Economic Euthanasia

Have you heard this phrase before: economic euthanasia? Its the phrase that is used when people choose to put their animals to death versus paying for life-saving medical care.  Its something that people who are against human euthanasia argue--that people will be choosing to end the life of a person in their care, if the cost of caring for them becomes excessive.  It is also a topic that ran through my head last night as we tried to figure out what was wrong with our 9 year old cat.

Dr. Google had a prognosis of certain death for Kyanite the cat last night.  It was after the children had been sent to bed, and once we were settled into our pajamas and considering a movie, when my husband pointed to the cat and asked, "What's wrong with him?  He's been acting like that all day."  The cat, hunched and half squatted, and obviously in pain, cried when I started the pat-down looking for abscesses (he's a fighter, not a lover).  None found, but a feel of his extended tummy and his cry gave me a grim idea of what could be wrong.  Simple would be constipation, but scary would be urinary tract problems.  Urinary tract would mean costly treatment, something that we have no way of affording.  Constipation, maybe we could home treat.

We love our pets.  We've had the cat for nine years, he's part of our lives.  The dogs are interwoven tightly with the children.  We skate along on the thinnest of possibilities and continue to pray that nothing happens to any of them or us.  Even knowing that I cannot afford to end my own pain due to lack of money, I am terrified of what will happen to my pets if they are hurt or sick.  Nine years is middle age for a cat.  He's healthy, happy and generally a giant pain in the behind, but he's our kitty.  Was I really having to consider killing the cat because I couldn't afford 3-5 days for him at the vet to have his urinary tract flushed and the possible stones/crystals dissolved? I'm not even sure I could afford economic euthanasia at this point. Its a terrible and bleak reality of being this poor.

What happened with the cat last night?  After a late night run to the grocery store, we pieced together a makeshift litter box for the cat.  I carried him to the box and set him in it, where he proceeded to urinate (putting my mind momentarily at ease).  We fed him from what we had left of the canned cat food in hopes that it would help his digestive tract.  Today, he doesn't seem to be in as much pain, and his tummy isn't as distended.  Perhaps we have dodged a bullet here and the cat will improve.  In years' past, I would still take him to the veterinarian and make sure he was ok, but we can't afford the luxury of that now.

We add one more layer of fear and anxiety to our lives.  Having pets brings us such joy and peace in so many ways.  The companionship, the comfort... these are things that cannot be replaced.  Yet, having pets when you can't afford emergency or even basic medical care is frightening.  Its one more thing that hangs over our heads.  We took on these animals when we were comfortably able to care for them, they depend on us and trust our promise to take care of them.  Would we have gotten pets had we known how difficult life would become years later?  I don't know.  How on earth could we have known nine years ago that we wouldn't be able to pay for medical care for the cat?  At that point, it seemed like life was nothing but guaranteed to be great.

At this point, we can only continue to hope and pray that something out of the multitude of employment applications that we've sent out will catch the eye of a hiring manager somewhere and we can climb out of this desperation--not just for our children and us, but for our beloved pets too.

A Merry Christmas

Thanks to family members who fulfilled the children's Christmas wish list of clothing and needs, and thanks to friends who filled in the blanks, the kids had a beautiful Christmas. The beauty wasn't in the Avengers' teeshirts, skinny jeans, basketballs, or Star Wars pajamas, the beauty was, and is still, found in the love of the people who thought about these kids, and went above and beyond friendship or family duty.

The beauty of Christmas was found in the eight-year-old boy who couldn't contain his excitement and woke at 1:00 am, 3:00 am, 5:00 am and finally was allowed to be up at 7:00 am.  We have a rule that the children must wait until the Christmas tree lights turn on via timer before we open gifts.  The poor boy woke his sisters up at 3:00, was invited to snuggle, and then he asked every 10 minutes or so, "what time is it?" until they were all well awake and giggling long before the Christmas tree shed its pink, marshmallow glow in the livingroom.

