Laundry at midnight

When my husband and I first married we worked the irregular hours that 18 and 19 year olds with something to prove worked: late nights, early mornings, day shifts, split shifts. Just as long as we were together at the end of the night we were happy. 

I would get off work earlier than him, and walk or bike to the service station where he worked and wait for him to be done. Once he closed the station late on Saturday night, we'd go home, cram all of our laundry into two baskets and go to the laundromat. We'd have the machines and the midnight hours almost always to ourselves in that little laundromat. We'd talk about hopes and dreams knowing that we'd not be working that hard forever. We knew some day we'd live in a house and have our own washer and dryer and we'd leisurely do our laundry on Mondays like proper folks.

Tonight, after a long, painful week I came home to the piles of clothes I left sorted on the floor. I never thought I'd be this tired. I never imagined that every single step would be this miserable. When we were young there were times when laundry at midnight was just what we did. And later there were times that laundry at midnight couldn't be tolerated. Children often dictate those times simply by existing as children. But tonight, the laundry needed finished.

After I dragged my weary self into the house and took care of the nightly duties that my husband usually does before I get home, I faced down the laundry. Four loads awaited me. So four loads I've washed, dried, folded and put away. In the end I hate doing laundry this way. I really want to believe that the kids notice me doing my laundry even at the end of an exhausting week, but its well past 1 a.m. now.  They'll never even think about what I did in the hours after they went to bed. I'm not sure they even realize just how exhausted I am at the end of a week.

Every day this week I've arrived home at a very dark hour exhausted and weary. My husband is working in a different state, leaving the kids and I to manage without him. I'll be honest, it is so hard. I don't normally grocery shop. I only do a load of laundry here and there. I don't normally take care of the pets. I'm not home during prime homework hours or even when my oldest gets home. I'm usually so exhausted that I don't line out the day for any of the kids. I exist until I can control my pain and fatigue and then I contribute with the occasional lesson taught, a little cooking and I work. I know my failings as a mom with this knee so I work as hard and as much as I can in order to at least provide financially.

This week has been so hard though. I don't know how on earth we are going to rebuild our lives if living is so damn hard. The pain and exhaustion, as well as obligations, are so daunting. I do not know how other parents manage. This week I've been on my own, and never has it been more obvious just how alone we are here. Other people have family and friends who they can count on but we really don't. Not in the sense that I can ask for help. 

Limitations

The injury I suffered a couple of years ago has destroyed not only the knee that it happened to but by compensating for it the other knee and two discs in my lower back are in serious trouble now. Some days its really hard to walk or move my legs. Usually at the end of the week I suffer more from the extra steps I've taken. My Sundays are spent mostly in bed or in a recliner. I hate it but its what I have to do in order to keep my family afloat.

While I jump through the hoops that insurance requires of me, and the conservative doctors in my areas hem and haw around about how to treat my compounding problems I still have to work and face every day. 

Sometimes when the pain is bad and my legs just don't work anymore I use a wheelchair. Its liberating being able to leave the house and go someplace despite the pain. There are some major downsides though.

Even as the chair allows me more freedom, its a huge inconvenience to the people around me. Its heavy and bulky and slow. I'm overweight and since I've not put the time into building my arm strength I'm slow. And I'm ashamed to need help being pushed on hills. I don't really know how to open doors by myself, and I'm not strong enough to manage some things on my own.  

Its embarrassing to my family. No one wants to load up the chair to go shopping or even out for a walk.  Its heartbreaking that I'm not going places because I need too much help. Its embarrassing for me to be a part-time wheelchair user too. I've used the chair at work a couple of times, usually at the end of a terrible work week when I was just incapable of walking into the office. Nothing has mortified me more than the person from advertising thinking it was OK to grill me on my wheelchair use when I was just trying to pick up my copies from the printer. 

I hate to call in sick when I'm perfectly able to do my work with a simple modification of using wheels instead of legs, but after that loud and embarrassing questioning I will not use the chair when most others are around. Fortunately, the last day of my work week is Saturday when the office is quiet, and a few tactful coworkers are the other people in the office.

I miss the days of going where I want when I want. I miss the days of taking the kids out for hikes. I miss walking my dogs. And I miss the nightly walks that my husband and I used to take. 

Another birthday

I observed another birthday yesterday. I took an extremely rare day off of work to stay home, nap and hang out with my children. We went out for a dinner where I didn't have to split my meal with someone else (although I probably should have) and then came home for cake. I opened a couple of gifts -- soap and kitchen items.

