Homeless or Pain

It's late, or maybe early depending on how you look at it. I lie in bed wishing the cocktail of NSAIDs would at least take the edge off the pain in my leg and back enough that I could win the fight for sleep. But like so many nights, pain is winning out over much needed sleep.

As I try to visualize pain receding, think positive thoughts and pray for relief, my mind replays the conversation I had with a friend earlier in the day. We talked about how the Medicaid gap affects my family. Now, many hours later, I wish I had told her the most simplified version: I have to choose between homelessness or pain. I have a family. I have no choice but to live in pain.

Our mortgage lender extended us a hardship forbearance that allows us to pay a minimal amount while we struggle to get back on our feet. In exchange, we must not modify the house or let it fall into disrepair.  We must live in the house and take care of it. We also may not authorize any liens against the property. If we fail to meet these conditions, the lender will fast track foreclosure proceedings and we will lose our home.

The county places a lien against any real property a person possesses if she receives help to pay for medical costs through indigent services. St. Luke's, the medical system in our area, also places a lien against property if a person applies for charity aid. This information is found on both the paperwork and the websites.

So on nights like tonight when the mix of medications doesn't make a difference, I get out of bed and sit in the dark living room of my home--miserable, but not homeless.

Putting Hope in its Place

You can't allow yourself too much hope or happiness when you live in poverty. The idea things might get better is ludicrous, and to forget this is dangerous. There is always something demanding your resources and reminding you that you are certainly no better than you ought to be. There is always something that makes sure you stay right where you belong.  If you live this life, then you belong at the bottom. If you dare forget, than you will be reminded.

Unfortunately, this isn't just an adult thing.  I see this in my kids' interactions with their acquaintances.  Any small spark of joy is quickly extinguished by kids who know that money does buy happiness and friends. Poor kids who work hard are derided by peers until they are securely left with no illusion of worth or value. To train or study hard, to invest time because they do not have the ability to invest money is nothing, because as kids living in poverty, they are nothing. They have no hope of winning friends because they have worked hard.  They can only see that their peers despise them all the more when a leader or teacher draws attention to the results of their efforts.

So we put little hopes and accomplishments away. There isn't room for them in the daily life of scrabbling to survive. We teach our children to do the same.  Because hope and happiness isn't for the poor.  And hard work just means we think we might deserve something more than what we have.

A Slow Start

As spring takes hold of southern Idaho, life is off to a slow start. We've been given a small pickup to help ease the strain of being a busy one car family.  The minivan has proven to be yet another poor option in our descent into poverty. Perhaps the gift-pickup will help us buy more time until we can afford to repair or replace the van.  Count it as another way businesses prey on the poor. If a car dealer can sell a faulty vehicle to someone who is desperate, he will. There is little recourse for an impoverished buyer in this case. We do not have the money to invest in repairs, nor do we have the money to replace the vehicle.

Now that we have a small, steady income, I am starting to set goals again.  We desperately need to replace the washer and dryer as neither appliance works. We cannot consider shopping for new, but the fear of buying yet another broken down, piece of trash discourages me. Dragging the red wagon filled with dripping wet laundry across the yard to the clothes line discourages me too.  I haven't decided which is worse: the possibility of wasting what little money we live on, or dealing with the incredibly dysfunctional, yet known, appliances. These sort of decisions annoy me in their bizarre complexity.  In the past, I would have bought new appliances, complained that my spring was ruined by the cost and inconvenience and paid someone to deliver and install new ones for me. Now I send text messages to craigslist people who never answer back, and wish for the days of the harvest gold Maytag set my, and everyone else's, mother used to have.

In the end, the reality of trying to climb out of this pit is still discouraging as another season arrives. We want to have hope and we continue to try to change our situation, but sometimes... its just so damn frustrating.

Attacked by Dogs

I am too wound up to sleep and I'm wasting hours of darkness replaying the day in my head.  I go over the events in my typical way, overthinking, but unable to stop myself. What should have gone differently? How do we prevent it from happening again?

My three children and two dogs were attacked by a pair of dogs. My oldest daughter sustained most of the damage with her hands bitten when she tried to get the most aggressive dog off of our collie. The collie has bite injuries too, but her massive, rough coat, just recently starting its spring blow, protected her from the worst. Both my sweet girl and her dog will be sore, and they have bites and bruises that will need to heal.  Its the mental parts for both of them that I worry about.

I worry about the two who were hurt, but I also worry about the three that weren't. My princess girl already harbors so much anxiety, born out of could-be-worse incidents and rehab'd dogs from sketchy backgrounds. Its a lot of work and tears to bring a dog out of a bad situation and turn it into something to be proud of. Will this ramp up her stress and anxiety levels to where she won't be able to enjoy her hard work? What about my boy, who himself has suffered several dog bites? Finally, can we deal with it if the big dog suffers a setback in his training and mental well-being? Large, neurotic dogs aren't fun, and I don't have the money to devote to more professional training.

The kids walk the dogs daily--its part of being responsible pet owners. Its getting increasingly harder to be a good pet owner though. In the past year and a half our dogs have been attacked twice by dogs that have broken through fences, four times by small dogs in various settings, and now today's two dogs which ran across a baseball field, large parking lot and street in order to attack my family. There is something wrong with this picture.

