A Tear in My Eye Over My Foot

My title sounds to me like a Dr. Seuss parody, doesn't it?

Yesterday I went to the doctor with a list.  My main issue was my foot. 

My ex lost his job and filed for a child support adjustment - fair enough - I might do the same in the same situation.  I needed a letter from my doctor for the child support people stating I am very limited in the money-making jobs I can do.  I can work as long as I don't have to drive there, walk to my desk, wear normal shoes, or put my feet on the ground. 

Apparently the child support people won't take your word for it, which is reasonable - there are a lot of dishonest people out there.  It makes me feel bad that I have to justify my reason for not working a normal job.  Maybe having a two year old at home plus two school-aged kids should be enough. 

It is very difficult today to face the fact that if I wanted to work again, I would have a seriously difficult time finding anything that I could do with these physical constraints.  Today, I look this fact in the eye, and it sucks so much.

Another item on my list for the doctor was a renewal for the handicapped placard for my car.  My orthopedic doctor (the second of two and the best in town) gave up on me and referred me to a pain management specialist.  Then he only gave me temporary parking - only six months worth.

Picture this:  If I go shopping at all, I take at least one of my kids.  I can drive if I wear a special shoe that I invented to cushion my foot when I drive (which my hillbilly ancestors would be especially proud of).  When we get to the store, they push me in a wheelchair, which sounds all good - but they are wild drivers and the aisles at stores tend to be narrow.  I literally got stuck in the bra aisle at Kohl's.  At the zoo, my son almost catapulted me onto the ground three times. 

It's terrifying when they drive me around but sweet they are so enthusiastic trying to help me.  If nothing else, I need a close parking spot if only to minimize our chances of geting killed in the parking lot.  They are really great kids, but I may never give them car keys.  They are crazy drivers for sure.

The doctor wholeheartedly agreed that I need handicapped parking and wrote me a script to take to the BMV.  When I got home I read it.  I cried a little, but nervous laughter prevailed over tears.  The paper explained in detail how I would not be able to walk like a normal person for a minimum of five years.  Five years. 

I know my doctor and know he wouldn't write that if he didn't think it was true. 

At work I always thought in terms of five year plans - what job I wanted to be doing in five years, how I wanted to improve my training so I could have more options in five years, how much money I wanted to make in five years.  Now my five year plan is made for me.   This is it.

I may seem a little down here some days (today for sure) but am normally a perpetual optimist.  I wake up every day holding hope that it will be better next month or maybe in three months, maybe if I lose a few pounds, maybe if I stay off of my foot more.  I always think somehow this is temporary. 

Five years isn't at all temporary. 

I desperately try to find the up side of this today, the thing that makes me be able to cope with this instead of crawling in bed and laying there as long as my family will let me. 

The up side is this:  I can give my kids my full attention for at least five more years.  And I have five years to write novels full-time.  In the last nine months, I have written two.  In three more months I expect to finish one more.  If I keep writing at the same rate while unable to do ordinary work, which seems to be a good pace for me, I could potentially write 15 novels in five years. 

I think the only way I can deal with this today is to take control of my five year plan instead of letting it control me.  I'm working on it....