Oh, and nothing makes you feel old like receiving a permanent disability placard from the DMV on your birthday.

I continue to work hard to make sure my family is provided for, and I'm grateful for my job as always. 

A recent conversation turned to the fate of a family member who is in his 20's. As the speaker lamented the young man's low income and how hard it is for him to find a place to rent and to pay for necessities she brought up his actual pay.  He makes as much as I do. I feel bad for his relationship status, and his other problems, but his supposed poverty is insulting.  

Or maybe I'm just so very, very tired of my own struggle that someone else's just doesn't elicit the sort of sympathy it should. 

It is the same bitterness I feel now when I think about someone who desperately needed money earlier this year. After many thank yous and promises to pay it back the next month, it wasn't. It was my own fault for letting someone else's desperation take precedence over my own planning. My desire to help someone else outweighed my good sense. That is a painfully expensive lesson.

There's a snowball effect too.  I finally managed to maximize my efficiency at work so I was performing all of my tasks at a reasonably high quality with minimum issues and mistakes and in less time. But now that we are again out of savings I've had to ask for more work. I see less of my family and am increasingly bitter at people who don't value hard work in the same way.

I'm too tired to be effective at homeschooling the two kids who are still at home. I'm too tired and in too much pain to have any life outside of work. I dread the oncoming winter and holidays since I know it will be yet another year where I can't provide for my children.

So my life lessons this year are laced with ever-increasing bitterness.  Eventually I hope to just get to the point where I don't feel bad about being bitter.

Unrelenting fear

As we know by now, its the unrelenting fear that wears us down when facing poverty and pain. It eats at the mind -- always there, always mocking every effort, always making sure we know what the count is and how close to failure we are. Obviously, we've failed spectacularly over the past two years. And some of that failure we will never be able to remedy. We won't be able to erase it, or make it better with happy memories. The darkness of that failure will be carried forever. You can't erase mistakes in life.

So its with this new autumn that we prepare for the next round of challenges. With my oldest's brutally early schedule and my own late one we have to navigate how I can continue to be the mom she needs. For less than an hour every morning as she gets ready for the day I catch such tiny glimpses of what she is facing, learning and experiencing. Its hard to go from hours a day together to a few groggy minutes in the dark of morning.

I do what I have to do to keep my family sheltered from the approaching winter. I do what I can to ensure that we are safe. But its so difficult at times to hope that my choices aren't the reason my kids fail in their lives.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I've started a number of new posts over the months and not finished any of them. So many little things.  So many big things. So many things that never seem to change have taken place. So many interruptions.

The moment the kids hear the sounds of me tapping away on the keyboard of this ancient laptop, they congregate -- needing more attention than they have asked for in days. I've tried to sneak off to update the blog, and I've tried to double-check on each person before I've started, but as all moms know there is no way to ensure that you can have a peaceful moment to hash out life on the keyboard.

We've had big changes here. My oldest has decided to go to school in a brick and mortar school. While we've always said we want the best possible education for the individual, its a little harder when the time came for one of my kids to take control of their education and future. So we've supported her in her change, and try to make it less of a culture shock. But the truth is that going from an education that is self-directed and takes place in the comfort of home to one in an institution will never be easy. Being told when you are allowed to think and when you can't, when you are allowed to eat, drink and use the bathroom instead of when your body says you should and the only steps you are allowed to take in order to come to the only correct answer is overwhelming. And she is overwhelmed.

And now, because with the fees and supplies involved in going to a free, public school, we can't afford to bring her home to continue learning at her own pace in an environment where the dress code is yoga casual. Its heartbreaking and we can only pray that she overcomes the shock and the immense anxiety and manages to swim instead of sink.

In other news, I continue to deal with my knees and back painfully falling apart, with arthritis now affecting more and more joints as time goes on. What started as an injury that should have been taken care of has turned into a giant mess of pain. Often with every joint, tendon and muscle from the waist down in agony. Days are spent gritting my teeth and hoping to survive. Nights are spent avoiding sleep that won't come and carefully arranging myself to reduce the amount of pressure on my knee. Even the sheet is too rough and painful to the joint.

I did finally get clearance for a Synvisc shot that many people claimed to have worked wonderfully for them. No one mentioned how incredibly painful the shot itself was -- I passed out. Nor did anyone mention that the side effects were actually quite horrible. But then again the literature claimed less than six percent of patients experiences any or all of them. I was in that small percentage of people who experienced all of the side effects and for longer than promised. If only my chances at the lottery were so good.