My kids and dogs average a friendly following dog every 6 weeks, and we often call owners who act like its our fault their dogs are roaming at large. I've had owners tell me they are too busy and hang up the phone when I've called to let them know their dog was loose. We've only had one dog without a collar that we had to send to the pound.

I worry about the dog that was impounded for biting my girl. If only, if only, if only...

I hate the man who didn't care his dog had injured my child, refused to tell his name, and told me that his dog wasn't at fault. He's ruined the lives of his pets because I cannot stand idly by when he turned his aggressive dog loose near a playground. That dog will probably die because of this. And that was preventable simply by keeping the dog on the leash that the man carried in his hand.

I came back

"You came back," my new coworker said to me on the second day. I laughed and asked if I had messed up enough that I shouldn't have. I wait with the fear punitive and authoritarian bosses have instilled in me since I was 16 at my first fast food job. So far, no one has embarrassed me in front of my coworkers, and no one has told me that I'm making irreparable mistakes. This worries me, what if they aren't telling me that I'm wrong because I'm hopelessly wrong?

I asked, at the end of my first week, if there was anything I should know, and if I was doing OK. I was told everything was great as long as I didn't hide f-bombs in the copy. I should be relieved by this, but I worry. In a world where I know that this part-time job means that we have a small but steady income, I don't want to mess up. The idea of being sent back to poor school, or being forced into the opportunity to work without pay, lurks in the corner of my mind. I can see myself enjoying this job, becoming attached to it, and letting it become part of my identity, and that worries me too. If I become this attached, what would happen if I lost it?

I don't anticipate losing my new job, but we've lost so much in the past couple of years that its not outside the realm of possibility. The instructor at poor school said the fear and worry never completely leave your mind. You may never be comfortable again, even if you become financially secure. I wonder if I will always feel like I'm on the verge of utter destruction for our family with one misstep.

On the first Monday of my second week, my coworker walked past my desk,"you came back," he said with a smile. I asked if that was good, and he said most people would have quit by this point if they were going to quit. I don't say what is on my mind.

__ Days without Incident

Its been 8 days since I received the call that they wanted to hire me.

Its been 7 days since I hated my life.

Its been 6 days since I leaked frustration, anger and fear from my eyes.

Its been 5 days since I worried about how my crutches and problems would be received.

Its been 4 days since I started my new job.


I didn't realize just exactly how destroyed I am by this life of poverty and struggling. It's slightly horrifying that I can see the lack of confidence in my work and in how I interact with my new coworkers. Once, I would have approached this position quite boldly and with no question of my own abilities--now, I'm not as confident.

I am grateful. I work just enough hours to avoid the obligations of free work and poor school. I no longer have to deal with a job coach that treated me like my damaged knees were directly connected to my ability to reason.

Today, I will continue to dig myself out of this grave I've fallen into. I will hide the fear that lives in my chest and I will try to overcome the doubts which continuously niggle at the back of my mind. As I learn my job and responsibilities I might just find myself again--wouldn't that be nice?

Fear and Hope

Some days, I'm really normal. Strangely enough, today started that way. Some days, I start out with an almost normal gait, and I walk short distances just like any other person. Today, I started out that way.  Some days, I feel perhaps we'll be OK. Today, I felt that way. Some days, the fortune cookie is spot on and I can expect a big change for the better in my future.

Today started on Friday though. I saw the ad posted on a job website during my lunch break at free work. The job coach called me about a job and asked me to go into her office. I declined and told her to email the details to me. She hates that, since she thinks I'm not taking her seriously, which frankly, I'm not. Since I'm being frank, I didn't want her even in the same time zone when I prepared that application to go out. It was a job I wanted. The kind of job that if I were still living on our former, comfortable, middle-class income, I would still want it so dearly I could cry. The kind of job that makes my heart skip a beat. I wanted it.

I waited. Fear and hope mingled together and I wanted to jump up and down, or crawl into a den and hide. I mentioned it to my husband, but even then I downplayed my feelings. Saturday, I wrote the cover letter and checked the resume. I waited. Finally, I submitted the application and said a little prayer. It would be waiting for Monday morning, if it made it through an application tracking system. Please let me win this round of "buzzword bingo." Then, the emails started. Not just the automatic replies, but a real person. We set up a phone interview.

I adore phone interviews. They are a chance to avoid face-to-face, which is nice when you've been told that you just don't have the face for a job. Or when the interview is more about your inabilities that have very little to do with your abilities.You learn to appreciate being judged on the words that fall out of your mouth.

An invitation to meet in person. A short test on style. A day of normalcy. An interview that felt less judgmental and more conversational. Always the hope and fear growing and mingling, until I admit to my husband that I want this. The high of feeling OK still coursing through me, I celebrate with a bit of hope, maybe even a tiny nod toward joy. And then the phone call--the call that terrifies and excites, and unleashes so many questions, worries and hopes. 

By the end of the day I'm back to my trusty crutches, worn down by the agony in my knee. But for a day--for such an important day--I didn't lose to the disability. I beat it.