The beauty was in the simplicity, and in setting aside expectations.  Its a hard lesson, and one that we as adults have struggled with.  While we would have loved to have spent the holiday with family and friends, enjoying the laughter, meals and games, as we have in times past, a simple Christmas has its beauty.  We miss the chances to celebrate life and family together, yet we know that this year we don't have that option.  We have to get through the here and now. It reminds me vaguely of the Seder dinner when we toast, "next year in Jerusalem."  Maybe our toast should be, "next year with family."

Friendship

After we placed the first presents on the wall, my oldest mentioned that she wished that we had enough to decorate the "little" false wall too (the hallway wall, for those who know the layout of the house). I told her that would certainly mean that they had a lot of presents, but that we needed to remember that we are so fortunate to have people who have blessed us so much already. With the same voice that mothers use to remind their children of starving children in Africa, and homeless children from Syria, I reminded her that the purpose of Christmas never is about the presents (as I cringed in my own heart at how much I wished I could fill the walls with gifts for my kids too--I'm only human).  

You can imagine the kids' surprise when our friends stopped by today with Christmas gifts from their family to ours. The kids were so excited to see their friends, and to make plans for the winter break that they considered the gifts briefly, and then got out the chessboard.  It was after our friends left that the kids realized that the gifts were for them, and would fit on the little wall and even fill in gaps on the big wall. Perhaps, my oldest's wish might come true.  I laughed that the kids were more excited by the visit than the packages.

Likewise, you can imagine our happiness earlier when a friend stopped by to drop off other gifts (coffee--the nectar of life) and a card. The thoughtfulness of friends when we don't expect it always makes me tear up. We never expect people to be so generous, mostly because we understand that everyone has so many struggles that they face themselves. Life isn't easy, even for the best of us.  But this season has shown us that we are so truly blessed with friends and family beyond anything we could imagine.    

My husband and I fall into the blues more frequently as we consider and worry about our family and life.  After a particularly depressing bit of news yesterday, today reminds us that we are still fortunate.  We have friends and family who care about us.  Not everyone is as lucky as we are. Yesterday, we did have to talk with the kids about friends who sometimes become uncomfortable and don't know what to do when their friends are sad or have something bad happen in their lives.  Tonight reminded our kids that there are people who don't care about that stuff, there are people who just care about their friends. 

The Wall

Every year at Christmastime, we place the gifts on the false wall on in the living room.  It started as a way to keep the kids and pets out of the presents, to keep the floor of a small living room clear of clutter, and as a way to decorate the house for the season.  For those years, the kids have taken joy in counting the gifts on the wall, looking up and trying to read the tiny tags to see which ones belong to them.  They pick their favorite papers and ribbons.  They laugh and try to figure out if each package might fit the size or shape of something from their Christmas lists.  Even in years where we haven't had a lot, and even though we try to fit to minimalist rules, the joy of anticipation fills the house more thoroughly than the scent of gingerbread and sugar cookies.

This year, we didn't start the wall when the box of gifts came from my sister.  We placed the bright and cheerfully wrapped gifts under the borrowed Christmas tree.  When a brother-in-law dropped off some presents on his way through, we took set them aside and didn't place them on the wall, or even under the tree.  A vague thought of waiting until Christmas Eve to put the gifts out was the excuse.  Another box from my sister-in-law, and a second one from my sister accumulated.

And then I realized that I was killing Christmas for my family.  By neglecting to put the gifts on the wall, I was stealing Christmas more effectively than the Grinch.  I'm pretty sure I have a black, little heart shriveled up in my chest.  I hate that I don't know how to do this.  I hate that I don't know how to be gracious enough to allow others to give my children a beautiful Christmas.

The kids were out walking the dogs when we put the gifts on the wall. The smiles and happiness when they saw the wall made me realize that even though I feel a distinct lack of joy this season myself, I cannot be so selfish as to steal it from my children.

