I have a surgery date. And now that I do, I wrestle with what it means. I agonize over the financial implications--missing work, taking on an enormous debt that could be spent to better the family.
See, I can fulfill a purpose without the surgery. I can drag myself to work on my crutches everyday and it doesn't matter. I don't have to stand for 8 hours a day. I work at a desk, and I get up to take care of a few things occasionally. I don't carry anything beyond a few sheets of paper at a time, or whatever fits into the denim pocket attached to my crutch. So I don't need to be able to walk well in my job. Would it be nice to be able to run out for a quick errand without considering the entire process and if its achievable? Yes. Is it necessary for me to do my job? No.
I posted on Facebook about this date. I got a few praying for you comments. I wish people wouldn't say that. I know for some people its a way to express that they care about us from across long distances. These are the same people who would actually help us if we lived closer than 250 miles away.
But there are the people who live nearby and who don't actually care beyond the gossip factor of the news. It doesn't change how they act and it doesn't change what they think. It doesn't change how they judge my family. And their offer of prayers certainly don't mean that they care enough to offer anything more than meaningless words.
This doesn't mean that I don't believe in prayer or God. It means that I don't believe in people who use meaningless church words to make themselves feel better. It means that fake words don't provide comfort to anyone but the person who says them.
So don't say you'll pray for me unless you truly intend to. Don't say that you'll commit to sacrificing time and energy to God on my behalf if you won't follow through. Because those words mean as much as an 8-year-old forced to say grace by rote at the dinner table when he's really hungry. Don't make a fake commitment to pray for someone when you don't know what else to say.
Friday, July 29, 2016
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Day 387
I have set a date for arthroscopic surgery on my knee, and it will be August 25th. There is that skip of doubt that hangs over the date, and I'm sure as it approaches I will become less sure of the course of action. The MRI I had at the beginning of July showed that I did not have a torn meniscus, instead there is other damage to the knee. The purpose of the scope is to identify and possibly repair any damage that the MRI did not identify. While MRIs are the gold standard in medical imaging for most knee problems, my doctor explained they do not show where ligaments attach to the bone 80 percent of the time.
We have so many things going wrong on a regular basis, and I know that the drawback of pursuing a diagnosis and plan to fix my knee is expensive. The money that goes to this surgery and all of the costs associated with it should be spent on a reliable vehicle that fits our family. No amount of considering that walking without the use of crutches or pain somehow benefits my family will convince me that my knee is more valuable than having a family car. Knowing that I might be jeopardizing us financially to the point that we will still lose our home weighs on every thought that goes into this decision. Fearing that my ability to work well will be compromised or that I will miss too much time too soon after being hired is reason enough to pause before committing to surgery.
Yet my husband urges me to keep the date and to try not to worry. Perhaps this will be the change we need in order to rise out of the despair that blankets us.
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Betty Crocker silverware
I don't often talk about the sweetness of being poor, but there is a sort of happiness in small things. My husband brought home a wooden box of flatware that was his grandmother's. There were two different sets of obviously "the good silverware". It reminded me of my own grandparents with the special wooden box that only made an appearance at Christmas and Easter dinners. My husband said that this was the same for him, and this box of good silverware was only opened for big family dinners.
The sweetness of our grandparent's good flatware is that it was most likely bought with coupons clipped from General Mills boxes and bought one fork or spoon at a time through the mail. Betty Crocker catalogs offered a chance for everyday housewives to collect Oneida Community flatware at a price that was affordable, often at deep discounts when the coupons were used. The catalog offered a cash price as well. Very few would have used the cash price offers, since the items would cost more than if bought at a department store.
A little research uncovered that one of the flatware patterns was popular in the late 1970s and discontinued in 1982. The other pattern was produced from 1983-1988, with its height of popularity in 1983 and 1984. This falls into line with my husband's memories of family dinners with his grandparents and using the good silverware.
Both contain complete place settings for 12, with an assortment of accompanying hostess utensils, including strange, flat, pierced ovals that we later identified as solid jelly spoons. I have no clue what that means but they are adorably weird and apparently quite necessary in the 1970s and 80s.
I think about my own impatience of waiting, wanting and wishing and I am humbled to realize that even at this stage in my life I don't truly understand what our grandparents went through during depression era childhoods. We aren't compelled to rinse out our paper towels and hang them to dry, and we don't pull foil out of the trash to wash and reuse. We don't clip coupons to collect our good silverware one piece at a time over months and possibly years.
