Steadfast

A tough day. 

I didn't sleep well last night so I woke up exhausted.  It was nice to have both Torbie (who apparently forgave me for "pilling" her with her steroid) and Biscuit (after his nums) in my bed.  I hit the snooze alarm a couple times and enjoyed the company. 

Ron is in excruciating pain and snapping at me on occasion, kind of like a wounded animal.  I have a hard time "not" taking it personally. 

I feel like hey, I'm here to HELP you.  I'm here because I love you.  Please at least speak to me with a nice tone of voice.  I already have to watch my husband suffering in agony - he forget that hurts me too. 

Oh, well.  It's such a freaking cliché, the wounded alcoholic lashing out at his steadfast wife. [sigh]

Work wasn't too bad (except for watching Ron try to stand up).  I even took him out in the wheelchair (normally he pushes the walker).  He was so, pathetically, grateful.  Our driver was early so I loaded him into the vehicle and took the wheelchair back, locked it up (we don't want it walking off).  I put up the carts, loaded the change (we were doing a change dump) on the walker, and pushed the walker out to the front.  I gave Ron the change to hold while the driver locked up the walker. 

We picked up another client, a guy in a wheelchair we've been seeing a lot lately.  He keeps going to the medical center, I suppose for care. 

I was thinking about that, the demise of hope, when someone with a life changing injury gives up.  I never believed Ron would make a full recovery, not after seeing the damage he sustained after the accident.  He would talk a lot at first, about "When I get my legs back".  I even got him to promise to run a half marathon with me when it happened.  Somewhere around the 1-year anniversary of the accident, he stopped talking about it and started talking more about getting around on a day to day basis.  I never told him it couldn't happen (recovery), but I was realistic. 

I had very severe depressions on the anniversary of Ron's accident, every year, for several years.  Now, 13 years later I can handle a lot.  I can even handle the occasional surprise encounter with the man who ran over Ron.  I can even joke with him, smile, and mean it.  That's all God working in me. 

Today I was looking at a Bible Handout photo from 4 years ago.  I looked so bright and happy.  Now I feel so discouraged and oppressed.  One pastor has told me this is spiritual warfare.  I have heard it other places, too.  I don't know if it is or not, or whether I just failed God and am letting my torch sputter.  I still do my God Time, I still do Bible Handouts, not as often, but I go.  I pray for the recipients every day and do what I can to be kind to everyone. 

I just feel like I failed God somehow. 

So, we got to the bank, unloaded. Ron wanted to wait on the steps.  I left him and took the change in and did the deposit.  I came back out and waited. 

The security guard made some odd comments to us ("Oh, you're disabled?" [I had explained why we were waiting instead of driving off], "You must get a lot of money from the government" - "Not as much as you think." I replied).  I finally concluded he had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which explained the inappropriate behavior, standing too close, and "bothering" us when we clearly didn't want to talk. 

Ron had a miscommunication with our driver so we had to wait an hour.  Not fun.  When we got picked up, Ron asked the guy to guy him more vodka.

"You drank it, already?" 
"I only have one left."
"When do you want it?"
"Saturday at the latest." 

Years ago, when he started doing this, he told me, if I informed (the driver) Ron was having abusive blackouts, he would stop buying alcohol for Ron.  I "lost it" during Ron's blackout about 3 weeks ago and informed him Ron was having abusive blackouts.  I was nearly crying. 

He's still buying Ron alcohol.  I'm trying to see some kind of good in that.  If Ron can't use this guy he will find someone else, someone who will probably charge him more money. 

Ron gave him the money as I tried to keep a neutral face.  By this time we were home and I was getting the walker out of the back of the truck.  I positioned it about 2 steps from the truck (I was worried about dinging it) and Ron blew up at me, screaming and waving his hands angrily. 

"If you're that bad" I told him sharply. "You need to be in a wheelchair". 

"No I don't" He groaned as he struggled to follow me into the garage. 

I think so. 

Biscuit just came and sat on my foot.  I can see why some people forsake humans and become "cat people".  It's funny.  I get utterly revolted at the thought of a dirty diaper, but I don't mind doing the litter box. 

I'm sure some human parents feel the same way, in reverse.  "Eww, litter box". 

Funny how people work.  Biscuit is sitting behind me now.  He is such a charmer.  He literally picked me out as I walked down the street, climbed my shoulder like an acrobat, and sat on my shoulder as I waited on the bus.  Then he tried to ride the bus with me. 

He continues to charm, even though he isn't a lap cat.  He's more of a "Sit on the tub mat while Mom takes a shower" type of cat. 

Torbie needs her steroid.  I hate to give her pills.  Not because she is mean, but because she is overall very polite.  She struggles but doesn't fight, and eventually swallows the pill. 

When we got in the house, I took a nap.  I woke up about two hours ago.  I was having a lovely dream about a house in the woods, snow outside, and fresh green homegrown vegetables.  I had friends over, helping me. 

Like I said, a lovely dream.  I hated to wake up but I had to pee.  Oh, and I started my period, finally.  Tomorrow will be the heavy flow day stay close to home or bring a lot of tampons, day. 

I already ate but I may scrounge up a snack.  I already had a protein bar.  I always figure one of those can't hurt. 

I'm going to go dose Torbie now.