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.

Christmas

It was an overwhelming surprise. I opened the card that came from lifetime friends expecting the usual Christmas greetings. Instead there was a check. My initial thought was we could provide Christmas for the kids. I held onto the card like a secret. I cataloged the possible expenses that always lurk in a family with kids, pets and old cars. Eye exams were coming up and it was possible we 'd need to take care of that. So I waited. Sure enough, the cost of the expensive new prescription for me was only partially covered by insurance. The money would go to making sure I could continue to read for a living, and there would be no Christmas presents.

Its part of stepping back -- providing only for your most urgent needs instead of lesser needs and wants.

I didn't turn down my sister when she asked for the kids' Christmas lists, explaining she wanted to give them gifts of necessities -- socks and underwear, a coat and boots for the one who needed them, pants and shirts for the child who grows at a dizzying rate.

Only one child voiced mild disappointment at not getting something fun. They've learned to hold their hopes and desires to themselves after overhearing conversations with words like mortgage, foreclosure and doctor bills.

And so, the holiday passes with as little fanfare as we can muster. Tired of the holiday long before it got here, I'm ready to pack away the ornaments and tree and return to the simpler worries of daily survival.

The holidays are here

Its the Monday after Thanksgiving, and I do have a lot to be thankful for.  We've managed another year in poverty. With medical insurance from my job I manage to control the pain in my knee a little better. The kids are still fed and we still have water and electricity. We have a vehicle that fits us well enough to get us around town and one that I can use for work.

Our lives are still so very small.  I suppose they will be from now on, and I have accepted that.  No more trips to see family or friends. No improvements to the house, no improvements to the vehicles, or anything else.  We live small and are thankful that nothing big has come up to make things worse.

Christmas is approaching and this year I managed to buy a used Christmas tree ahead of time so we could put one up. I also borrowed a ladder and tested the strength of my knees by hanging the lights on the front of the house. My intention was to be prepared for one last Christmas in the house.

The paperwork sits in the counter waiting for us to fill it out. It will prove that once again we can't afford to continue to live here, but this time we won't have the luxury of the hardship forbearance to help us stay in our home. I make enough money to pay most of the bills with the forbearance but I don't make enough to pay the full payment. From the paperwork its clear that we will lose the house, unless a miracle happens.

So I've decorated.  I don't want the weight of reality to completely destroy the magic of the season. And yet the reality is there will be no gifts for the kids this year, and we will walk through the motions to preserve certain traditions.  The frantic fear of last year is replaced with sad acceptance that we continue to fail.