop cars all over.”  Indeed, there were.  There are only three occupied houses on this little block.  Police seemed to be swarming  all over a car parked on the street across from us.  The fellow across the street came out onto his porch.  This is odd.  He and Tom are always being arrested. Their normal reaction to police are flee and/or hide.   His house was surrounded by SWAT teams  a few years back.  We never really got to the bottom of that story.  Then a K9 arrived.  I was in the bedroom trying to stay in a good place to sleep but falling into the urge and peeking at the security cameras through the phone.  The next thing was I saw and heard the police by my bedroom window on the side of the house.  There was a pounding on the door. The huge spider had returned  with a huge web!  We clearly had not been in or out of the house.  Saved by the web.  And kind of amusing to know that Timmy wasn’t the only tough guy scared of spiders.   The police wanted to know if we knew anything about the car parked across the street as 4 men had been reported going into the car lot.  And what about our car in the driveway.  Uh, it’s ours?  One of the reasons we are camera’d up is the amount of flats I was getting in the driveway any time we complained about the car lot (with massage parlor). I was livid at this latest police involvement.  I have called before in the early morning hours when Tom has been out of control, trying to get into the house when I have had a refrain from order.  There were no dogs or multiple cars. I have called and he has jumped the fence into the woods.  No dogs.  Finally, we heard barking.  Four young men were lined up by our mail box.  They  were let go with what appeared to be a ticket.

Now, this played havoc with chief inspector Kitty Bardot.  She  has bad associations with police cars at the  house at night.  Last time they were  here, she ran out and was lost for months.  She survived Hurricane Sandy and the blizzard following it.   The vet said she   would only have survived another night or so, if we hadn’t caught her.  Kitty Bardot was scared.  Upshot? She threw up on my black silk Chinese robe.  Yuck.

It’s getting cooler now in the morning and I needed that robe.  I remembered I had a short, white silk embroidered Chinese robe from Hong Kong in the closet.  My boss at my first fashion job had brought it back for me years ago. She said she thought of me when she saw it, that I was a sexy, little thing.  Ha!  Back to that “little” thing again.  Never thought of myself as little, sexy perhaps, but never little.  And true to family tradition, I have almost never worn it.  Of course, it still fit.  The silk was so much softer and more luxe than I remembered.  Where did that girl ever get to?

And now I can barely walk.  Being sexy is the last thing that matters to me.  And how would I have coped with police around the house? Or spiders? And I worry.  There are always people coming and going from the car lot, at all hours and all days.  I know the owner discounts me because I am a woman and can’t walk living with a drunk.  And I am being  exposed to people who see my weaknesses.  I HATE  being thought of as weak.

I’m gonna depend on those spiders, for now.

Lucky 13

 

Yesterday was my 13th wedding anniversary.  I was in the hospital with Tom from 7:30 a.m. till 8:30 at night.  Our original plan had been to drive out East and either have a nice lunch out there or cash in on a restaurant card the kids gave us for Christmas.  Instead, Tom’s been in the hospital since Monday afternoon.

We had no idea thirteen years ago that this is where we’d be. We said our vows in front of a justice of the peace who knew me from volunteer work.  She gave me a lecture on how she disagreed with the public policy  position of the organization.  Then we did our vows.  It included something along the lines of in sickness and in health, richer or poorer, better or worse.  Of course, we said Yes.  Who really understands what that means? Well, we were older so we were not dewy eyed innocents.  We knew that life would hold challenges.

13 years is a not a long time in the scheme of things but we have really beaten up those vows; each and every one of them.

Life with both of us has been challenging.  He has supported me through the death of both of my parents; the dissolution of my childhood home; the loss of three jobs and of course, my continuing physical deterioration.

On his side, his rampant and destructive alcoholism; cancer; hernia and now this cardiac situation.

Monday, we went to the ER for what we thought would be a meds adjustment and maybe Valium.  Instead, a four day hospital stay with two procedures.  Yesterday morning he had a tee.  A scope was put down his throat to see if there were any clots in his lungs that could dislodge.  He came out of that one convinced he was vacuuming the car. Indeed, when he was released today, one of the first things he has done is vacuum!  Lucky me, I have a house husband. In the afternoon, he had a cardiac ablation. Fun for anniversary.

Truth be told, I don’t hold much with anniversaries.  He is the sentimental one.

I never wanted to have my parents’ lives.  Joke’s on me.  I do.  I was so frightened this week.  Normally, I am your best person in an emergency and I still was calm and collected for everyone.  Here’s the thing – when my father died suddenly and unexpectedly, my mother kept on saying “Daddy had a really good omelet for breakfast.”  Well, you know how they say things about your parents’ deaths stick with you?  Sunday night, we had had the best dinner with Justin and Lisa – good food, laughter, conversations.  My mind kept on howling – just like Daddy.