So these are the changes worth mentioning. I get up early to see my oldest for the 30 minutes it takes her to get around for school and out the door to the bus, followed by days of keeping my other two on track in their educations. Nights of work followed by late nights of restlessness as sleep evades me. I don't ever get ahead in any of these endeavors which just proves that the poor are lazy and good for nothing.

Self-pity

I admit it, I've been feeling unappreciated. Its one of the downsides of this life, or any I suppose. At home, I'm not as necessary, having taught my kids to be more self-sufficient. And I cannot tell you how much I rely on their abilities to cook, clean, care for the animals and keep the household running. All three of them are incredible people. This sufficiency is priceless and was and is worth all of the doubt and judgement that people expressed over my pushing the kids to learn from a very early age.

I rely on the kids so much. I need them here to do things that I just am unable to do now. And while I trust them and I trust their training and knowledge, I try not to take advantage of it. Its hard going from having a stay-at-home mom that was involved to having a working mom who is barely able to cope. I don't want them to feel like they have to take care of everything without a parent to help them.

So while I'm immensely proud of my children for stepping up when I work, I feel bad because I can't do it all.

This was one of those weeks. The kind that I struggle through the little challenges, and it seemed like there were so many of them. I did jobs that needed to be done but it was a struggle to do so. I felt like I supported everyone else in what they needed to do, but there wasn't a lot of support for me to draw upon. Its the nature of my position in both my personal and professional life.

And as I slogged through, the weekend looked no better. With my husband gone to take the oldest to summer camp, I've fought through the sleepless nights and exhausted days as the RP (responsible parent). And my second-born has done more than her share of the work to help me.

We should have celebrated Father's Day and our wedding anniversary today. The kids gave their dad his gift on Saturday morning before he left. I anticipated that my husband would be back tonight from his trip dropping the oldest off, but he decided to stay in Oregon another night instead. So beyond a couple of text messages our anniversary was overlooked.

So here I am, feeling a bit sorry that we missed our anniversary.  Feeling irritated that work didn't turn out the way I wanted this week and feeling exhausted.

There isn't a fix for it.  There is no vacation to escape. This is the day-to-day life of someone who is tired and overwhelmed.

Another failed night

Once again I've given up the pretense of sleeping. I don't know what sleep is anymore. I can't remember going to bed and sleeping or waking up ready to face the day. I can't remember even the joy of falling into bed exhausted knowing that sleep would cure me. Every night is a worsening ritual of failing to find even a single position where the pain is alleviated enough to fall asleep.  It's somewhat horrible to live in constant, worsening pain.

I worry. 

My husband and his partner are very close to launching a project. One that has the potential to bring us out of this poverty that we've struggled with for way too long. He's logged many hours in research and has many more to go. And as is the case in his line of work, he will have to start traveling again. 

I don't worry about his safety. I don't worry about the many miles they will travel. I don't worry about the risks they take. I worry about how I will manage without him here.

My husband does so much just to keep me working. He knows that every step hurts, and every minute I stand is painful. He does the household chores and keeps everything running. He gets up in the morning and makes sure that the day starts so I can sleep if I've managed to fall asleep. He takes the kids to their activities and supervises their schoolwork. On occasion he goes so far as to help me dress when walking across the bedroom or standing up is just too much. 

I'm just not sure how I will manage to take care of not only myself, but my kids, pets and home if he is gone. I used to grouse when he was gone, but I could handle it. Now, I'm not so sure. 

Sleepless

It's pure, unadulterated pain. I spend my nights dozing, unable to fully sleep because of the pain that prevents me from finding a comfortable position. It aches, burns and stabs through my knees, legs and back. The muscles in my legs aching with a pain that no stretch, no exercise, no technique will mitigate. The night is when I pay for the sins of my vanity, the sin of knowing that I can carry more with both hands, I can walk faster without relying on the cane, the crutches. I can will myself to be almost normal, but there is a price for that willfulness.

The stab of pain that slices raggedly through my knee causes me to draw my breath in as though its the first time I've ever felt it. Except it manages to continually surprise me. How, after so long can it surprise me? How, when I feel pain day by day, moment by moment, does it catch me off guard? I weather the storm, tensed and fearful of the next one. Hoping I feel nothing but reliable aching, knowing that the cutting pain will come in moments, always, forever. When I am weak it reduces me to tears.

I work so hard to hide the worst of the pain during the day. I work so hard to hide it during the week. And I pay for it. I pay. Nights are rendered sleepless, pointless in pain. Weekends are nothing more than days to suffer the fullest extent of my efforts to hide from the world. The pain contorts me into the old hag of stories, crooked and hunched, shuffling along the walls and furniture grasping for support.