It appears that I'm still learning lessons from our grandparents even though they've been gone for quite a while. And while I can't bring myself to rinse out the paper towels, perhaps I can stop worrying on what we've given up in this drastic lifestyle change and start looking forward to the little things--like our grandmothers looked forward to mail order forks bought with coupons.
Its a small step.
The sweetness of our grandparent's good flatware is that it was most likely bought with coupons clipped from General Mills boxes and bought one fork or spoon at a time through the mail. Betty Crocker catalogs offered a chance for everyday housewives to collect Oneida Community flatware at a price that was affordable, often at deep discounts when the coupons were used. The catalog offered a cash price as well. Very few would have used the cash price offers, since the items would cost more than if bought at a department store.
A little research uncovered that one of the flatware patterns was popular in the late 1970s and discontinued in 1982. The other pattern was produced from 1983-1988, with its height of popularity in 1983 and 1984. This falls into line with my husband's memories of family dinners with his grandparents and using the good silverware.
Both contain complete place settings for 12, with an assortment of accompanying hostess utensils, including strange, flat, pierced ovals that we later identified as solid jelly spoons. I have no clue what that means but they are adorably weird and apparently quite necessary in the 1970s and 80s.
I think about my own impatience of waiting, wanting and wishing and I am humbled to realize that even at this stage in my life I don't truly understand what our grandparents went through during depression era childhoods. We aren't compelled to rinse out our paper towels and hang them to dry, and we don't pull foil out of the trash to wash and reuse. We don't clip coupons to collect our good silverware one piece at a time over months and possibly years.
It appears that I'm still learning lessons from our grandparents even though they've been gone for quite a while. And while I can't bring myself to rinse out the paper towels, perhaps I can stop worrying on what we've given up in this drastic lifestyle change and start looking forward to the little things--like our grandmothers looked forward to mail order forks bought with coupons.
Its a small step.
Saturday, July 9, 2016
How can I help?
The news has been blood-soaked this week with killings of black men by police officers and killings of police officers by the mentally unstable seeking retaliation. It was just shy of a month ago that a home-grown terrorist gunned down over 100 people, killing 49.
Mourn quickly -- death and terror do not stop often enough to let us process the horror of our world.
So much blood. So much grief. So much pain. So much fear. The cares of the world are so much they threaten to overwhelm us all. I sit stunned, reading, watching, absorbing the news as I hold it in my hands, as it rolls across my computer, and buzzes updates to my phone. I lay awake at night trying to understand and make sense of it all, trying to figure out how to explain this violence to my children, how to explain it to myself.
I've read the commentaries on #blacklivesmatter, #bluelivesmatter, #alllivesmatter. The battle lines are clearly drawn, and we stand at the dawn of a day when we don't need foreign terrorists to inspire our fears or spill the blood of our countrymen. We are managing to destroy American lives just fine.
Yet, the ideas behind all of the movements boil down to one simple, age-old idea: treat others how you want to be treated. But considering how we have problems with the Golden Rule in church parking lots, supermarket lines and McDonald's drive-thru lanes, and its hard to imagine that we'll see an end to the killing that is destroying men, women and families--leaving us haunted with the images of their children sobbing in ragged grief.
So how can I help? What do I do to ensure that even one young man is allowed to behave like a normal teenager, and not get shot? What do I do to ensure that one less father is killed in front of his child? What do I do to protect the new dad who puts on a uniform everyday in an attempt to protect me?
How, in my corner of Idaho, do I make a difference?
Mourn quickly -- death and terror do not stop often enough to let us process the horror of our world.
So much blood. So much grief. So much pain. So much fear. The cares of the world are so much they threaten to overwhelm us all. I sit stunned, reading, watching, absorbing the news as I hold it in my hands, as it rolls across my computer, and buzzes updates to my phone. I lay awake at night trying to understand and make sense of it all, trying to figure out how to explain this violence to my children, how to explain it to myself.
I've read the commentaries on #blacklivesmatter, #bluelivesmatter, #alllivesmatter. The battle lines are clearly drawn, and we stand at the dawn of a day when we don't need foreign terrorists to inspire our fears or spill the blood of our countrymen. We are managing to destroy American lives just fine.