So this year, while we fight the depression of repeated failures and a lost lifestyle, we may not have joy of our own, but we have to do our best to preserve the joy of our children.  There is no handbook for poverty, and if there is, we can't afford it.  But if there were, we would have to write a chapter on not destroying your children's hope and joy.  Its not as easy as it sounds when you have to choose between Christmas gifts and dog food.

The Adventure of Kids and Poverty

How can I write a blog about experiencing poverty and not include more about my family?  I think its because we try so hard to protect the children, so that they do not know the full extent of our desperation.  I so want to protect them from all of this.

And yet we are failing.  We are failing even as we try so very hard to hide the truth, the fear, the anxiety.  We see it manifested in the hard set of my twelve-year-old daughter's eyes.  We see it in her failing school work, and her hiding in her room instead of being with the family in the evenings.  We see it when she claims to not want to eat.  We see our failures manifested in our 11-year-old's anger.  We see it when she eats out of stress, we see it when she cries and she doesn't know why.  Even our 8-year-old isn't immune to the problems of the adults.  We see him cling, and try to hold on for hugs and cuddles.  We see his speech impediments, and his attention span leave.

We continually address these problems.  We adapt to the kids' needs.  But it is always hard when we see another faucet of our failure sparkling at us, making us more aware of just how far we've fallen.  Today's sparkle of failure was discovered when we realized that the oldest had been lying and cheating at school--which under the circumstances would be understandable, if she wasn't homeschooled.  But sometimes homeschooling creates a perfect condition for cheating and lying, especially when two parents are splitting the instruction where one did it all before.

When we feel our own anxiety and stress bubbling just under the surface, how can it not occasionally overflow into the children's life?  How do you make poverty and all of its accouterments into an adventure?  How much "character" do you feed your children before they choke on it?  Before we choke on it?

Maybe the worst of it all is that the kids feel abandoned and friendless.  Having forgone joining a co-op this year because I knew I couldn't meet the costs, time and physical requirements, the kids are at a distinct disadvantage.  I cannot commit to field trips, or anything else that requires a financial output, or a physical output on my behalf.  Its something I didn't worry about until I started to see the ramifications for my children.  The middle school friendship is such a fickle creature anyway.  For all of the work and encouragement we put into 4-H, church, and personal relationships, it seems meaningless.  The girls express their disappointment and anxiety by asking to drop out of activities they once loved.  They feel as though their friends don't really like them.  Yet, I wonder how uncomfortable it must make their friends to be around my kids who were once cheerful, happy and unfettered by worries that middle class children don't entertain.  When adults can't face their friends after they've experienced something like this, how can we expect kids to?

Still, when we sit at the table and work on schoolwork together, or when the kids make sure they are nearby to listen to read aloud, there is peace for a moment.  We have each other.

I Tried to Sell the Car

Poor people aren't stupid, they are lacking in financial security.  There is a difference.  Its not always bad decisions that lead to financial insecurity, sometimes, bad things happen, and cannot be avoided.

I went to try to sell the car today.  We've been talking about it, since we know we have equity, and if someone gave us the minimum of what is worth, then we'd be able to buy a different, cheaper car without payments.  I was honest and up front about why I wanted to sell my car, and preferably trade down for something else.  I clomped around the car dealership looking for cars that the saleswoman couldn't find.  I waited as she looked for keys to cars that apparently weren't even on the lot.

But let me back up.  Before I took this step, I looked at all the major appraising sites to figure out about how much the car is worth.  I knew that I would be lowballed on value, so I wanted to be prepared.  I knew what number I was looking for.  I know what the car is worth.

