| Aug 13 2011 |
08/13/11
So often, there is really nothing to write about; the days are like memeographs ( for those of you who can rememer them ! Plus....I secretly admit that I actually LIKED the smell of the ink that was left upon the paper ); many of them are so much alike, that one--in fact--loses the sense of what day it is, and only a prolonged look at the calendar, or, reminder from a friend serves to jar one back into place and time. It becomes only lightly distressing as there are so many other things that consume one's attention. It goes quite without saying that unending pain, agony, depression , and aloneness, occupies one's time, with time, subdivided into periods of wakefulness, and of broken sleep, remarked, overall, by when it is time to take mediction, regardless of true clock time. ( I learned that long ago ), and that--often--the magic numbers: q4-6 hours mean nothing. I have long since let my pain dictate my medication regime. Some of the remaining time is spent in doctor's offices, waiting for my number to come up, leading, only, to a begged request for stronger meds, or, something...anything, that will take the pain away forever. But you know, as does your PM, that nothing save unconsciousness or death will truly ever take all the pain away.
Some times are spent on the telephone, in brief conversations with friends you have a sneaking impression that--while they may like or love you, can never, ever understand you, and how much of daily living is compromised, or just plain thrown away in idle, painful boredom. Yes...there is always an occasional 'review' of systems, to see--if possible--where all or most of the pain is; the puzzlement of whether you are mildly hungry, or just too nauseous to even think about food. There is always coffee, and although it will offend some, the ever-present glowing cigarette.
There's time, never enough time, for my dog, and of how much I love her, even as she--too--is beginning to be arthritic, and is slowing down, and her bark is rusty; but she is fourteen, older already than I am at fifty-seven. And, she has her own medication now; it is up to me to see when she silently hurts ( I hurt loudly, and longly ), so I can give her her pills. Thank God they are 'liver flavored', as I cannot bear to grab her, and roughly shove medications down her throat; she look at me in disbelief. Is this the same man who says he loves me and promised to take care of me, even as I promised to take care of him ??? Afterwards, she walks into another room, away from me, avoiding me. Who could blame her ? If someone tried to ram a pill unwanted down my throat, I would be fighting, and pissing mad. I recall being entubated while still awake, when I had to have my appendix removed. I know I would not be as tolerant, nor as forgiving as she, for, after while, I hear her claws as they scratch across the wooden floors, getting louder, and louder, until she finds me, and curls up on the rug beside me; for me, it is a forgiveness I have not earned.
Fourteen years ago, she adopted us, my late mother and myself; she had been severely and unbelievably abused, that it took years before certain things no longer frightented her. I wanted whoever had abused her so to suffer the same abuse, but ten times over. Immediately, she loved my eighty year old mother, and followed her everywhere, sleeping at he foot of mom's bed.
But, in my transient musings, I digress, for today, for, I actually happened upon an Angel. I had telephoned my bank to learn what I already knew: that on this Saturday, August 13, 2001, I had exactly $41.27 in the checking account to last me through the month. Of course, we all know it would never last the month, it couldn't possibly. $41.27 was just a tease, a reminder of major deprevation yet to come. I had borrowed some money from a friend I've had to borrow from before, though, somehow, I have always managed to pay it back, and my friend--too--is something of an Angel.
After listening to the canned voice telling me my balance in an inhuman uncaring, 'matter-of-fact' way, like saying to someone, "Your fly is down." And, I was also reminded that I have exactly #3.13 in savings. I had a few questions to ask of an associate about the hoped for deposit,and spoke with Ruth, at BOA. She was kind, seemed concerned ( well, they are all trained to be, aren't they ? ). We went into my checking account, nothing new; but suddenly she said,"Wait a minute, there's something I think I can do", and with that, she managed to credit my checking account with two, former $25.oo account fees, I had not remembered, nor even considered. But Ruth did. In an 'augen blinck', instead of just having $41.27, I now had $91.27, which I know is not much in the celestial scheme of things, but--incontestably--it bought me more time. If she hadn't bothered to look for it, it would have gone unnoticed.
