| Mar 09 2012 |
‘When An Unforeseen, ‘Household', Emergency Arose...'
03/09/12
As always to my most dear, sweet, and constant friends, and patient, ever-loyal readers,
I remain-as ever-most grateful for your kind and caring friendship; for your reading my diary entries (which are SO important to me), and for your steadfast encouragement, and simply, ‘being there' for me, when I could find no other, and-in truth-desired no other.
I so often think of you, wishing you wellness, wishing you plenty, hoping for you peace, and a relief from pain (the kind of pain I know so well), and would thus protect you from, if but I could.
Even as we are bound by our varied illnesses, and made to live a lessened life; one that tragically is so devoid of comfort, happiness, or joy, as would make the very angels weep, I know we still must try to live our lives as best we can, and those of you who have spouses and/or children, must often bow to their societal needs, beyond that which, in better circumstance would entail the functions of a ‘normal' family, where even greater love, and harmony might, somehow, allow us some little more breathing space; in fact, the many obligations, and expectations imposed upon us do not stop to acknowledge any illness we might have, or the unimagined pain we hourly feel.
We are not granted succor for our ailments; the clock does not slow to allow us to painfully cross the street, in giving us the extra time we need.
Appointments that are made must still be kept; the car still needs to be in the garage for repair at ten sharp; certainly, we are given no consideration as to when the bills must be paid, and little more when groceries must be shopped for; laundry must be done; somehow, the lawn must be mowed with some regularity. And each, implied necessity to maintain life must be attended to, no matter how we feel; regardless of our pain, or lack of sufficient rest, or lack of energy...all of which you know so well.
Instead, how often are we looked upon with disdain, without caring, or regard; considered, in point of fact, to be lying, lazy, or irresponsible, plying-through a failed medical maze in an attempt to somehow cheat the public of its hard-earned money. While-in truth-as made invisible as we are, we-too-support the common weal; we buy groceries, pay utilities and taxes. We still make, and sustain jobs, and this failed economy, even when we, ourselves, because of our illnesses and agonizing pain cannot suffer personal employment.
Still, even those of us who live alone try at our very best to maintain, and live ‘normal' lives; to participate in a society that largely does not understand us; to more fully enjoy those guaranteed, Constitutional Rights, supposedly granted to all to be able to live as free and safe a life as possible. And to our best extent, secure for ourselves and for our children the Rights of Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness that was secured for us in willing blood, and the sacrifice of human life to keep us free; a sacrifice as old as the establishment of our very Nation. And, even by us, too often taken for granted as our right, when a ‘Googled' look across the globe would accusingly prove otherwise.
However, upon occasion, something in our daily lives we never think about goes wrong within our living spaces; it is then, that we are taken up by surprise and shock, unaccustomed as we are to ‘household emergencies'. The refrigerator that suddenly dies, after twenty years of silent working; the washing machine that-for some unknown reason, now-will no longer spin-dry clothes; the family car that-at the worst possible time, it seems-leaves us stranded, while carrying grocery bags of perishable food.
How greater then, is our surprise and shock, when something that has NEVER broken down, suddenly, and without warning no longer functions.
And so, the true title of this entry, owing to lack of introductory space should be:
‘When An Unforeseen, ‘Household' Emergency Arose...How Easily Failed Was My Ability To Cope, And How Quickly Did My World Fall Apart ‘
For those of you, my dearest friends who better know my situation, and for those of you who don't, my home is a 960 square ft., 24" X 12", thirty-four year old, double-wide, mobile home that I inherited, with the death of my dear mother, in 2008.
I hardly need tell you that there is a marked difference between ‘brick-and-mortar' homes, and mobile homes, which are much less substantial.
When my late mother and father purchased it in 1978, financing was only available for fifteen years, it being (rightly) thought that even a new, mobile home had scarce a chance of lasting any longer than the mortgage time. And such is truly the case, for even with stellar maintenance; practically every mobile home deteriorates, loses value, and-in effect-begins to fall apart well before a ‘regular' home would. They are not built to last.