Another way in which I am the same is hiding things.  I am a firm believer in transparency as my parents withheld information on my grandmother’s health.  I never trusted them again.  I share medical details about me and T to his kids.  We found out after my father died how the two of them conspired to shield us about my mother’s condition.  She had dementia.  I found we have done the same with my walking.  It’s not as if they don’t know I have difficulties but in the house I usually don’t wear the spectral leg or use a cane.  On the few occasions we have been out, they know I walk arm in arm with their Dad.  They had no idea how much difficulties I have getting in and  out of the house.  Of course, when I am stressed I am worse.  I have started to have problems with my hands.  I needed help buckling my seatbelt.  Everyone was great to me but I realized how much we have been dissembling.

As you know I was seriously contemplating divorce earlier this year.  Financial considerations stopped me. He thought I couldn’t do it because I literally couldn’t live without  him.  He ties my shoes, fixes my hair, helps with zippers and buttons.  As they say, “needs must”.  I put on my own shoes, dressed and undressed myself and did my hair.  Fed the cats, cleaned their litter. I can do it.  I did not fall.  Stumbled a few times but no falls.  So what if it took me ten minutes to put on my macrame sandals and spectral leg and it involved bent paper clips and pliers!  Don’t ask.

I know I am a control freak.  I acknowledge that one of  the reasons I married him was when he was in trouble I wanted legal standing.  I was never one of those girls with wedding plans. I used to dream of a house and children but no man.  I used to be told it couldn’t be done.  I am a boomer which explains the attitude.

This week made me realize that even though I can be on my own, I don’t want to be right now.  Pondering how we really did do our vows.  There’s work ahead.  There is a lot of pain and anger on each side.

 

Third Wheelchair Ride

This is beginning to be so unfunny.

My husband gives platelets regularly.  He has a high platelet count and is a universal donor.  He does it just because and has only used his accrued point one time to get a fleece that advertises the Blood Center.  H e went  mid July but they couldn’t do it as his blood pressure and pulse were too  high. H e’d had a steak dinner the night before and had taken his blood pressure meds too late.  Two weeks ago, his pressure was alright but his pulse was still high.  We started to monitor it but it didn’t go down.  In the middle of the night he told me his heart was racing.  I made him call the doctor yesterday and she said ER.  We called urgent care, same answer ER.

We went.  By the time, we arrived, parked and he helped me struggle over, his BP and pulse were catastrophic.  Of course, I walked for crap because I was so nervous.  Now going to the ER here is not a new experience for me.  My first time was 11 years ago, when Justin’s SUV was totaled.  He called to say that the driver’s side was destroyed.  OMG! You weren’t driving?  No, when I saw the truck coming at me, I jumped into the passenger side.  I had to take that call as Tom went completely white.  So, the evil stepmother, aka me, insisted on ER.  He walked out but ended up there 2 days later anyway.

My next visit was 7 or 8 years ago.  I had a restraining order against him for drinking and he was seriously out of control.  I locked him out and he went to his sister’s.  He wanted help but was drinking even more there.  I walked out of work in NYC, dragged him into the car, held onto him as he tried to jump out while it was moving and dragged him into ER.  I can’t remember his blood level alcohol at the time except that it was astronomical.  There was a warrant out for his arrest but he was able to get into rehab.  It was not successful.  Other visits ensued.  One time, they had to guard him and put him in restraints.  Another time, I just checked him in and left.  Twice, after his cancer operation, I had to take him to Stony Brook ER.

All of these times, I wasn’t scared.  Ok, 2nd Stony Brook ER, I was.  However, throughout all of these and his cancer operation and his hernia operation, I worked.  I had that laptop and kept on going.      I can be a monster in that regard.  We needed the money and I needed the distraction.

The difference last night was that he was conscious and aware.  I wasn’t working either.  The other times, we pretty much knew what was wrong.  Last night they did not.  And before, I could always walk.

Alright, for his hernia operation in 2015, my brother-in-law helped.  At the hospital, they thought I was the patient.  A friend of mine was in the ER a few weeks ago and again, everyone thought I was the patient.  Last night, they gave him the visitor pass.

They announced at 7 pm that all family members/visitors had to leave the ER.  This was going to be extremely difficult for me.  I knew I couldn’t make it to the car at all by myself.  They told me they could not release him.  We thought someone could just give me their arm and I would go and wait for Justin.  No Security was  hell bent on getting me out of there.  They provided a wheelchair even though I explained I had only been in one twice before.  The guard even asked me if I could move my feet.  Uh, that is the problem.  I protested as I didn’t want Justin to see me like that.  The guard literally left me in the waiting room.  Luckily, I was able to navigate out of the chair just before the kids came.

