Shaking the Foundation…

Sometimes I pray that bad things do indeed come in threes. There are times that challenges come at me so fast and furiously that I hope that the after the third one I get a bit of a break. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.

Or there are times like tonight that two challenges have hit close together and I’m braced for the third. And I pray that the saying about bad things coming in threes falters now and again and I have a better day tomorrow. I need something to go right. It would make a welcome change in the constant onslaught of setbacks. I can’t even begin to tell you how badly I need a challenge to have a positive outcome right now. Not just be mediocre, not just be passable or barely acceptable (which is the current definition of a success around here).

The successes that I have are surrounded in sadness these days. Yay, I found a buyer for my favourite lens! But hey, I just had to sell my favourite lens! Yay, I found a buyer for the dining room table! But hey, I had to sell a custom made table that my daughter and I loved!

I need something to high five over, and someone to be there to high five it with.

Late last night I split a tooth. On something really soft (did you know the foods that people most often break a tooth on are soft bread and muffins?)  I’d already taken off my oxygen for the night (you might remember a previous post about moving about too soon after disconnecting. Not good). I wasn’t able to move as quickly as I would have liked towards a box of tissues to spit out the contents of my mouth that were suddenly of a texture they ought not to have been. My tongue had already figured out what had happened, it felt a sharp jag along one of my molars that threatened to cut if I veered too close.

Normally, not a big deal. Make an appointment with the dentist, get it taken care of.

Not quite so fast…

I won’t bore you with the details but I’ll state that I REALLY need a suitable wheelchair. And the friend who took me to my appointment today would gladly beg along with me. The chair I currently have just isn’t working out. The saga continues with the insurance company, I’ve lost track of just how many months this has gone on. And I’ll add that I’ve been made aware that I’ll never again be able to have dental work other than a cleaning done in a dentist’s office. My cardiac issues do not allow for me to be administered the needle for freezing before work begins, if I need so much as a wee cavity filled I’ll need to have the work done in a hospital. I’m one tough cookie, but even I’m not going to have major dental work done without freezing. Though truth be told, at this stage of my illness I wouldn’t be bothering with dental work unless something significant happens like part of my tooth snapping off.

An exhausting trek (and that’s truly an understatement) resulted in a clean-out of what remained of the tooth and a patch job. A patch job that needs to last… well, just long enough.

As I was waiting out the afternoon  in my apartment before the late day appointment, the fire alarm started alarming. I don’t know if there’s even an appropriate word for the sound of the fire alarm. Screech? Scream? Shrill? Whatever the name of the sound, it was driving the kitten absolutely insane. Jumping up on me (with nails primed)  for comfort, then running around madly. The poor dear, and I wasn’t too thrilled about the sound either.

And it kept going, and going. My PSWs have been asked to check in the lobby for notices about fire alarm tests and other building info since I don’t get down there, but there had been no forewarning. Then the fire trucks arrived. I couldn’t see them (I look out over the back parking lot), but there was no question that they were at the front of the building. The alarms kept ringing. And I heard lots of heavy traipsing (firefighters don’t tread lightly in those heavy boots!) Then I could hear my neighbours vacating their apartments to head to the lobby as we’re supposed to do in such a case.

The alarms kept on going. And the realization became more unsettling by the minute that in case of a true fire (and I still don’t know anything about the circumstances regarding the alarms this afternoon except that my nurse said there was a lot of kerfuffle in the lobby as she passed through shortly after) that I was trapped. On oxygen and unable to walk more than a very short distance and most certainly unable to stand for more than a minute or two at a time, I wasn’t going to be able to follow my neighbours. How could I not have considered this possibility as the severity of my disabilities grew? That if there’s a fire I’m going to need to be carried down the stairs?

A few phone calls to make tomorrow to figure out what happens to the disabled when an emergency situation requiring evacuation takes place, I’m not the first person to be in this position, I’m sure there’s a perfectly sensible solution. I just don’t know what it is yet.

A broken tooth and an emergency in my building have tripped me up. Normally they would have been taken in stride, and I would have done what needed to be done. On the outside I’m as calm as can be about these two incidents, yet inside I feel a gnawing feeling that I haven’t been able to shake.Two more reminders of how isolated I am, and how dependent I’ve had to become on others.

I could really do without a third reminder this week.