by Lillian Csernica on February 3, 2014
I’m feeling a little stressed out this morning. It’s going to be a long week, and it’s already been a long morning. I’m having a mild anxiety attack about once again facing the need to be in at least three different places at once.
John is off on a fieldtrip to UCSC. His counselor invited me to ride along. His aide would be there, and I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being on a school bus with dozens of teenagers in the thirteen to fifteen range. Been there, done that, won’t do it again unless I’m allowed to take a Super Soaker with me. John was mildly disappointed that I wasn’t going with him, but it turns out a disaster of epic proportions has been avoided since I was here at home making phone calls instead of suffering on the bus.
Had a doctor appointment. Lost the calendar page from last year’s calendar where I’d written the date when I made the appointment two months ago. By sheer good luck, I called said doctor’s office this morning to find out the actual date of the appointment and learned I was scheduled to be there in 30 minutes. Rescheduled the appointment, wrote the date down on two different calendars, one here in the office, one in the kitchen. This was not the Big Disaster.
The Big Disaster involved our belief that the all-day appointment for Michael’s new wheelchair customization would be on Wednesday. We’d reorganized nursing care and Chris’ schedule and other related details to accommodate this event. So this morning I called the wheelchair people to confirm the location of the appointment. I was right about the location, but they had us down for THURSDAY. Oh dear God in Heaven, thank You for seeing to it that I caught this mix-up in time. Chris is not going to be happy when I tell him we have to rearrange the schedule again, but at least Michael will finally get his new wheelchair and get all the adjustments made so he’s comfortable in it.
The monthly meeting of my writing group. Today I have to come up with something on the theme of “Love.” This has to be a nonfiction event taken from my life. This is one of those decisions that’s rather like looking at all the different bottles of hot sauce on the market shelf. How brave am I feeling? Do I keep to the jalapeno end of the spectrum? Do I take it up a notch into habanero territory? Or do I just hurl myself into the mouth of the volcano and embrace the Ghost chili?
Yet another appointment, this one with my therapist. She’s going to earn her keep this week, that’s for sure!
Wheelchair Appointment Day. This involves figuring out if Chris takes the day off of work, if I go along, if my sister goes along and I stay home, who picks up John from school, if we should juggle the aide schedule, and what we’re going to do about the nurses. See? Daily life at my house is like playing Jenga. Pull the wrong piece out of the stack and everything falls apart.
There’s nothing official as yet for FRIDAY, but I’m sure some crisis will erupt between now and then. It’s times like this when I almost wish I could get thoroughly plastered and pass out. It’s the escape I want, really, not the alcohol.
Did I mention I have an editorial job to finish, thirty short stories to review, prep work for the April A to Z Blog Challenge, and last but not least, the ongoing editorial work on my own dear novel? Is it any wonder I’m ready to run screaming?
Pray for me. Light a candle. Cross your fingers. Whatever observance works for you. God hears everybody, and I can use all the help I can get!