They took me home.  I am appalled at my deterioration.

Apparently, Tom may be operated on today. It’s a simple procedure.  At least, that’s what they tell me.  Hopefully, I will be able to get help there and back.

I am so scared this time.

Tomorrow is our 13th wedding  anniversary,  Recently, I was contemplating life without him.  I realize that no longer is an option.

 

Perception and Judgement

Background: We live on a tiny street.  It’s a dead end.  There are currently three occupied houses.  There is a house that has been foreclosed and abandoned at the end for around 8 years.  There used to be a house next to ours but it was razed and a used car lot expanded.  Said car lot included a massage parlor.  Right! We are off the service road of a major highway.  On the other corner there is a building that used to be a Sons of Italy hall.  One day when I was at work I saw a headline on the news.  Either the Gallos or Gambinos were stopped in a bomb plot because the hall wasn’t cutting them in on the illegal gambling.  The Feds closed it down.  It then became a computer place.  Well, not really.  It and the car lot massage parlor were closed for prostitution.  We thought we still had the illegal gambling.

Now, as I have blogged, I have had problems with my husband who when he is sober is seriously the best people.  However, when he’s not….  I have had the police here roughly about 20 times.  Once the cops said, “Weren’t we here already today?”  No, that was across the street. So, across the street, they have come but not as often.  However, a few years ago, they had a SWAT Team.  The one neighbor, Vinny, who may be the only normal family on the block would do nothing about the car lot.  No, don’t mess with the Mafia.  The same response when our garbage isn’t picked up or our street plowed.  We approached him about the massage parlor.  Same answer.  Man, you have a 12 year old daughter, at the time.  “We have a dog.”  The SWAT team house had homeless friends and asked Vinny if they could stay in the abandoned house next to him.  No problem.  Uh? Squatters?  My husband went ballistic and had that shut down.

Now, SWAT team house has a renter.  He is white but has dreads and piercings.  If you have read me, he is the owner of the chicken that crossed the road.

We have woods behind us.  Vinny and our family feed feral cats.  We both have taken in some of them.  There’s been a new sleek one that we have been feeding. He thinks he lives at our house and literally knocks on the door to be fed.  We recently found out that it is Dread’s aka Greg’s cat, aptly named Mr. Cat.

Vinny’s daughter doesn’t go to school in our neighborhood.  The schools are not bad but mixed.  She recently changed to a bus.  Vinny stopped and asked my husband about Greg.  He saw him walking around and was concerned.  He was looking for Mr. Cat!  He has a decent job and works every day!  Vinny asked my husband to watch for his daughter off the bus.

So, he’s not concerned about prostitution, illegal gambling,  squatters, police visits but a white guy with dreads?

Reality, perception and judgement.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Good question.

Right after Thanksgiving, my husband called out to me to come look out the front window.  “There’s something odd out here.  I think it’s a turkey.”

“Really?”  asks I.  This is a man who has had issues in the past. So I gimp out to the front.  I see nothing.  This is not unusual.  I was the child who always finally agreed that she finally saw the constellation or the bride coming out the church door rather than enduring “See?  See?”   I did see JFK on the Belt Parkway though. I am not quick.

“no, no, don’t you see that black thing.”

And there against the fence across the street was a black chicken.

And then, the chicken crossed the road!  Please understand, we live in a suburban area.  The bane of our existence is a used car lot next door to us that houses a massage parlor from time to time.  Across the street on the corner is a former gambling hall.  I was reading news headlines one day at work that the newly discovered bomb plot by either the Gambinos or the Gallos was directed at that building.  The Feds closed that one down.  And wait for it; we had prostitution there, too!  The house that the chicken bolted from we refer to as Sandford and Son.  A  seriously collects junk when he is not “away”.  Also, think from time to time, “junk” is sold from there.  Uh, cars pulling up with engines running and people running in and out?  And the SWAT team was literally there about three years ago.  Police frequent the house (more on that later).  Sometimes, on a weekend we have copter hovering over and doing a sweep.  No, it wasn’t like this when we moved in and who would want to buy this?

Back to the chicken who has crossed the road and is now in our yard.  Now besides the organized and unorganized crime, we also have woods behind us.  So, we have  a fox, opossums, feral cats,  huge raccoons and dogs.  T says “Do you think it belongs across the road?”  It crosses the road and is pecking at the fence.   “yes, why not?”