I'm ashamed at how aged I feel. I'm ashamed of the pain that steals my life from me. I'm ashamed of how it steals the life from my family, leaving them to take care of each other and me.

My patience and willpower wear thin after a while. There isn't a reprieve.  There is never relief.

Acceptance

It's taken me a long time to begin to accept that I will always be struggling. Struggling to make enough money to cover the bills, struggling to walk and struggling to accept my life.

I'm coming up on two years since I got hurt. A lot has changed in those two years, and its been hard. The axiom is change is hard.  The reality is that some change is incredibly harder than other.  The struggle to protect my children, the struggle to provide, the struggle to find my way are so much harder than I ever thought. I don't wish it on anyone.

I've yet to see the silver lining of the overall situation.  Do I understand being disabled better?  Yep, but did I ever not feel compassion for the disabled?  Did I ever forget being poor as a child? No, not ever. I can't say that I ever harassed or persecuted the poor, homeless or disabled.

So I've learned to accept the struggle. I've learned that the mark of a successful weekend is intense pain of bones grinding against bones like a century-old person. I wish for nothing more than to curl up and not exist. Tear-inducing pain is my measure of physical success.  My week is for recovery.  Its a crippled take on the weekend warrior.

I miss a lot of my old life. I miss the everyday adventure of finding the world with my children. I miss filling the boredom with little trips and explorations. Its only been two years, and yet they've already forgotten many of the places we went and things we did. I miss the opportunities. I mourn the lost memories. I mourn the lost opportunities.

Part of mourning is acceptance. Accepting doesn't mean that we forget. It just means that we realize that we can't change how things happened. And its hard.

Why can't this be fixed?

Big Sister came to visit over Presidents Day weekend. My situation reminds me of how much I miss.  We used to be the ones to travel and go visiting -- our lives not held down by the constraints of school or traditional working schedules.  Now we are held back by our lack of disposable income, lack of reliable vehicles, and lack of time. It means we miss out on a lot of life and laughter.  And did we ever laugh.  With the grown nieces, the great-nephew, my own kids and the laughter of picking up right where we left off, the weekend was much too short.

She's worried about my knee and my plans, in the way that big sisters are apt to worry.  When will I replace it? Why haven't I pushed for the surgery? We need a plan.  How can she help?

I understand her concern. My husband and I carefully weigh the situation.  While I could afford the actual surgery costs now, I can't afford the time off.  I'm certain I wouldn't lose my job if I took the time to have the replacement surgery, I'm just not sure I can afford not working after the sick time and vacation time is used.  Recovery is longer than the paid benefits of my job. This is really what holds me back.

We live on this financial razor's edge, so carefully balanced that one day late on a bill or an hour short on a paycheck tips us to ruin. I can't afford the extra weeks of unpaid time off.

Imprisoned

Quicker than the last time I had the cortisone shot in my knee, the pain has climbed to higher levels again. Its inevitable. I live in a constant state of excruciating pain.

The snow has melted in the yard, and the urge to get ready for summer has plagued me.  Some mornings, I stand at the bedroom window and imagine how I could change things to be better.  I wonder if an apple tree in that spot, or maybe placing a chicken coop over there and fencing in a garden of raised beds near it would be a better use of our land. I imagine how peaceful the backyard could be once spring and summer come around. 

Most mornings, I stand and see the off-white wall of vinyl fencing and the brown, dormant grass.  The gray, February sky and brown lawn remind me that there is no garden of Eden waiting to be discovered in the yards of people who can't do the work. There is only the obligation that I leave my family.  Unable to do the things I once enjoyed, I'm left to rely on a spouse and children who never liked and never wanted the same things as me. 

So I stare out the window knowing this year will be like the last and I'll be nothing more than a prisoner -- stuck behind the walls of the empty yard, only leaving for work-release. "We have to keep you in good enough shape to work," is the reminder I hear when I start to break apart. There is nothing more to it.

I'm having a hard time with this

I'm having a hard time finding acceptance with this permanent lameness.  Let's be honest, I've always had a hard time with it. But right now I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I'm sad. 

I hate the effort, time and money I spent on rehabilitating my knees with their bilateral patella-femoral syndrome 5 years ago, only to see that hard work gone in the blink of an eye. Sure, it bought me time and energy to enjoy a short few years of playing with my family, but it seems like a waste in light of being sentenced to being hurt the rest of my life.

