I don’t want you to assume that I’m depressed, whiny, negative or defeated, but the list of things I can’t do gets longer every day due to complications and side effects from arthritis, diabetes and a smorgasbord of prescription drugs. Here’s my “can’t do” list as of 11 p.m. on April 10, 2014.
I CAN’T WALK. Yes, I use a cane, but most days I can barely make it through the house, and sometimes it takes four rings before I can get up to answer the phone even when it’s right here on the other side of my desk. The pain in my legs, feet and ankles from muscle fatigue, neuropathy and arthritis is beyond overwhelming.
I CAN’T HANG AROUND IN PUBLIC PLACES. I’ve got a problem with bladder control, such as a constant urgency that scares the living crap out of me. At least once a day I can’t get to the bathroom in time right here at home. I’m terrified that I’ll be in a restaurant or a store or playing a slot machine at the Choctaw Casino and pish all over myself.
I CAN’T DRIVE A CAR. I miss driving! But there’s not enough room to stretch my legs or relieve the pressure on my feet and knees when I’m in pain, and the nerve damage in my hands makes it impossible to click a seat belt or hold the steering wheel. For what it’s worth, I’m not too comfortable as a passenger any more, either.
I CAN’T COOK. The reasons are endless, but mostly it’s because I can’t stand for more than three or four minutes at a time (see I CAN’T WALK, above), my coordination is shot to hell and my hands are too damaged to hold knives, pots, pans or kitchen tools. Thank God I can still operate a microwave or I’d starve to death.
I CAN’T DO ROUTINE CHORES. Little everyday projects that people take for granted are a nightmare for me. I can’t empty the dishwasher or dryer because my fingers are useless and everything ends up on the floor. I also can’t carry laundry into the master bedroom, I can’t hook my brassiere, I can’t make the bed and I can’t put away groceries. I CAN’T DO ANYTHING.
I CAN’T HANG AROUND IN PUBLIC PLACES. I’ve got a problem with bladder control, such as a constant urgency that scares the living crap out of me. At least once a day I can’t get to the bathroom in time right here at home. I’m terrified that I’ll be in a restaurant or a store or playing a slot machine at the Choctaw Casino and pish all over myself.
I CAN’T DRIVE A CAR. I miss driving! But there’s not enough room to stretch my legs or relieve the pressure on my feet and knees when I’m in pain, and the nerve damage in my hands makes it impossible to click a seat belt or hold the steering wheel. For what it’s worth, I’m not too comfortable as a passenger any more, either.
I CAN’T COOK. The reasons are endless, but mostly it’s because I can’t stand for more than three or four minutes at a time (see I CAN’T WALK, above), my coordination is shot to hell and my hands are too damaged to hold knives, pots, pans or kitchen tools. Thank God I can still operate a microwave or I’d starve to death.
I CAN’T DO ROUTINE CHORES. Little everyday projects that people take for granted are a nightmare for me. I can’t empty the dishwasher or dryer because my fingers are useless and everything ends up on the floor. I also can’t carry laundry into the master bedroom, I can’t hook my brassiere, I can’t make the bed and I can’t put away groceries. I CAN’T DO ANYTHING.
In light of the above, I guess this makes me an attractive paperweight that knows how to type.
Sam just called. He’ll be home late from work tonight (damn) so I think I’ll shlep myself into the family room to watch a movie and eat things. I’m thinking lots of sugar-free chocolate and a big Coke Zero with Stevita cherry-flavored fake Kool-Aid powder mixed in. Stop laughing. Crap like this makes me happy.
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