“Do you think I should go over and tell A?”

Me:  “Yes, I do not want to wake to chicken guts on the front step.”  We feed the ferals and as a consequence birds, raccoons, Fox and possums.  “We do not need to provide gourmet treats for the ‘hood.”

T trundles over and is gone for awhile.

A admits chicken ownership and is stunned that chicken crossed the road.  He has more than one.  It’s a menagerie over there.  In addition to the pitbull that pinned me in the car one day, there is a cat that we feed.  We call him AC for A’s cat.  We discovered this one afternoon when T & A were talking and AC strolled up and ate the food we leave for him.  A says “Oh, my cat never eats dry food at home!”  Uh, why should he, when he eats with us?  There is a macaw and a little dog, too.

So chicken custody determined, the guys begin to chat.  A discloses he’s on probation for DV.  Coincidence!  T just finished.  I did say more on the police later.  If you have been reading me for awhile you may believe that T is a devoted and caring spouse.  He is when he is not drinking.  He’s an alcoholic.  He is not allowed to drink in front of me.  Easier said than done, no?  So, he has been arrested here about 16 times, no joke.  This means police have been here at least 20!  It’s a small block, hidden away.  No one really knows how to get here except for the precinct.  In fact, one night they were over and asked, “Weren’t we here earlier today?”  No, they were across the street.  Fair disclaimer, T ended up in DV because they couldn’t get him on alcohol any other way.  An ADA even told me once, if we could get him in a car.  He has no license so that’s a non-starter.  The DV is the alcoholism.  It distorts people.  The cops who constantly arrested him realized that when sober, he is wonderful.  Over the years, they have liked the work he has done on the house.  “Wow, you redid the floor!”  We have an almost cordial relationship with them.  And we have been to court so often that we are personally greeted, and people look to me for advice.  Luckily, that is all over.

T was on probation for three years and concluded it successfully.  So, he is in a position to advise A and was giving him helpful hints and tips.  We believe it will be the same PO that T had. The first time she came over the house was just after dinner with the kids.  In fact, when there was a knock on the door, we thought one of them had forgotten something.  I had made stuffed pork chops and used rice wine in the stuffing and had sprinkled it because it was dry.  They breathed him and said he was positive.  We later learned that the amount would not have been recognized if he had been driving.  We didn’t know and were terrorized.  They told me that me or the kids would not know if he had been drinking.  So, not right.  We always know.  We have lived with it. And as I said at the time did they really think that having had him arrested so many times I would tolerate it and not call? I was told I could no longer use cooking wine and they made me dump my almost full bottle out.  Then they trashed my house searching for drugs and alcohol.  When they went through my mother’s antique petit-point purse, I lost it.    We have a tortoise shell cat that we took in from outside.  Of course, the cats are freaking out with these strange, hostile people in the house.  Miss Mollie runs out to hide someplace else.  Officer N shouts, “Is that a raccoon?”

Their home visits were fine after that except for the time they came after 10 p.m. when I was getting up at 4 a.m.  They have come over when we have been drinking coffee on a Saturday afternoon or making Easter chocolates!  And we  had no luck coaching Miss Mollie on how to be a raccoon.

Let’s be clear.   I never considered myself a victim, ever.  I called precinct so that I would not be.  Everyone wanted to fit me into a mold just like they do with this disease/condition.  When I work,  I make very good money so I am not dependent on a man.  The house is mine so I can’t be thrown out of it.  I was always being offered help to get a job and find housing.  Where I did feel like a victim was in the hands of probation.  Even though T doesn’t drive or work, he had to be at places that are very difficult to get to without a car.  There were also huge fees that in essence I was hostage to pay.  I was always told I didn’t have to and he would be jailed.  Does this make sense?  I was told I could give him the cash (they only accept cash) and transportation cash.  Uh, especially in the beginning, money was a trigger!  The situation is designed for people to fail and generate revenue for the county.  We had to discontinue our marriage counseling as we were told it was not allowed.  The program he was in was ridiculous and meaningless, no curriculum.  He was told if it was up to them he would not be allowed to live with me.  The people in his “class” terrified both of us.  There was the guy who had thrown his girlfriend out of the car when it was moving and one who said when accused of choking his girlfriend ” But I stopped when she turned blue!”  T successfully concluded the program.

I refuse to be considered a victim with my condition either. I will not conform to people’s expectations.  The child is father of the man.  My mother used to tell me that I conformed to non-conformity.  It’s turned out to be a good thing.  I don’t buy into the whole incurable thing.  As I have said before, I am not going to tout the advantages and delights of motorized scooters.  I hate the spectral leg.  I hate orthopedic looking shoes.  I use funky walking sticks.  And no, I am not going to apply for disability.  I do not walk well.  I am not disabled.  I am able just not as able in certain areas.  By the way when I am working I literally walk or stumble more than the average American! Yes, 8 – 12,000 steps a day.