Back to the dealership, where the saleswoman talked to the trade-in guy, who then test drove the car, and looked it over.  With all the information of the vehicle available he came back with a greasy smile on his face, telling me that the good news is that I'm not upside-down in the car.  I started with surprise.  I told him I knew I wasn't upside-down and that I have equity.  He told me I was right and that he could offer me $2500 more than we currently owe on the car.  I told him that was much too low.  I had looked at the appraising sites before coming.  I was sure the car was worth well more than $6000 over what we owe.  Oh no, I was wrong, that's if I were to sell private party.  I pointed out private party made the car $8000 more, according to the sites.  He insisted that I was mistaken.

I left.

I'm not stupid.

I know what the car is worth.  I was hoping to avoid extra taxes and maybe just have something go easy for once since my life became one big mess.

This is our only car.  When we bought it, I negotiated a very good deal, and the payments weren't prohibitive since we had a good income with the promise that everything would only get better.  Had we known that we wouldn't be able to afford the car at any point, we wouldn't have bought it.  But the world was full of promise just three short years ago.

And now its not.

graese

It was 3:45 when I sat down with the boy to start his spelling test.  I knew we were in trouble when his first word was spelled 9ray, and I gently reminded him to try to write all of his letters the same size.  The consternation on his face as he struggled through the first half of the test switched to resignation, and tears began to build in his eyes as we continued through the second half.  We finished the test, and I looked at the list of words my son had stumbled on, among them: grace, mercy, pray, obey...  Words for an eight-year-old.

When we end the test, I tell him to close his test book.  I'm not going to grade tests this afternoon--its too late in the day.  He's morose, looking at the page and knowing  that the words aren't right, but not sure why or how to fix them.  I tell him that he'll have a chance tomorrow, at the beginning of the day, to look at the test and to fix any words that he wants.  He brightens.  He leaves the table to move on to his chores, relieved that he'll have another chance to make things better.

The smallest amounts of mersey can make such a big impact.

People: From Brazil

The administrative assistant sets up the conference phone and computer for a webinar.  A quick scan of the room reveals the classroom camera is turned toward the wall.  I've chosen to stay for two classes in order to fulfill the ever present requirements in keeping my family fed.  There are three for the first class, and just two of us for the second class.  I appreciate the chance to passively listen.

With the phone on mute, and the camera facing away we talk softly through the second class.  She's from Brazil.  Her brothers tell her to go back, that life would be easier for her if she goes back.  They tell her this always.  She doesn't want to go back.  She tells me there is no one there for her.  Her brothers, they are here.  They have families.  She asks if I have a family and I tell her that I have three kids.  Am I married?  Yes, but she is not.  She is divorced, and he is in Brazil.  Why go back if he is there?  She shows me the laminated card certifying her as a United States citizen.  She belongs here now.  I agree.  Even if its harder for her here, she belongs to the US.  I belong to the US and its hard for me too.  We have that in common.  Her brothers, they tell her to go back, but why?  They are here, and they are her family.  Her mama and her father too, are buried in the cemetery near here.  Why go back to nothing?  She asks if my mother is here?  I feel slightly embarrassed, my mother lives further north in Idaho, I explain.  But I see her often?  Again, I'm embarrassed, no, I haven't seen her in more than a year.  I qualify that we talk on the phone quite a bit.  My father?  No, he died nearly 14 years ago. I have no brothers, and my sisters aren't here either.  "Alone?"  Yes, and I feel regret admitting that.

She would work any job, dishwashing, cleaning, hard work, anything, but she "has no good English," and people won't hire her.  She's right, I struggle to listen carefully, and understand her. I have a terrible ear for her Portuguese accent, and I apologize and tell her I don't hear well.  Its my own fault for being a completely homogenized person who has never been challenged to learn more than rudimentary Spanish.  She shouldn't feel worse simply because I'm uneducated.  She understands English and Portuguese; I can order chicken in an American-Mexican restaurant.  Its easier though to just say I don't hear well, than to point out I'm not smart enough to listen well.

The next time we see each other we grin at each other like children who have gotten away with something.  I admire her, she possesses a sweetness and a fierceness that I'm not sure I would have if I were in her shoes. She's brave, and I can only wonder if I would have that same courage if faced with the same circumstances.