For many, fifty dollars is as nothing; they routinely carry around more than that in their wallets. It is nothing but pocket change to them. They think nothing of blowing it on a whim, nor do they hesitate a second to spend tripple that at a fancy restaurant, for a fancy meal, served, by a fancy waitstaff, which will-- if you'll please pardon the vulgarity--be forgotten with the next day's flush. A'hem.
But to me, trying desperately to live on SSDI, on an amount well below the national poverity level, with no increase in four+ years, or, ever, $50.00--for me--helps pay a bill, buy some food, helps me pay my co-pays to both doctors and pharmacies; it could mean the difference between having milk in the house, or not, or of--sometimes--having food in the house, or not. $50.00 is an enormous sum, to have all at one time...friends, I can hardly imagine it: fifty, single, dollar bills lined up, or stacked up if you prefer. Suddenly, from Ruth's kindness, I was rich, and most importantly, as it isn't even the middle of the month yet, litterally keeps me one step from being out on the street. Maybe she knew that. Maybe, dear friends, you think I am crazy to carry on thusly. But in an 'hieracrchy of need', there is always a 'Primacy' of need, whether its three cigarettes left in a pack I thought empty, or, of being able to have a little milk with my coffee. This is silly, 'though I hope SOME of you will truly understand, but in that instant Ruth gave that money to me, I was as happy as if I had won the Lottery. Distance and time. Only you who are in like circumstance will understand. I'm always vying for distance, from pain, from memory, from life, and--for me--'time' is but an enemy that seeks to cut me into a million pieces of despair, and, without medical respite, does so with startling success. I unsuccessfully fight the years, and the gradual decline of my health to an extent that I will no longer be able to live in my own house, or to care for myself. I fight how the medications have shortened the hours, making me half-resentful, half-grateful; often I stay up until I fall asleep while sitting out at the kitchen counter.
For except for the 'mytery', and for what wonderment I can still muster, really I know what tomorrow will bring. And the day after that. And the day after that. From waking to sleeping what sleep I can manage, days will follow days of seering, lightening pain, depression, despair, uncertanty, agoraphobia...I needn't list them all; it is posted--already--in my 'profile' for all to see. and should it prove to be a mere 'menu' list of accumulated ailments, illnesses, complaints, none of which I would in conscience wish upon anyone, it is, perhaps a 'menu' where no prices are listed. I cannot imagine a total, 'price due' that I can never hope to pay off; it is like a salad bar a thousand miles long, impossible to conceive, and yet, it is all there, all available, all so ready to be read. I urge you, kind friends to look long upon it. Only the neverending pain, embarrassment, lack of volition and of purpose remain as yet unlimmed; in it there is heartbreak; hopelessnes; weariness of a kind unimaginable. And, yes, at times, a willingness to die, in order to find some, lasting repreive. I assure you, dear, and constant friends, that it is ALL true, for I have pledged to never lie to you. And, as always, your most, and thoughful comments, support AND criticisms are of such meaningful importance to me.
But, as I look back on the samness of today, with more regret than hope, I must tell you that--today--I truly happened upon an Angel, and when I took my usual, overly-tired nap, in order to last the evening, I went to my bed more quietly than usual, it was to a peace that I so needed, but a peace I rarely experience.
And so today, from some far-distant banking center, cluttered with the caccophany of ringing telepones, and an hundred operator's voices, I chanced upon Ruth, who in being an Angel, will always be an Angel to me.
Please to recall, dear friends, that 'Ruth' is a prominent name in the Bible. I fully think that this was not mere chance.
I wish for you, my dear friends at MDJunction, your own respite from pain and suffering, from doubt and despair, from suffering that knows no end; to a night of peaceful, restorative, and unbroken rest, to a day--tomorrow--that brings its own mysteries, and miracles, and marvels, and a spark of hope to your very souls. And, I wish beyond wish, that, you--too--will happen upon your own Angel.
