Yesterday turned into a bad, bad, bad, bad day. And it didn't start off so great, either, as I was in a tremendous amount of pain when I awoke. It felt as though I'd spent all my time while asleep stretching my Achilles tendon beyond its capacity to be stretched. If it had "felt" torn, rumor has it I wouldn't have been able to walk at all, so it just felt severely strained.
Off to my PCP I went, as I had an appointment for yesterday, anyway. We spoke of this, and that, and of how I must continue to play the waiting game for the special specialist I'm scheduled to see on 22 June about my CMT. There was nothing truly noteworthy about the visit, save that I got the receptionist to laugh over how life treats us humans. She had shared the news that her father is in the hospital with ravenous cancer, to which I said, "It's odd how life reverses our roles. When we're kids, it's our job to worry our parents to the brink of death. Then, as we grow older, it's our parents who start worrying US to the brink of death." Like getting on the phone with my Dad, who casually reports that he took a fall and has a black eye. It leaves me to wonder how bad the fall really was that a part of his HEAD collided with something.
Becky and I returned home, where I did what I tend to do best after visiting a doctor: I slept. It can't be the physical drain, as I spent last weekend doing much more than visiting a doctor, and was able to remain conscious. The only thing I can think of is that it's so emotionally draining that I needed to shut my brain down.
Upon waking, there was a discussion of what we should do for dinner. Decisions were made, and Becky left for the market across the street to grab a few things, leaving her phone behind. Since it was on silent mode, I never heard it ring, which is why I was surprised when MY phone rang with 'Nita on the other end. There was news, the likes of which most people don't want to receive.
Becky's grandfather took a bad fall. Bad enough to break his hip. He snapped the ball joint at the head of the femur. This turned into a mad rush to find out what's going on, as we were told no one was sure what hospital he'd be staying in, whether or not he'd need surgery, etc. As the night wore on, we learned that surgery needed to happen ASAP, and that the hospital he was brought to was able to find a surgeon to handle it.
There's a part of me that would love to be able to blow sunshine up people's butts, but that would be akin to lying, and I only tell very small white lies that never require repeating. "The cat puked on my orders for blood work, doc. Can I get a new copy?" Things like that. And in the data base that is my brain, I know that hip surgery is one of the more serious operations, especially on a man who is in his mid-70s. Later in the evening, after our argument, I tried to urge Becky to go be with family while her grandfather was on the operating table.
Oh, did I fail to discuss the argument? My bad.
It would be nice if Becky and I had nothing but happiness, sunshine, flowers, and all that happy horse-hockey. But we're human, and humans have disagreements. Once again, I won't discuss what the source was. I don't need to be dragging every piece of dirty laundry we have across the net. But it had us both in tears, and I was right...again...as usual. I can even prove it by handing you this bit of dialogue between her and I:
Me: (Having stated my case calmly and clearly.) Any arguments, objections, comments, random acts of violence against me...?
Becky: You'll notice that I tend to get very quiet when you're right.
Me: But...You're ALWAYS quiet during these arguments!
Becky: You're always right.
Me: (After a moment's pause.) You can't tell me stuff like that. My ego will swell to the point of exploding.
I must say, for the record, that I don't actually enjoy being right all the time. It's like some bizarre indicator that I'm perfect, and I know for a fact that I'm not. Not physically. Not mentally. Not in any way. There's always room for improvement, regardless of who you are. (I'm looking right at you, Charlie Sheen!) And bringing Becky to tears tends to bring me to tears, so it really just sucks all around.
So, it was AFTER the argument that I felt in necessary to share the news that hip surgery is extremely dangerous, and tried to urge Becky to go be with family. I would happily go to, as a show of support, but I pushed my luck last weekend when we visited her family. This leg needs rest!
But wait! There's less!
Less money, that is. I popped onto my bank's site to make sure my Social Security Disability had arrived safe and sound, only to find it not so sound. $385.80 was missing, and this had me scratching my head as to why. There'd been no notification about money coming out, so where was my money?
After several calls, all lasting entirely too long, with various government agencies, I learned that Kansas failed to shut down an aspect of my State benefits. This is causing great confusion throughout the system, and so I've been billed retroactively for my Medicare benefits. Up until now, I've made so little that every State I've lived in has paid for that benefit. But because someone somewhere failed to check a box on their computer, I may well be out that $385.80 forever. And I kind of need that money to live.
Yeah, the last 24 hours have been just great. Here's hoping the rest of this day has some good news for Becky and I.
EDIT: According to information gathered in a return call from the KS welfare office, the problem is here in PA. I really should start practicing my swimming skills once more if I'm going to be making my way through this sea of red tape.