Advent: Peace

Peace?  Peace, this year?  How do we celebrate peace when the world is falling apart big time, and my little world is falling apart too?  How do I find peace when I wake up feeling at war with my own body?  How do I find peace when I'm filled with worry and fear?  How do I even think about contemplating peace when every little thing is against it?

It was a rough day, which followed a rough night.  I woke with no intention of leaving the house, and it made me angry and even sad.  I wanted to go to church.  I wanted to go out on a special shopping trip.  I wanted to be a part of Sunday humanity--not as fast pace as 3 Saturdays before Christmas humanity, I know my limits.  Instead, I spent the majority of the day medicating and icing my knee.  The bummer part of reinjuring it, is that it is extra hurty and painful.   I had no intention of finding anything to celebrate about peace today.  In my little tract house, there is no peace, so we'll not even consider the state of the world, in which I feel like I'm watching a renaissance of the dark ages approach.

All day, I've felt sorry for myself.  I'm supposed to start focusing on peace, and yet, I've lost hope--at least for the day.  I'm in Advent limbo, and my mood is too stilted to even try to get out.  And yet, this is exactly why we have Advent.  A season dedicated to seeing past the darkness of the world and looking for the Light.  A season where we look at how times have been bad before, where there was no hope, and no peace and we find it in God's plan for us.  I don't struggle as much with hope during Advent.  Hope is the future, and you can look past the here and now in order to hope.  Its the idea of being at peace that I struggle with.  I worry so much.  I fear so much.  I see so much sadness, anger and fighting in the world.  Its peace, even small peace that I struggle to find and hold on to.

I had my weeks out of order, I wanted to celebrate love this week, which is easier.  I wanted to put off peace, until I had hope and joy and love and felt good about life.  Its easier to find peace when life is full of hope and joy and love.  But that's not the way it goes.  So this week, I'll focus on calming the fear and worry, the anger and sadness, and I'll find peace.

Dreaming of a White Christmas

In the middle of the week, my big dog, Andy knocked into my injured leg, aggravating the injury afresh.  It wasn't Andy's fault, there was a bit of chaos coming in the door, and it wasn't the kids' fault, since they haven't noticed or been told that giving the command to "back" had been dropped since it wasn't being enforced regularly.  It was just a painful accident.

In addition to the accidental bashing by the dog, we had snow and ice around Southern Idaho.  I had flirted with the idea of ordering spikes for my crutches, but decided to wait.  Amazingly, a dear friend must have felt a presence in the Force, because she felt compelled to send me the tips.  I'm kind of disappointed that the snow and ice are melting because these things are awesome.  I wish I would have had them a long time ago.  I bet if I pair them with my snow boots, I'll be a clomping, abominably crippled snow beast, and small children will stare in awe at me.  They stare already, but that's beside the point.

Speaking of white Christmases, my husband and I realized that with all that was going on, we needed to get the kids a Christmas tree.  This year, more than ever, its important to try to pull ourselves together and focus on the traditions we have for Christmas.  We place a premium on enjoying the entire season of Advent and Christmas, with rituals and decorating to reflect that.  We aren't extravagant people, and we've never spent exorbitant amounts on Christmas.  We don't celebrate with Santa Claus (although we do talk about the tradition of Saint Nicholas, and why his actions were important), but we have other traditions that we hold as more important than the jolly fat man, dressed in red, giving gifts.  

Every year, we go down to the Santa's Elves tree lot, operated by Gene Kelly, and pick out a tree to bring home.  We knew we couldn't really afford the price of a fresh tree this year, so we weighed our options.  We considered going out to get our own, but decided against it because of my knee, plus the cost of gas and worry over the tires.  This left us with fewer options for Christmas.  Neither of us are willing to forego a tree, considering how much else the kids have managed without lately.  So as my husband and I went from thrift store to thrift store, we realized that we couldn't even afford what was left there.  I swallowed a bit of pride (mmm.... pride, it goes down like cold gravy, thick and so lumpy), and asked on social media if someone had one we could borrow.  This request was quickly answered, thus for the first time, we have a white Christmas tree.  

