Warning: The following contains a great deal of whining.
So let's recap: All of this has happended since May 1.
Since the last solstice, I have been diagnosed with plantar facitus (sp?fallen arches/bone spurs). This made it painful to walk, to do Jazzercise or circuit training -- all of which I love. I have been in the middle of a nightmare of a remodel, in which I gave the opportunity to a friend I figured I could trust. While I can trust him as a friend, the project has been filled with mistakes and hassles. One stress after another.
I healed up from the foot problem only to have my knee start hurting within 24 hours. Could it be a sprain? Bruise? Don't know, but it hurts so bad I can't get a damn thing done. Yard work, gardening, playing with my kids -- all of it painful. Great.
Then, I start feeling weird. Start shivering. End up in the emergency room, thinking I had pneumonia (Again)only to find out I just had some mystery infection that no one could freakin' explain.
I started feeling better and went about my usual routines only to find I am able to express alien green goo out of my left breast. That's fabulous, eh?
Later than same day, I went to a doctor about my knee pain. I have arthritis. It's going to hurt. Maybe I should swim more. Or bike more. But it's just always going to hurt. Great. Just great.
Next I got to spend ten days on vacation. If, that is, you call spending ten days in a double wide trailer with 17 other people, mostly teenage boys, vacation.
So I come home with about ten days to get my kids ready for school in the middle of the chaos of the remodel -- which at this point is just under a week behind, because "someone" forgot to call for the inspection, so the dry wallers couldn't come in, which meant the painter couldn't come in, which meant the floor people couldn't get in, which meant my children would start school living out of boxes and sleeping on couches. Stupidly irritating, but liveable. In the meantime, my husband is grouchy because he can't handle the chaos of the construction.
I go to the doctor, where I fall apart because I'm just a tiny bit stressed out. She comforts and medicates me and then drops this bomb shell:
"You have every sign of being an abused woman."
OK. So I think: "Yes, I know that. People have been telling me that for years. My husband is verbally abusive. I don't, obviously, know what to do about it. But when your doctor says it, that's a whole 'nother level of reality."
I then go to the hospital to get a mammogram. (The hospital is an hour away, so a simple trip is really an ordeal). I wait patiently only to find out they won't take me because the hospital where I got my last mammogram send my x-rays to the wrong hospital. While waiting for nothing, my perpetually painful right leg developed a charley horse which lasted 3 days. (But remember, there's nothing I can do about it, except for lose weight -- duh -- they say that as if I didn't a) know that, b) wasn't trying to do anything about it and c) like the pain is my own fault for my stupidity and lack of personal control. )I leave a message for the doctor -- no one calls me back for two days (four counting the weekend) Only to tell me I have all the signs of the a blood clot. That makes for peaceful sleeping. The muscle cramp goes away.
The green ooze turns out to be nothing serious. A bright spot in a depressing series of events.
I meet my funky acupuncturist. Another cool deal, but while he's helped eliminate most of the pain -- I still hurt. A lot.
So I go to another doctor. He is clearly convinced that I'm a fat stupid woman. He does however inform me after looking at an MRI, than not only do I have a mean case of arthritis, my knee cap is out of alignment and I have a tear in my meniscus. Great.
He, out of the kindness of his heart he tells me, does remove 52 ccs of fluid off my knee and gives me a steroid. (But it won't last he reminds me)Oh! there is a brace that would help, but, of course, my legs are too big to wear it.
As the summer progresses -- Clem continues to be cranky and yes, verbally abusive to the children and me. I talk to friends. I talk to a new counselor.
You know -- I really do try to do all the right things.
I watch my children demonstrate all the signs of living in a verbally abusive home.
So yesterday I tell my husband he needs to move out. He needs to give me a break. He is sick. He has problems and needs to get help.
He admits he has a problem. Agrees to go to counseling. But he refuseds to leave.
So I pick up my kids after school Wednesday and I drive away from the house I love and every material possession I own except a change of clothes and my pickup. I explain to my children what's happening. My two little ones handle it really well. My son is practically giddy. My oldest daughter falls apart. Kicking and sobbing.
We talk. We decide we'll go see my family in Buhl. We'll probably stay in a hotel. Everything will be ok.
My daughter calls her dad, crying. She wants to go home. I talk to him. I tell him I'm not coming home because I'm not going to get yelled at any more. More importantly, my children will not get screamed at anymore.
