Yakety Yak

514_400x400_BoardThis morning in the “new” bedroom we woke to mustardy cat yack, turds* and hairballs that looked like turds. 3 of our 4 pets were involved with the misgivings — the one who wasn’t was the one who acted guiltiest (and loudest). Everything is now in the wash, coffee has been drunk and it is time to shake off the night.

Well, night-ish. There’s a letter going to the urologist with an update for my records, as well as an apology for being able to afford neither another office visit nor the medication that costs $300 a month but showed no signs of efficacy after the three weeks of samples. Right now I’d find a way to pay $300 for something that allowed me to fall asleep without worry of wetting the bed (the very one we woke up to this morning featuring unabashed cat purge). The terrible irony of a bladder this spastic is that laying down makes it markedly worse. Now at bedtime I anticipate 10-minute-max periods of rest before I am summoned as though under demonic possession to a toilet; I take a melatonin and pry it kicks in within one of these windows. It is the worst to be minutes from the delicious relief of consciousness and to have to raise your entire sandbag self from bed over and over again.

download (2)This Sx is one I didn’t anticipate so much while embroiled in the worry of things I could better understand — blindness, wheelchairs, et al. I’ve become more than familiar with the arbitrary absurdities of this stupid disease and my phrase of comfort during the worst times has been, “It will pass. It always passes.” That little haven of words is currently being washed out slowly with an ounce or so of liquid at a time.

This is awful, but I can focus on the happier things — there are always happier things. It’s been (approximately) three years since I first bit the big pride bullet and applied for SSDI. After several appeals and securing a lawyer I was finally… assigned a judge. Not a court date, just the judge… but that means the court date is coming and soon will be my brightest chance of convincing the government that I couldn’t possibly make all this up.

And that light at the end of the tunnel feels good.

And light at the end of your tunnel is the best silver lining.



*Cowboy, that rug with the leaves on it is a poor substitute for actual outdoor grass.

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