Yet, the ideas behind all of the movements boil down to one simple, age-old idea: treat others how you want to be treated. But considering how we have problems with the Golden Rule in church parking lots, supermarket lines and McDonald's drive-thru lanes, and its hard to imagine that we'll see an end to the killing that is destroying men, women and families--leaving us haunted with the images of their children sobbing in ragged grief.
So how can I help? What do I do to ensure that even one young man is allowed to behave like a normal teenager, and not get shot? What do I do to ensure that one less father is killed in front of his child? What do I do to protect the new dad who puts on a uniform everyday in an attempt to protect me?
How, in my corner of Idaho, do I make a difference?
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Day 367
Its been 367 days since I hurt myself while helping my husband with some chores.
That day was a perfect storm waiting to happen. Emotions ran high as we worked in grief, frustration and anger. All of these building and with no outlet but to grouse to each other, my husband and I continued to work in and out of the small metal shed super-heated in the oppressive July sun. We needed to sort and determine what to keep, donate or sell out of his father's belongings that were stored in the shed. A difficult job in preparation of finding space to store other items that would need to fit into the shed at a later date.
Like the summer forest, one spark destroyed everything. Tripping while sharing the load of a heavy, awkward box on that hot July day left me with crippling pain -- unable to walk without the use of crutches or canes. For over a year I've wished things were different on that day.
This year, I don't go with my family to help finish the chores that screeched to a halt last year in the aftermath of my injury. At home, I hobble around to take care of myself and the pets. A little cooking, a little cleaning up, and a trip to the garden that grows just outside the dining room door is as much as I expect of myself this morning. Later, I'll do the daily chores, but for now I enjoy the peace.
I talk to my husband who is tired from a long trip yesterday and worn to the brink of exhaustion by the cares of trying to help maintain something that he doesn't have the support or resources to deal with. I feel guilty that I'm at home, with only work, our home, yard and pets to care for. My husband has given up on asking his brother to help him, even though his help is needed. Brother refuses to help with the simplest of tasks and he refuses to see the problems that he heaps upon his own family.
Somedays, the resentment of the entire situation bears down on me. If only, if only, if only. Days like today, when I tie my shoes and prepare to crutch through the neighborhood with the dogs, knowing exactly this task will require all my strength and ability and will leave me with excruciating pain and swelling, I resent everything about July 4, 2015. What was once a hobby and enjoyable highlight of my day--walking and working dogs, training them to become the best possible companions--has become a chore filled with trepidation that will always end in horrible pain and frustration.
How do you overcome something that has changed your life so much?
That day was a perfect storm waiting to happen. Emotions ran high as we worked in grief, frustration and anger. All of these building and with no outlet but to grouse to each other, my husband and I continued to work in and out of the small metal shed super-heated in the oppressive July sun. We needed to sort and determine what to keep, donate or sell out of his father's belongings that were stored in the shed. A difficult job in preparation of finding space to store other items that would need to fit into the shed at a later date.
Like the summer forest, one spark destroyed everything. Tripping while sharing the load of a heavy, awkward box on that hot July day left me with crippling pain -- unable to walk without the use of crutches or canes. For over a year I've wished things were different on that day.
This year, I don't go with my family to help finish the chores that screeched to a halt last year in the aftermath of my injury. At home, I hobble around to take care of myself and the pets. A little cooking, a little cleaning up, and a trip to the garden that grows just outside the dining room door is as much as I expect of myself this morning. Later, I'll do the daily chores, but for now I enjoy the peace.
I talk to my husband who is tired from a long trip yesterday and worn to the brink of exhaustion by the cares of trying to help maintain something that he doesn't have the support or resources to deal with. I feel guilty that I'm at home, with only work, our home, yard and pets to care for. My husband has given up on asking his brother to help him, even though his help is needed. Brother refuses to help with the simplest of tasks and he refuses to see the problems that he heaps upon his own family.
Somedays, the resentment of the entire situation bears down on me. If only, if only, if only. Days like today, when I tie my shoes and prepare to crutch through the neighborhood with the dogs, knowing exactly this task will require all my strength and ability and will leave me with excruciating pain and swelling, I resent everything about July 4, 2015. What was once a hobby and enjoyable highlight of my day--walking and working dogs, training them to become the best possible companions--has become a chore filled with trepidation that will always end in horrible pain and frustration.
How do you overcome something that has changed your life so much?
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