Interior walls are less than two inches thick, and have no insulation in them; cabinetry is held-together by tiny screws, or brads that rust; and, eventually, the floors have problems, and give ‘way, developing holes. In short, a mobile home just falls apart.
But once, I-in having some extra funds-decided that this would be my home, as it had been for twenty-six years; the ‘extra funds' came from a deceased Uncle, whom I loved greatly, but was completely unaware that a will even existed, or that I was listed among the beneficiaries.
It was not a fortune, but it did allow me to ‘improve' my home by having the floors repaired, getting some furniture, and having the walls painted.
Should you have occasion to view my MDJunction ‘profile', behind me is a kitchen that has remained unchanged, for-in truth-that is precisely where the money ran out.
And since I live in an area zoned ‘rural/agricultural', we've never had ‘city water', or ‘sewage', having, instead, a well, a pump, and a septic tank. Over the years, the septic tank had to be repaired, and the drain fields dug up and replaced. But other than the odd repair to the pump, in thirty-four years, we always had running water to the house. And, frankly, it was something I took completely for granted.
This past Friday night, on my way to bed, I stopped in at the bathroom, for a ‘last' pee call, but when I flushed the toilet...nothing happened; I turned the faucet handle to the sink, and got nothing. I then tried the kitchen sink, still without effect, and, in between the made quickened beating of my heart, I lost control of all my previously assumed, and calm coping skills.
I am sure-now-that my ‘nerves' would have failed me anyway, but this was late Friday night; no way to call anyone; no way TO call anyone; nothing to do but become increasingly anxious, sleepless, and afraid. In my mind, between rushed and repetitive prayers for somehow Divine intervention, was, ‘Oh dear God, what can be causing this? What is wrong?', and, of course, ‘How can I possibly afford to fix whatever it is?'
I firmly believe that somehow, soul, and mind, and body are interconnected in some kind of cosmic puzzle, for, over that weekend, my anxiety-level necessitated extra Klonopin, and I suddenly had an unstoppable and resistant migraine that nearly blinded me, and my pain...oh my dearest friends, my pain became an ugly, rising tidal wave of agonies that knew no relief, and any thought of sleep deserted me, so that, by Monday, I was exhausted and spent. I could not help but use a toilet that would not flush, until it had become an obscenity, and from lack of bathing, I felt slimy, sweaty, loathsome; and all the while, my depression grew and grew out of all bounds, even as I began a barrage of telephone calls to find answers, plans, and-as I actually did-mutter prayers, even as I begged for help from someone, anyone.
My dear cousin said, "If you can't control it, don't worry about it!" Really, all fine and good for someone who still had water, health, money, and none of the pain.
The problem, as it turned out, was that after thirty-four years, my well had run dry, AND had burned up my pump. And just as suddenly, I was left without a ‘game plan', nor any sense of direction; emotionally, physically, and psychologically, the bottom dropped out of my world.
Co-incidentally, that Monday was the day of my cousin's usual, weekly visits. And while his suggestions helped, they did not, could not calm my raging nerves.
Ordinarily, I say my prayers, always hoping for, but actually expecting little for myself, especially when my often, fevered prayers involve a ‘wish list' for myself.
However, angels must have been watching over me, and/or, guiding my actions, as I telephoned our area's ‘Water Board', and had an agent come out to the house THAT day, and tell me that, his report would get for me a new well dug, new pipe, new pump, and new retaining tank; I had told him of my disability. He could see the oxygen cannula running to my nose; perhaps he could assay my desperation; still...I prefer to think of angels, for, on Tuesday (a miracle of apparent, no ‘red tape', which might otherwise have delayed the ‘project' some odd weeks!), a man from a drilling company came out on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, they began to drill my new well, after having cemented-closed the old well.
