Sunday morning.
Jan. 25th, 2010 01:42 amDidn't sleep much. Hours of sobbing.
My left hip, the one that has not been operated on, is giving me increasing pain at night. With both of them angry at me last night sleep was hard to come by.
Part of this is from scrubbing the tub yesterday, I'm sure. I can't even do simple household chores anymore.
My left hip is deformed, but not as badly as the right was. It's in a "grey zone" of deformity, where some people are crippled and unable to walk by age 19, and some go their entire lives without any problems.
It was thought that after it came through my surgery on the right hip with no symptoms, after so many months of bearing all my weight while my right hip healed, that the left would probably be okay.
It might still be okay. Seven years of compensating for chronic pain and weakness on the right have been hard on it, I'm sure. 12 years if you count from the time the right hip started hurting. If I could get proper physical therapy, I might be able to maintain the left joint and not need to have it corrected.
Getting proper physical therapy has proved to be impossible, though, over the last seven years.
Getting it corrected isn't even an option. It wouldn't be covered by insurance, and the only doctors that do the procedure are out of state. I can't afford to travel. I don't know how much my procedure cost in Boston, but the hospital mistakenly sent me the bills for anesthesia for a few months. The anesthesia alone, for a 7 1/2 hour procedure, cost $17,000.
(The Commonwealth of Massachussetts has a "free care" system for large procedures that are not covered by insurance. Hence that state's lack of concern over health care reform in the US.)
I have always been in too much pain, and too ill from lack of exercise because activity causes pain, to get any job other than the one I'm so fortunate to have right now. One where I can take breaks before the migraine hits, rest and take deep breaths, turn down projects if the effort is too much and will make me sick, and never bring anything home. But it covers nothing beyond rent, bills, and school loan payments.
I'm not sure what to do.
I sort of want to lay down and die.
I feel completely alone. I don't have parents to turn to for help. My siblings can't help either. My friends are kind, and good company, but they can't save me, and I would never expect or hope that they could. It's their job to hold my hand and remember me when I'm dead, but not to save me.
I have Willow to fight for and that's enough for now. But what about when I lose her?
One step at a time, I suppose.
It just all feels like far, far too much to try to deal with alone. I have absolutely no resources. If I had a little cash, or someone to lean on, to hold, I could handle it.
I'm going to end up one of those decrepit wheelchair people out in front of the McDonald house that I walk past every day. Hanging out on the corner with crack dealers, alone, no one to dress or feed them or take them out or give them hugs. If I'm lucky. They're the lucky ones, who waited years on a housing list and somehow got in before they died. Some of them seem vaguely content. I couldn't do it without a pet, though.
...
Headache.
My left hip, the one that has not been operated on, is giving me increasing pain at night. With both of them angry at me last night sleep was hard to come by.
Part of this is from scrubbing the tub yesterday, I'm sure. I can't even do simple household chores anymore.
My left hip is deformed, but not as badly as the right was. It's in a "grey zone" of deformity, where some people are crippled and unable to walk by age 19, and some go their entire lives without any problems.
It was thought that after it came through my surgery on the right hip with no symptoms, after so many months of bearing all my weight while my right hip healed, that the left would probably be okay.
It might still be okay. Seven years of compensating for chronic pain and weakness on the right have been hard on it, I'm sure. 12 years if you count from the time the right hip started hurting. If I could get proper physical therapy, I might be able to maintain the left joint and not need to have it corrected.
Getting proper physical therapy has proved to be impossible, though, over the last seven years.
Getting it corrected isn't even an option. It wouldn't be covered by insurance, and the only doctors that do the procedure are out of state. I can't afford to travel. I don't know how much my procedure cost in Boston, but the hospital mistakenly sent me the bills for anesthesia for a few months. The anesthesia alone, for a 7 1/2 hour procedure, cost $17,000.
(The Commonwealth of Massachussetts has a "free care" system for large procedures that are not covered by insurance. Hence that state's lack of concern over health care reform in the US.)
I have always been in too much pain, and too ill from lack of exercise because activity causes pain, to get any job other than the one I'm so fortunate to have right now. One where I can take breaks before the migraine hits, rest and take deep breaths, turn down projects if the effort is too much and will make me sick, and never bring anything home. But it covers nothing beyond rent, bills, and school loan payments.
I'm not sure what to do.
I sort of want to lay down and die.
I feel completely alone. I don't have parents to turn to for help. My siblings can't help either. My friends are kind, and good company, but they can't save me, and I would never expect or hope that they could. It's their job to hold my hand and remember me when I'm dead, but not to save me.
I have Willow to fight for and that's enough for now. But what about when I lose her?
One step at a time, I suppose.
It just all feels like far, far too much to try to deal with alone. I have absolutely no resources. If I had a little cash, or someone to lean on, to hold, I could handle it.
I'm going to end up one of those decrepit wheelchair people out in front of the McDonald house that I walk past every day. Hanging out on the corner with crack dealers, alone, no one to dress or feed them or take them out or give them hugs. If I'm lucky. They're the lucky ones, who waited years on a housing list and somehow got in before they died. Some of them seem vaguely content. I couldn't do it without a pet, though.
...
Headache.