I hate that there is so much left to do in the world that I won't be able to do. I think of all the places I wanted to take the kids as they got older. I bided my time when they were little, anticipating the fun of having kids this age--old enough to keep up, old enough to inhale learning, old enough to appreciate. There will be no race to the top of trails or towers. Someone else will have to teach them

I'm having a hard time knowing that I can't just put in the hard work to get things done. I want to rearrange and change, but I can't. What once could be accomplished with stubborn, hard physical work is set aside. I have to give up the changes I want. I can't simply dig a hole and remove sod, or move the piano on my own. I am reliant on everyone around me. Frankly, when you are forever in need, there aren't a lot of people who stick around. And you don't want to alienate the few who do.

I hate giving up dreams, even those far-fetched ones that I know wouldn't work out. Remodel an old house to reflect the beauty of its era? That will never happen.  That won't happen once we climb out of this financial pit we are in. That won't happen when the kids are raised. That won't happen because I can't do the work. Grow and preserve all of our own food? That won't happen. It won't happen even if I have the time and supplies to stand over a hot stove for hours canning like my grandmother taught me. I can't stand like a 70-year-old woman.

So I'm having a hard time with everything. I wanted to do so much and now I'm nothing more than a spectator at best and an obligation at worst.

Winter and Day 571

As winter storm after winter storm washes over southern Idaho, I'm constantly reminded of how limited my life is. I struggle with the joy of snow falling in great amounts and the excitement of living in it--because I do love snow--and the disappointment of not being able to go out and enjoy it.

I'm staying home today because I'm on the second day of side effects from cortisone shots in my failing knee. Yesterday, drugged  on pain killers and completely miserable, I couldn't focus on anything but trying to control the pain. Today, I can focus, but the breakthroughs of hideous pain reduce me to angry and frantic outbursts--which is never a professional behavior, and I've learned I can't control my visceral reactions to such pain that erupts from my knee, stabs through my body and makes me physically ill.  It's just too much.

The images showed that an alarming amount of cartilage is dead or dying in my left knee. Such an amount that my orthopedic doctor uttered a quiet "shit" under his breath when he looked at the pictures on the computer screen. He compares my knee with that of a 100-year-old woman.

My left knee used to look like my right one. The images of the right show less arthritis and damage of the cartilage, comparable to that of a healthy 80-year-old. He explains that the injury and lack of immediate care from a year and a half ago has caused the cartilage to die and disintegrate much faster in the left. The bones grate against one another in my knee, wearing and enlarging holes in one another. The bones catch and scrape so painfully that any movement is agony. 

"I guess I should give away those ice skates?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.  He looks at me and shakes his head, saying, "You're only 41.  You're so young... I'm sorry." 

We talk replacement, and timeline.  But in the end it comes back to the pain I'm in versus what I might face later. Neither option is a good one.

With this dreams and plans are once again let go. It seems like I spend an inordinate amount of time dreaming up a better life to work toward, only to be reminded that I can't have it.

Winter dreaming

There comes that point as the snow piles up when I engage in that timeless activity of hope: looking at seed catalogs and Pinterest for summer ideas. I really want to move, expand, fence and most importantly -- make my garden more accessible for my physical limitations. I also would like to keep small fowl for eggs and meat.

This is where being poor shows yet another disadvantage. The cost of supplies to rework my property to better suit my abilities and provide more for my family is frustratingly prohibitive. Ideas on the internet for fenced-in gardens with tall, raised garden beds abound, as do plans for chicken coops and quail houses. Unfortunately, even the "cheap" options aren't attainable when you are scraping by to pay bills.

Further frustration is found in my inability to be my husband's work partner. No longer do we split a job, team carry, or take turns doing a hard task. We no longer work together, and it feels so wrong to impose ideas of major renovations on him when I cannot help him carry through.

Sometimes the biggest heartbreak of my disintegrating knee is that I can't do my part. For 20 years I worked along side my husband in every chore that needed to be done. We've packed up all of our belongings and moved across states with no one else's help. We've taken turns with shoveling snow, raking leaves, stacking wood and mowing yards.  And now, we don't.  Now the work rests completely on his shoulders and I know its a lot for him to bear.  Being poorer only adds to this, as it takes more labor to accomplish what money can ease.

So as the sky turns white with snow again and I pace from window to window feeling trapped by the piles of snow, slush, ice and rivulets of water coursing down the roads, I'll continue to dream of spring and summer. Maybe in the clicking of websites I'll find the answers to how I can change my life.  More likely I'll just indulge in a fantasy to get me through the winter.