On Wednesday, I had limited running water to the house, courtesy of their attaching a hose to a neighbor's well...a kindness I will remember, and, in time, acknowledge. Mind you, the running water that I do have is limited, and not suitable for drinking, but why question Providence? Yesterday there was delivered to me twelve, three gallons each boxes of spring water for drinking.
And this I would like you, my dear, sweet friends to consider: since the Water Board determined that their pumping water out of County had so lowered the aquifer in my neighborhood, the ENTIRE project, estimated, easily at $10,000.00 will not cost me a cent; that's right...it'll be free.
And, I should then have a new well, estimated to last another sixty years, much, much greater water pressure than ever I have known (no more dribbling showers !), and a much quicker refill, guaranteeing as much hot water, now, as my hot water heater can produce.
And while I should be amazed, and ecstatically happy, and I certainly am...and grateful beyond measure to whatever Powers that be, the week prior, had almost unraveled me (In almost ‘losing it', I feared I would have to check into a psych. facility), for some reason, I just cannot seem to calm down, relax, or enjoy my sudden blessings. I am still overly jumpy, anxious, and fearful (I guess in that something else might go wrong). I still cannot sleep, and what sleep I get is a blur in total, raging nightmare; neither has my migraine left yet.
I know I am being stupid, but until the job is completed, and all is made right again, I just cannot relax. It is, I am guessing, the gauge-at my age, and illness-of my inability to cope; and in suddenly facing an unavoidable abyss, I took with me my pain, despair, sense of hopelessness, AND helplessness, and of living quite alone, and promptly just fell in. And that it will take some time, before I can crawl out. How fragile, and insubstantial was my ability to ‘deal with it', without falling apart.
My lingering question is: what will happen when, invariably, the next disaster occurs?
Perhaps you, my most kind and gentle friends will know more than I, and can give the answer to it....always, in your demonstrated caring, and forgiving way.
Meanwhile, my dearest friends, and supportive, loyal readers, please, please do take care.
I love you dearly,
‘Zahc/Charles
03/09/12
As always to my most dear, sweet, and constant friends, and patient, ever-loyal readers,
I remain-as ever-most grateful for your kind and caring friendship; for your reading my diary entries (which are SO important to me), and for your steadfast encouragement, and simply, ‘being there' for me, when I could find no other, and-in truth-desired no other.
I so often think of you, wishing you wellness, wishing you plenty, hoping for you peace, and a relief from pain (the kind of pain I know so well), and would thus protect you from, if but I could.
Even as we are bound by our varied illnesses, and made to live a lessened life; one that tragically is so devoid of comfort, happiness, or joy, as would make the very angels weep, I know we still must try to live our lives as best we can, and those of you who have spouses and/or children, must often bow to their societal needs, beyond that which, in better circumstance would entail the functions of a ‘normal' family, where even greater love, and harmony might, somehow, allow us some little more breathing space; in fact, the many obligations, and expectations imposed upon us do not stop to acknowledge any illness we might have, or the unimagined pain we hourly feel.
We are not granted succor for our ailments; the clock does not slow to allow us to painfully cross the street, in giving us the extra time we need.
Appointments that are made must still be kept; the car still needs to be in the garage for repair at ten sharp; certainly, we are given no consideration as to when the bills must be paid, and little more when groceries must be shopped for; laundry must be done; somehow, the lawn must be mowed with some regularity. And each, implied necessity to maintain life must be attended to, no matter how we feel; regardless of our pain, or lack of sufficient rest, or lack of energy...all of which you know so well.
Instead, how often are we looked upon with disdain, without caring, or regard; considered, in point of fact, to be lying, lazy, or irresponsible, plying-through a failed medical maze in an attempt to somehow cheat the public of its hard-earned money. While-in truth-as made invisible as we are, we-too-support the common weal; we buy groceries, pay utilities and taxes. We still make, and sustain jobs, and this failed economy, even when we, ourselves, because of our illnesses and agonizing pain cannot suffer personal employment.