With all my life's breath of love, I remain yours'. 'Zahc'
So often, there is really nothing to write about; the days are like memeographs ( for those of you who can rememer them ! Plus....I secretly admit that I actually LIKED the smell of the ink that was left upon the paper ); many of them are so much alike, that one--in fact--loses the sense of what day it is, and only a prolonged look at the calendar, or, reminder from a friend serves to jar one back into place and time. It becomes only lightly distressing as there are so many other things that consume one's attention. It goes quite without saying that unending pain, agony, depression , and aloneness, occupies one's time, with time, subdivided into periods of wakefulness, and of broken sleep, remarked, overall, by when it is time to take mediction, regardless of true clock time. ( I learned that long ago ), and that--often--the magic numbers: q4-6 hours mean nothing. I have long since let my pain dictate my medication regime. Some of the remaining time is spent in doctor's offices, waiting for my number to come up, leading, only, to a begged request for stronger meds, or, something...anything, that will take the pain away forever. But you know, as does your PM, that nothing save unconsciousness or death will truly ever take all the pain away.
Some times are spent on the telephone, in brief conversations with friends you have a sneaking impression that--while they may like or love you, can never, ever understand you, and how much of daily living is compromised, or just plain thrown away in idle, painful boredom. Yes...there is always an occasional 'review' of systems, to see--if possible--where all or most of the pain is; the puzzlement of whether you are mildly hungry, or just too nauseous to even think about food. There is always coffee, and although it will offend some, the ever-present glowing cigarette.
There's time, never enough time, for my dog, and of how much I love her, even as she--too--is beginning to be arthritic, and is slowing down, and her bark is rusty; but she is fourteen, older already than I am at fifty-seven. And, she has her own medication now; it is up to me to see when she silently hurts ( I hurt loudly, and longly ), so I can give her her pills. Thank God they are 'liver flavored', as I cannot bear to grab her, and roughly shove medications down her throat; she look at me in disbelief. Is this the same man who says he loves me and promised to take care of me, even as I promised to take care of him ??? Afterwards, she walks into another room, away from me, avoiding me. Who could blame her ? If someone tried to ram a pill unwanted down my throat, I would be fighting, and pissing mad. I recall being entubated while still awake, when I had to have my appendix removed. I know I would not be as tolerant, nor as forgiving as she, for, after while, I hear her claws as they scratch across the wooden floors, getting louder, and louder, until she finds me, and curls up on the rug beside me; for me, it is a forgiveness I have not earned.
Fourteen years ago, she adopted us, my late mother and myself; she had been severely and unbelievably abused, that it took years before certain things no longer frightented her. I wanted whoever had abused her so to suffer the same abuse, but ten times over. Immediately, she loved my eighty year old mother, and followed her everywhere, sleeping at he foot of mom's bed.
But, in my transient musings, I digress, for today, for, I actually happened upon an Angel. I had telephoned my bank to learn what I already knew: that on this Saturday, August 13, 2001, I had exactly $41.27 in the checking account to last me through the month. Of course, we all know it would never last the month, it couldn't possibly. $41.27 was just a tease, a reminder of major deprevation yet to come. I had borrowed some money from a friend I've had to borrow from before, though, somehow, I have always managed to pay it back, and my friend--too--is something of an Angel.
After listening to the canned voice telling me my balance in an inhuman uncaring, 'matter-of-fact' way, like saying to someone, "Your fly is down." And, I was also reminded that I have exactly #3.13 in savings. I had a few questions to ask of an associate about the hoped for deposit,and spoke with Ruth, at BOA. She was kind, seemed concerned ( well, they are all trained to be, aren't they ? ). We went into my checking account, nothing new; but suddenly she said,"Wait a minute, there's something I think I can do", and with that, she managed to credit my checking account with two, former $25.oo account fees, I had not remembered, nor even considered. But Ruth did. In an 'augen blinck', instead of just having $41.27, I now had $91.27, which I know is not much in the celestial scheme of things, but--incontestably--it bought me more time. If she hadn't bothered to look for it, it would have gone unnoticed.
