March 27, 2013 by trixiec67
Yes. That was me. That was a very long time ago.
This evening I pulled some dresses out of the closet to try them on.
You might think I was getting ready for the upcoming celebration of Easter. I have enough dresses. I don’t need a new one. I’m not a person who wears fancy clothes every day of the week. My usual is just a pair of blue jeans and a some kind of decent looking top or blouse.
You see, I don’t work. I started off as a “stay-at-home” mom. I figured when my kids were both all-day school kids, I could find a part-time job during the day. That, however, didn’t happen.
My parents, especially my father, became very ill. I took on the task of being the adult child in the family to take care of their needs because my son was not in school yet. Dad had gotten cancer. He beat it at the age of 74, after all was said and done. Then we noticed he started to forget things. He denied it at first. But things only got worse and I had my mom and my dad to coordinate doctor’s appointments and keep track of medications and so and so forth.
As time went on, my own health began to become affected. After my son was born, I had a fifth miscarriage and was in a bad post partum depression and to make it worse, the loss of a fifth child on top of it. I sought help and trudged along.
In 2009, my daughter and I were in a car crash. It was a snowy January evening. My mind was filled with responsibility. Driving in the car I had taken away from my father, who had gotten lost trying to make a short trip from home that ended up in hours of panic that lasted until 2am, we knew if for the best to take away the car. Yet I was guilt ridden. That fateful night the car hydroplaned into a tree in a median. Thankfully, our little girl was unscathed. The only thing she walked away with from that accident with was fear. I, on the other hand, ended up needing cervical spinal surgery.
That happened in June of 2009. I still wasn’t feeling well. I went to my “lady” doctor. As I had been doing for the prior two years. I again gave my reasoning that the best thing for me would be a hyserectomy. When the philandering, money hungery doctor began arguing with me over “cost of procedure” and that “testing” and the procedure he wanted to run (over and over) which I refused the prior year, showed me that his heart was in his bank account and not with the best interest of his patients. I switched docs. I found a gem of a doc and had the job done in December of 2009.
Let’s just fast forward. My father ended up, after defeating another battle of cancer, passing away in July of 2010. A week to the day after his funeral, I had yet another surgery. This time a lower lumbar surgery to bone graft four discs. I have two titanium cages, two rods and four 60mm screws holding it all in place.
Well, as time has passed, I’m not as strong and resiliant as I used to be. Things are aching. I’m allergic to pretty much all the heavy hitting pain killers. I wouldn’t take them during the day anyway. I have to function and be able to drive to pick up my kids from school. So, I’ve gotten steroid epiduals. The last two were right on the money and have worked wonders which is a good thing. Why? I’m at my limit for the year.
Back to the dresses. As I tried them on, I looked in the full-length mirror. As I looked at myself in each dress, I tried to imagine how I would look after I strapped on a knee brace. Not too bad. Most all the dresses would hide that. They were all long enough. Check.
What about the chair-back brace that I have to strap on around the middle of my waist? It goes around my hips, under my arms at my sides and comes up in the back and velcros across the front. It’s large, cumbersome and black and grey. How’s that going to look over my dress?
Let’s not forget my bilateral wrist guards on BOTH hands (black) for my carpal tunnel syndrome. All the dresses are sleeveless. Won’t those look fashionable? I especially need the wrist guard on my right hand because that is the hand I now hold the cane in when I walk.
I’m forty-six. When did I get so old? That is why I never bother to put anything else on but jeans, even to Sunday Mass. Why bother? I don’t feel normal anymore. I don’t feel like me.
Just for a little while, I wish I could look like me again. Never mind that I now have salt and pepper hair. I just want to feel normal again. I want to feel accepted by my family.
Oh, and all this wasn’t to see how I’d look for Easter Mass. It was to see how stupid I would look when I have to go downtown for my SSD hearing. I’m embarrassed to be seen in public.