Still, even those of us who live alone try at our very best to maintain, and live ‘normal' lives; to participate in a society that largely does not understand us; to more fully enjoy those guaranteed, Constitutional Rights, supposedly granted to all to be able to live as free and safe a life as possible. And to our best extent, secure for ourselves and for our children the Rights of Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness that was secured for us in willing blood, and the sacrifice of human life to keep us free; a sacrifice as old as the establishment of our very Nation. And, even by us, too often taken for granted as our right, when a ‘Googled' look across the globe would accusingly prove otherwise.
However, upon occasion, something in our daily lives we never think about goes wrong within our living spaces; it is then, that we are taken up by surprise and shock, unaccustomed as we are to ‘household emergencies'. The refrigerator that suddenly dies, after twenty years of silent working; the washing machine that-for some unknown reason, now-will no longer spin-dry clothes; the family car that-at the worst possible time, it seems-leaves us stranded, while carrying grocery bags of perishable food.
How greater then, is our surprise and shock, when something that has NEVER broken down, suddenly, and without warning no longer functions.
And so, the true title of this entry, owing to lack of introductory space should be:
‘When An Unforeseen, ‘Household' Emergency Arose...How Easily Failed Was My Ability To Cope, And How Quickly Did My World Fall Apart ‘
For those of you, my dearest friends who better know my situation, and for those of you who don't, my home is a 960 square ft., 24" X 12", thirty-four year old, double-wide, mobile home that I inherited, with the death of my dear mother, in 2008.
I hardly need tell you that there is a marked difference between ‘brick-and-mortar' homes, and mobile homes, which are much less substantial.
When my late mother and father purchased it in 1978, financing was only available for fifteen years, it being (rightly) thought that even a new, mobile home had scarce a chance of lasting any longer than the mortgage time. And such is truly the case, for even with stellar maintenance; practically every mobile home deteriorates, loses value, and-in effect-begins to fall apart well before a ‘regular' home would. They are not built to last.
Interior walls are less than two inches thick, and have no insulation in them; cabinetry is held-together by tiny screws, or brads that rust; and, eventually, the floors have problems, and give ‘way, developing holes. In short, a mobile home just falls apart.
But once, I-in having some extra funds-decided that this would be my home, as it had been for twenty-six years; the ‘extra funds' came from a deceased Uncle, whom I loved greatly, but was completely unaware that a will even existed, or that I was listed among the beneficiaries.
It was not a fortune, but it did allow me to ‘improve' my home by having the floors repaired, getting some furniture, and having the walls painted.
Should you have occasion to view my MDJunction ‘profile', behind me is a kitchen that has remained unchanged, for-in truth-that is precisely where the money ran out.
And since I live in an area zoned ‘rural/agricultural', we've never had ‘city water', or ‘sewage', having, instead, a well, a pump, and a septic tank. Over the years, the septic tank had to be repaired, and the drain fields dug up and replaced. But other than the odd repair to the pump, in thirty-four years, we always had running water to the house. And, frankly, it was something I took completely for granted.
This past Friday night, on my way to bed, I stopped in at the bathroom, for a ‘last' pee call, but when I flushed the toilet...nothing happened; I turned the faucet handle to the sink, and got nothing. I then tried the kitchen sink, still without effect, and, in between the made quickened beating of my heart, I lost control of all my previously assumed, and calm coping skills.
I am sure-now-that my ‘nerves' would have failed me anyway, but this was late Friday night; no way to call anyone; no way TO call anyone; nothing to do but become increasingly anxious, sleepless, and afraid. In my mind, between rushed and repetitive prayers for somehow Divine intervention, was, ‘Oh dear God, what can be causing this? What is wrong?', and, of course, ‘How can I possibly afford to fix whatever it is?'