I always run away from my problems. Married people fight. This is just a bump. Everything is always about me. I never want to change, I always expect him to change. If I want to leave, I should leave the kids at home and go.
Are you kidding me? 12 years of getting yelled at, left out, humiliated, over looked and verbally bashed. Yep, you're right, I am a bitch.
So I go have a lovely dinner with my sister. My kids decide they want to sleep in Shoshone on the farm but at their aunt and uncles house.
We sleep late. I take the kids to school. I have to go back into town to get my oldest because she can't stop crying.
I find out from the counselor that my husband has made a commitment to weekly sessions and further mental health testing. He is contrite. He admits there is a problem, but the counselor warns me my husband's health problems are complicating things and that it will take a while to get a full assessment of where he really is.
I figure that's progress. Maybe I'll just move into another house on the farm. My husband suggests we just sleep in separate rooms. I have one child who wants to leave, one child who wants to stay and one child that could go either way. Upon pressing them, they don't want to stay in the other house because there's no tv. Great.
So I contemplate my situation. He's admitted he has a problem -- huge deal. My kids have been in their brand new bedrooms for one entire week. That's it. I'm exhausted. I'm whatever it is beyond exhausted. I can't think. There is food here. Beds made. I can stay in the extra room for a few days until the final two pieces of carpet come in and then I can fix up the guest room and Clem can stay in there and I will stay in the Master Bedroom and that will be the safety zone for the kids and I. If he starts to yell the kids can stay in there until I can get them out of the house and moved elsewhere.
I've applied for a couple of jobs. I have my name on a waiting list for a rental in town. I think I've been planning and thinking about this for years but my children and husband have been brought into this reality for 24 hours. Take time. Get help. Be prepared. I will be ok.
So I just start to relax. I will point out, however, that my husband starts to watch tv in MY living room. We have gone through this hellish remodel to build him, among other things, a giant DEN -- with surround sound and a big screen and a huge reclining sofa thing and he won't go in there because it's too big and not comfortable for him yet.
Are you kidding?
I sit down in the big "his"comfy couch in the DEN and I watch tv and it's quiet and I'm just about ready to go to sleep and I decide I should check in with my sister who reminds me that I should have left completely and I'm just going back in the snake pit.
So I have failed. Again?
I've had it. I'm doing everything I know how to do. I've jumped through one hoop after another.
When I couldn't lose weight I admitted that I had a compulsive eating disorder and I worked through hours upon hours of therapy to overcome it and I did. And just as I'm starting to get a handle on things my body starts falling apart on me, but I don't give up and every single freaking time I fix one problem another one crops up.
I planned and talked to doctors and counselors to make sure I am indeed being verbally abused and I pray and pray and pray that I'm doing the right things for my children and I really just thought that a good night's sleep in my house that I love might do me some good and then I talk to my sister and as much as I keep reminding myself that I'm in control of my own destiny and I have to do what is right and that no one else matters, all I can hear is that voice in my head telling me I have to get out and then the other part of me shouting that I just need to follow my instincts and take this process one moment at a time and between the two freaking voices I can't freakin' sleep.
I just want to crawl into a hole and sleep and while I'm in there I want the stupid divorce attorney to return my calls because she's in Hailey which is just under an hour away instead of having to call the divorce attorney in Boise which is two hours a way. Then, I want my husband to get a kick in the head and move out before I have to file for divorce to force him to get out. Also while I'm asleep I want this construction to get done -- correctly -- so I can come home to my own house and not hear the sounds of hammers or backhoes or anything else.
I truly don't think that's too much to ask, considering the circumstances.
And, furthermore, I know what you're thinking. Yes Karma you have to get out and then maybe you can take a vacation. I have thought about that, but exactly whom would I leave my children with? Their dad? And if I want to leave I need money so I can't really justify spending money on a vacation, now can I.
So instead I'm going to write because it's what I do and then even though I probably shouldn't I'm going to publish this and then my friends and readers will either think I'm crazy or that they're tired of listening to me whine or they'll be worried about me and try to call and I'll probably be asleep for the first time in months when they call and I'll be so touched when someone calls and it will be a great deal to me and then I'll still be exhausted.
I just really want to know it's all worth it. That all of this has some great divine motivation and I'm getting a big fucking reward -- and I'm really not so self absorbed I'm alienating my friends and family and screwing up my children.
The only thing I do know that when the solstice comes in a few days I'm going to celebrate the end of this wretched summer and pray that autumn, my most favorite season, will bring great renewal.
I think I deserve it, damn it.