This year's tree is not as grand as trees in the past, and we didn't expect it to be.  My husband and I grimaced a little at the green stringed lights against the white limbs, and how the entire tree glows pink, but the kids love it.  We started to grouse at the kids for their ornament choices and then stopped ourselves.  To us, it wasn't what we were used to and there was that tinge of regret that we didn't have the 9 foot tree of years' past.  I'm not sure the kids really care that the tree isn't fresh, or tall, or green.  It would be easy to only focus on what we are missing, but we can't allow ourselves to do that.  The kids love the white glowing marshmallow tree, decorated with their favorite ornaments.  And because of that we do too.  

In this season, we might want everything to be perfect so we can ignore that it isn't, but that's not the right way for our family to go about this. We have to acknowledge that things aren't the same as they were before.  Its ok to not to have a perfect, middle-class, American, Christmas.  We can create a Christmas that is full of hope, peace, joy, and love.  

Jumping Through the Hoops

There are other new faces, but his anger swirls around him like a cloud of cigarette smoke.  I've already installed myself into a seat and laid my crutches behind me.  My binder is open and I'm ready to take notes.  Its job club, which is mandatory.  They hype it up with promises of employers coming in to give pointers or interviews, but today there is just the job counselor, discussing interviews and something else, which I've already forgotten.  We go around the room giving our name and a success this week; a few of us snicker at the twelve-step meeting atmosphere today.  Some of us have gone to the trouble to wear interview clothing to the class for the extra points.

The angry man refuses to answer the questions.  I get it.  None of us want to be here, and all of us know the fear of being sanctioned and losing the food stamps that our families rely on.  He's new to this though, and he's mad that he had to bum a ride from a friend to get there, and he had to walk through the ice and snow.  He's so angry that they threaten to take away the food stamps for his family if he doesn't comply with the program.  We all know the feeling, some of us have been involved longer and have resigned ourselves to the program in order to keep food on our tables and our children covered with medical insurance.  Most are working diligently to get out of the program, and won't be here long.  We all know we have to clear the hoops like dogs in an agility competition.

I smile across the room at the woman next to him.  She's distraught since her oldest just shipped out to boot camp. She has so much worry in her heart for her son, and she's so afraid that he won't come home once he's sent to Kuwait after boot camp.  Food, shelter, work, the Navy, clothing for the younger kids... today, she's overwhelmed by everything and her eyes turn red and tear up.  Its stuff like this that no one tells you about when you hold your first baby in your arms.  That some day you might not know what to do or how to hang on.

We get through the class, and I pick up my crutches, backpack and coat in order to move on to my next appointment with my caseworker.  The angry man starts with surprise when he sees the crutches and asks what happened.  I retell the general story with a shrug, and smile that its just part of life for now.  He asks how I've been getting around in the ice and snow, and I laugh and say very slowly.  He grins slightly, still holding onto his offense, but not as tightly.  He tells me that he has to come because they'll take away his mother and brother's food stamps, and his brother is mentally disabled.  That's how it works, though.  The state wants every able-bodied person to work, so if you have someone in your house getting food stamps, the state requires everyone else to be employed or involved in a program like this.  He can't live with family to avoid being homeless, and get back on his feet, without the state getting involved and telling him to get a job (which he was already working on).  So while he may never eat there, and he only sleeps at the house, he has to comply with the state or be responsible for his brother and mother losing their food stamps.

Its humiliating to be forced to look for work according to someone else's way, when you were already looking on your own terms.  But as we've already discussed, the state of Idaho isn't in the business of acknowledging the humanity of the poor.