So I just made a noble attempt at responding to comments, some of them more than a month old. Apologies, and if you commented and I didn’t respond, it’s not because I wouldn’t like to, but there is only so much this body can do today.
I seem to have given up sleep. I slept for at most six hours Sunday night, and maybe four (maybe) last night. I am not able to fall asleep, though, and while I feel kind of fuzzy, I don’t feel sleepy. I don’t know what is up with that, I am hoping the return of my youngest daughter makes some sort of difference. If not, then, I will have to get used to a life with much less sleep than I have been used to. I know it is possible to live like that, I just don’t want to. Well, as long as I keep feeling all right, I suppose it isn’t really important. It is just those long hours at night to sort of wear on one.
We had some excitement over the weekend with a bunch of ‘booms,’ fortunately none of them came close to us. And I didn’t hear about anyone or anything being hit. It is funny how sometimes a boom barely registers, and other times I react with full fight-or-flight – racing heart, dry mouth, wide eyes… I’ve no idea what makes the difference, it has nothing to do with distance, or how many ‘booms’ there are at a time. Anyway, it is curious.
I have something that has been in my mind, and I suppose I could do worse than to write about it here. Both my middle-son and his wife are not talking to me. I really don’t know the story from their point of view, and I’ve written a bit from my point of view here before. Anyway, I’ve been having fantasy conversation in my head with my dil – I really would like to just talk to her, particularly as I seem to have returned to something like relative sanity after being thrown completely off balance by an abusive doc almost two years ago. I would like to be able to at least explain what happened to me – if she still wants nothing to do with me, so be it, but I feel/think that at least she should know exactly what it is she is dealing with. The truth is she never got to know the ‘real’ me, because I’ve been in an emotionally tortured state for almost the entire time I’ve known her. I tried and tried to explain while I was in the midst of the insanity, but of course any explanations came out somewhat insane.
I am doing much better now, and as long as I don’t run into that doctor while driving my van in Be’er Sheva, I think I am good to go. But now – now I have no way to even try to bridge the gap. Maybe it is silly of me to worry about it, maybe I should just let things be; but I HATE being judged by my behaviour during an emotionally unstable time. I am different from that person, in fact I am not really that person at all. My insanity is a sane response to an insane situation. I like the person I am when I am *not* freaking out over abuse, past or present. *sigh*
My dil has no reason to know, to understand. I thought my son would grasp the situation, at least enough to help us navigate through it, but I was wrong. Or he was in his own emotional turmoil and couldn’t cope. I don’t know. How can I know? I just wish we could have a free exchange of information, then maybe retire to our corners to lick our wounds, if necessary, or maybe to process whatever we have learned and try to benefit from the knowledge. *sigh* What do I know about people? Clearly not enough to navigate this particular obstacle patch.
In waiting for the van, I have now spent more than a decent used car would have cost if I had bought one at the beginning of the summer, renting cars, paying for taxis. So, a few months too late, I am hopefully going to buy a decent used car that oldest son, middle daughter and youngest daughter can use to get us around and also to get themselves to places and things that they want to go to. I wish I’d had the money at the beginning of the summer to buy a car – I am basically buying one twice. And I am *not* made of money. Despite the huge sums I’ve been throwing around for a while. So I hope to at least be able to go shopping and to p.t. and such in the foreseeable future, van or no van. I don’t like having to be ferried around, but it is better than just sitting in the house waiting for a mythical van that never seems to actually be here.
And on a side note – I have heard absolutely nothing on the van repairs, if they’ve even looked at it yet. So helpful these people are.
I’ve had to borrow a wheelchair from Yad Sarah, an organization which lends medical goods to people who need them (bless Yad Sarah!) since my wheelchair having been fitted to the van can no longer fold up and go in a car, literally trapping me in the house more effectively than anything else has in all this long odyssey. Having this loaner w/chair, which is bloody uncomfortable even more so than a regular w/c, means that I can, with some difficulty, leave the house in a regular car. Or taxi, but I’ve really had enough of paying other people for the most basic of transportation. I don’t know if I’ve even mentioned here that our moshav has no bus service? There is a rather complicated story attached to that, but for the moment, just let that statement stand.
One of the advantages of it taking me so long to write is that I can share breaking news. The Husband and Oldest Son just got back from a shopping and scouting expedition in a nearby city, where they finally did get some news on my wheelchair van. Apparently it is really, thoroughly, and truly messed up. I’m avoiding the more colourful language here, but if you have no issues with cursing or profanity, feel free to insert some here. The guy at the VW garage says that if it was an ordinary van they would most likely just write it off and get me a new one. What with all the special modifications to make it drivable by me however, there is no saying how it will go. One thing is certain – it is going to be a long and expensive process. Good thing I’d already decided to buy something used, isn’t it?
And so it goes…
I’d best stop, the family is back and there is much to deal with, even if my part is only reminding people what needs to be done, and listening as much and as well as possible when another family member needs to talk. If nothing else, my childhood was really good in preparing me for a role of good listener, even if it took a while to come to fruition. Just ask my kids… 😉
Okay, enough. Be well, all, and Gd bless,
Thanks for being a part of this long, strange odyssey with me.