For many, fifty dollars is as nothing; they routinely carry around more than that in their wallets. It is nothing but pocket change to them. They think nothing of blowing it on a whim, nor do they hesitate a second to spend tripple that at a fancy restaurant, for a fancy meal, served, by a fancy waitstaff, which will-- if you'll please pardon the vulgarity--be forgotten with the next day's flush. A'hem.
But to me, trying desperately to live on SSDI, on an amount well below the national poverity level, with no increase in four+ years, or, ever, $50.00--for me--helps pay a bill, buy some food, helps me pay my co-pays to both doctors and pharmacies; it could mean the difference between having milk in the house, or not, or of--sometimes--having food in the house, or not. $50.00 is an enormous sum, to have all at one time...friends, I can hardly imagine it: fifty, single, dollar bills lined up, or stacked up if you prefer. Suddenly, from Ruth's kindness, I was rich, and most importantly, as it isn't even the middle of the month yet, litterally keeps me one step from being out on the street. Maybe she knew that. Maybe, dear friends, you think I am crazy to carry on thusly. But in an 'hieracrchy of need', there is always a 'Primacy' of need, whether its three cigarettes left in a pack I thought empty, or, of being able to have a little milk with my coffee. This is silly, 'though I hope SOME of you will truly understand, but in that instant Ruth gave that money to me, I was as happy as if I had won the Lottery. Distance and time. Only you who are in like circumstance will understand. I'm always vying for distance, from pain, from memory, from life, and--for me--'time' is but an enemy that seeks to cut me into a million pieces of despair, and, without medical respite, does so with startling success. I unsuccessfully fight the years, and the gradual decline of my health to an extent that I will no longer be able to live in my own house, or to care for myself. I fight how the medications have shortened the hours, making me half-resentful, half-grateful; often I stay up until I fall asleep while sitting out at the kitchen counter.
For except for the 'mytery', and for what wonderment I can still muster, really I know what tomorrow will bring. And the day after that. And the day after that. From waking to sleeping what sleep I can manage, days will follow days of seering, lightening pain, depression, despair, uncertanty, agoraphobia...I needn't list them all; it is posted--already--in my 'profile' for all to see. and should it prove to be a mere 'menu' list of accumulated ailments, illnesses, complaints, none of which I would in conscience wish upon anyone, it is, perhaps a 'menu' where no prices are listed. I cannot imagine a total, 'price due' that I can never hope to pay off; it is like a salad bar a thousand miles long, impossible to conceive, and yet, it is all there, all available, all so ready to be read. I urge you, kind friends to look long upon it. Only the neverending pain, embarrassment, lack of volition and of purpose remain as yet unlimmed; in it there is heartbreak; hopelessnes; weariness of a kind unimaginable. And, yes, at times, a willingness to die, in order to find some, lasting repreive. I assure you, dear, and constant friends, that it is ALL true, for I have pledged to never lie to you. And, as always, your most, and thoughful comments, support AND criticisms are of such meaningful importance to me.
But, as I look back on the samness of today, with more regret than hope, I must tell you that--today--I truly happened upon an Angel, and when I took my usual, overly-tired nap, in order to last the evening, I went to my bed more quietly than usual, it was to a peace that I so needed, but a peace I rarely experience.
And so today, from some far-distant banking center, cluttered with the caccophany of ringing telepones, and an hundred operator's voices, I chanced upon Ruth, who in being an Angel, will always be an Angel to me.
Please to recall, dear friends, that 'Ruth' is a prominent name in the Bible. I fully think that this was not mere chance.
I wish for you, my dear friends at MDJunction, your own respite from pain and suffering, from doubt and despair, from suffering that knows no end; to a night of peaceful, restorative, and unbroken rest, to a day--tomorrow--that brings its own mysteries, and miracles, and marvels, and a spark of hope to your very souls. And, I wish beyond wish, that, you--too--will happen upon your own Angel.
With all my life's breath of love, I remain yours'. 'Zahc'
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