So, husband is  giving A advice.  This is going to be interesting as I believe she is not as strong as I am and there is a language barrier as well.  And we believe  it will be the same P.O.s that used to come to us.  We would love to be a fly on the wall as they experience the menagerie, chickens included.

Why did the chicken cross the road?  Goes to show that we are more connected than we think.  And the chicken keeps on crossing the road.

 

Style and Grace and holding on to cry at home

I can’t tell you how many times I have said to myself hang on until you can get home and cry.  I was brought up not to cry in front of people, not my family particularly, but certainly the outside.  I have tried to live my life, especially when confronting obstacles and difficult situations, with style and grace.  It’s like a mantra for me.  Big girls don’t cry.  I have said “Style and Grace” every time I have been let go on a job.  I use it all the time, most recently in the situations I have been confronting on my job.  Okay lately,   I also take a bubble bath the night before potentially contentious meetings with Not Soap Radio – Bathing with Sharks.

I am getting tired of all of this.  I am hanging on.

So, I was not supposed to cry.  I didn’t receive my diploma on graduation day.  This was huge.  Additionally,  I never thought I would get married or have a wedding so this was going to be my day.  I was tapped on the shoulder and told I wasn’t graduating as we started the processional.  No one understood why I didn’t have my usual smile.  As we dispersed and I saw my parents, I started to cry.  My mother slapped me and covered my eyes with huge dark glasses.  I was out of work for ages and got a job.  I went in to have lunch with the owner.  He told me I didn’t have one; he had changed his mind.  Yes, here it comes another smack and dark glasses.  My husband was arrested and in jail right after my father died and I couldn’t get him out,  I sobbed on my sister-in-law till I wet her clothes.  Came home and started to sob.  My mother looked at me and said ” I thought I raised a grown up”.  And no, of course I didn’t cry when my parents died.  I gave both eulogies, no tears.  This comes at enormous cost. Yes,  I cry,  I gush rivers, just not publicly.  When I was diagnosed, no tears.  When the first physician’s assistant said “I think you have MS” I sobbed in the parking lot, not in front of her.  Maybe three times since 2008.

I am tired of holding on.

I had a meeting with the other ugly stepsister (work)  three weeks ago.  I thought I was being let go.  Stood outside and repeated Style and Grace, style and grace.  Summoned my grandmother’s spirit.  Walked into the room with my head held high and  SMILED.  Bathing with sharks.

So, this week:

I find out on my birthday that my health insurance company is closing.  Do you know how many years I had to wait to get covered for this drug?  It truly helps me walk longer and better.  If you saw me on the street you wouldn’t think so but it is better.  My new normal.  What happens with new insurance?  Scared.

Next,  I return to work and one of the ugly stepsisters wants a meeting with me to discuss what I do.  This is the woman that I reported to briefly.  I was like coyote ugly trying to chew my leg off when I was working with her.  So, once again we go through  “What do you do, how do you do it?” And  she is going to have someone who uses the word “wordsmith” to write something for me!  I can read the handwriting on the wall.

Husband has had a slip or several so I am back to being tense when I get home.  No real safe haven.

I had an appointment to discuss possible options yesterday.  Between the two meetings I literally couldn’t walk and was collapsing, bent over.

Today, I still felt still weak. Lots of training, walking, meetings.  Ran into guy who brought me back to this place. He’s been trying to save my job.  Calls me into a room so I thought I was finally getting the move and recognition.  NOT!!  My agent who handles my billing is going out of business.  No one else wants to take me on.  Essentially, this means I am out.  What do I do?  Go back to my desk and frigging smile!  Ok so I contact the trifecta- my doctor, lawyer, accountant.  In addition to my smile, I am known as a survivor.  Keep on murmuring style and grace.  My body is channeling all the stress and I lurch to the train.  They change the track and the escalator and elevator are broken.  Nearly fell going upstairs.  I do make it to the car.  My whole plan this afternoon was to get home like a pigeon and cry.  I started to cry close to home on the phone with my husband.  His response?  “Don’t be such a girl”.

No tears but my stress pattern is reverting to two I had years ago.  I used to have pre-fainting – pre hyposyncopia (sp).  I turn grey and my eyeballs roll  up in my head but I don’t faint.  Later years, I got palpitations.  Tonight both.  I know it’s holding the anger and the tears.  Now with this condition it goes through my body.

And tomorrow – style and grace.