If It Weren’t For Bad Luck…

…I’d have no luck at all. That’s how the song goes.

Back in 2005, my life was a lot different. I didn’t know my son was sick then. I was in a rut at my job with the newspaper, but still had a great job, and I was getting published a lot. My husband was doing well in his career with heavy machinery. We thought we had it all planned out. We were clueless. 

There is no way I could have prepared myself for the ass-kicking we would take after the newspaper closed. I wouldn’t have believed life could do such a 360 degree turn. First my job, then Dylan’s diagnosis, and then my husband’s job relocated to Ohio. The year of being apart was hell, being back together still weird, all the while trying to help our son get well.

So now is the first week of 2008, and I am already using a personal day. The lab seems to have lost my son’s paperwork, so we have to go back and have his blood drawn again. Thanks to the answered prayers of many, he was approved for a program that will provide Humira at no cost to us! Sweet! We were just about to reach the cap on what our insurance will pay for prescriptions. It will be delivered early next week… and we have an appointment on Thursday so he can learn to give himself the shots. I’m sure he’ll do ok — he is brave and stronger than most. My biggest dread is the side effects. I wish it was me instead.

At work, everyone seems to be taking vacation before we close down. Almost no one showed up today. Honestly, it is all I can do to drag myself in there… there is just a black cloud of hopelessness hanging over us. We have around two months left. I know I will probably use most of my vacation time in doctors’ offices: Dylan isn’t the only who needs to go. As a matter of fact, I wish I could work part time for some good family health coverage. In our situation, insurance is the same as a salary.

I know I’ll be saving one of my personal days for my birthday, so I can be alone and think about life, or mourn the passing of my youth. This year, I’ll be 42. I don’t know where I expected to be at this age, which is probably a good thing. That way I am not disappointed in all the stuff I haven’t done yet. At one point, living in my car, I didn’t know if I would even survive to be this old. So kids, the moral of the story is not to have goals. That might lead to midlife self-scrutiny, and who needs that? 

Before ADT decided they didn’t need us anymore, I liked my job. And I know after being downsized in 2005 that I will miss it. I’ll miss the people. The routine. Feeling productive. I already know how I’ll feel because I’ve been through it all this before. It is insane. A good friend and former coworker, another casualty of the newspaper closing, is also looking at her second downsizing in 2 years. What the hell are we supposed to do? I say go to Florida for a week this summer. Stay drunk. Maybe find a couple of younger men. I don’t think I have relaxed in over two years. Surely I can still fall asleep in on the beach…

Then there’s the part of me that says no way. The last two times I was in Florida with Dylan he was too sick to enjoy it. He barely went to the beach… how could I go without feeling guilty? I wonder if I will ever be able to allow myself little things, like my toes in the sand, without thinking about him? I hope not. After all, he’s my son. I can only hold on to the hope that one day, when he feels better, we can fall asleep on the beach together.