Everyday Disappointments of Living in the Medicaid Gap

There are myriad downfalls to having a long-term injury. There are big worries, like providing enough income to support my children, keep a roof over our heads, or pay the power bill. There are things like pain management and being so very, very careful with each and every single step and movement lest I destroy any progress I make in trying rehabilitate a knee with information gleaned from Dr. Internet. There are the little things too. Those activities that celebrate living and make life better. 

I bemoaned my complete, all-encompassing disappointment to my husband yesterday as I sat down to take a break after ironing my work clothes. This time it was the disappointment that ironing -- a chore I once enjoyed -- wore me out. The work of attending to laundry has exponentially expanded although the amount of clothing and the goal remains the same. Performing elaborate rituals with dysfunctional appliances while in constant pain is just frustrating. 

I read the stocking schedule for the local waters in the newspaper. I hobble as I wander to the garage to look over my collection of gear that has accumulated over several lifetimes -- the legacy of gone family members and friends, collected and waiting for me to pass the long-honored tradition to my children. Its a tradition I relish. Its a tradition I miss. The logistics of trying to get myself and gear to water's edge and fish are complicated, even for some of the simpler waters in the area. 

I wonder when I'll hear the swish of the rod whispering above my ear as I try to place a feathery fly in just the right place again. I wonder when I'll once again feel the solid click of the 30-year-old Mitchell reel that is a smooth as the day it was made. I take my husband's micro ugly stick off the wall and once again compare it to my own micro, thinking the thoughts of a person mildly obsessed, 'I really like the play in his, perhaps I should get one like it.' 

 I consider setting up a table and making sure all of the reels are oiled and the lures organized by species and colors. Or maybe I should ties some hooks and leader so when we take the kids fishing again we can quickly replace lost hooks at the swivel instead of wasting fishing time with it. 

I turn and go back into the house. I won't go fishing until I can walk again without worry. 

Camping -- no. Hiking, or even just a walk around the neighborhood -- no. Any changes to the yard -- no. Gardening -- maybe, if the family is willing to do the work all season long. But the senses of accomplishment, peace and pleasure in actually working and growing a garden won't be mine. I'll have to rely on others to do the majority of the work. It will become an unpleasant chore for them and one more thing to feel bad about nagging over for me.

So many things that depend on a strength and ability I no longer have. The familiar "if only..." starts in my head, but its a useless refrain and it won't change my life back to what it once was.