I firmly believe that somehow, soul, and mind, and body are interconnected in some kind of cosmic puzzle, for, over that weekend, my anxiety-level necessitated extra Klonopin, and I suddenly had an unstoppable and resistant migraine that nearly blinded me, and my pain...oh my dearest friends, my pain became an ugly, rising tidal wave of agonies that knew no relief, and any thought of sleep deserted me, so that, by Monday, I was exhausted and spent. I could not help but use a toilet that would not flush, until it had become an obscenity, and from lack of bathing, I felt slimy, sweaty, loathsome; and all the while, my depression grew and grew out of all bounds, even as I began a barrage of telephone calls to find answers, plans, and-as I actually did-mutter prayers, even as I begged for help from someone, anyone.
My dear cousin said, "If you can't control it, don't worry about it!" Really, all fine and good for someone who still had water, health, money, and none of the pain.
The problem, as it turned out, was that after thirty-four years, my well had run dry, AND had burned up my pump. And just as suddenly, I was left without a ‘game plan', nor any sense of direction; emotionally, physically, and psychologically, the bottom dropped out of my world.
Co-incidentally, that Monday was the day of my cousin's usual, weekly visits. And while his suggestions helped, they did not, could not calm my raging nerves.
Ordinarily, I say my prayers, always hoping for, but actually expecting little for myself, especially when my often, fevered prayers involve a ‘wish list' for myself.
However, angels must have been watching over me, and/or, guiding my actions, as I telephoned our area's ‘Water Board', and had an agent come out to the house THAT day, and tell me that, his report would get for me a new well dug, new pipe, new pump, and new retaining tank; I had told him of my disability. He could see the oxygen cannula running to my nose; perhaps he could assay my desperation; still...I prefer to think of angels, for, on Tuesday (a miracle of apparent, no ‘red tape', which might otherwise have delayed the ‘project' some odd weeks!), a man from a drilling company came out on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, they began to drill my new well, after having cemented-closed the old well.
On Wednesday, I had limited running water to the house, courtesy of their attaching a hose to a neighbor's well...a kindness I will remember, and, in time, acknowledge. Mind you, the running water that I do have is limited, and not suitable for drinking, but why question Providence? Yesterday there was delivered to me twelve, three gallons each boxes of spring water for drinking.
And this I would like you, my dear, sweet friends to consider: since the Water Board determined that their pumping water out of County had so lowered the aquifer in my neighborhood, the ENTIRE project, estimated, easily at $10,000.00 will not cost me a cent; that's right...it'll be free.
And, I should then have a new well, estimated to last another sixty years, much, much greater water pressure than ever I have known (no more dribbling showers !), and a much quicker refill, guaranteeing as much hot water, now, as my hot water heater can produce.
And while I should be amazed, and ecstatically happy, and I certainly am...and grateful beyond measure to whatever Powers that be, the week prior, had almost unraveled me (In almost ‘losing it', I feared I would have to check into a psych. facility), for some reason, I just cannot seem to calm down, relax, or enjoy my sudden blessings. I am still overly jumpy, anxious, and fearful (I guess in that something else might go wrong). I still cannot sleep, and what sleep I get is a blur in total, raging nightmare; neither has my migraine left yet.
I know I am being stupid, but until the job is completed, and all is made right again, I just cannot relax. It is, I am guessing, the gauge-at my age, and illness-of my inability to cope; and in suddenly facing an unavoidable abyss, I took with me my pain, despair, sense of hopelessness, AND helplessness, and of living quite alone, and promptly just fell in. And that it will take some time, before I can crawl out. How fragile, and insubstantial was my ability to ‘deal with it', without falling apart.
My lingering question is: what will happen when, invariably, the next disaster occurs?
Perhaps you, my most kind and gentle friends will know more than I, and can give the answer to it....always, in your demonstrated caring, and forgiving way.
Meanwhile, my dearest friends, and supportive, loyal readers, please, please do take care.
I love you dearly,
‘Zahc/Charles
No comments:
Post a Comment