The Piggy Bank…

I was always good with money. Starting from an early age I had paper routes, babysitting jobs, and even a lemonade stand or two. Bless my neighbours who would fork over a nickel on a hot summer day for a glass of refreshment; my friends and I were unlikely to have had anyone besides those who lived on the street pass by our table with it being a quiet crescent that led to nowhere else.

There was a summer job every year, the one at age sixteen cleaning guest rooms at a downtown Toronto hotel taught me tough lessons about respect and dignity (or lack thereof). I had been hired in another capacity, however when the housekeeping staff went on strike I had to along with everyone else quickly learn what “all hands on deck” meant. I could go into the gruesome details, but I learned how little respect some people have for others with evidence of the messes they leave behind. Sometimes from people you’d least expect. A lesson the universe has tried to teach me over and over again in my adulthood, am I finally learning to steer clear?

Leaving home at a very young age, I had to find gainful employment while still attending high school. One job at Sears in the bedding department (a source of endless amusement for my schoolmates) and also waiting tables at Pizza Hut to get by.

The budget was extremely tight. Like many students I subsisted on a diet of instant soup and ramen noodles. A car was necessary to get back and forth to school and jobs, thank goodness I’d saved and invested my earnings from earlier years to buy that old rust bucket of a gold Hondamatic (I’m showing my age). Even with the tight budget, I understood the value of looking out for my future and opened up my first RRSP (retirement savings plan) at sixteen.

I even managed to go to university on my savings, but my money ran out mid way through second year and I had no choice but to quit and work full-time. This may help you to understand why, although it’s for different reasons, it’s so difficult for me to watch my daughter leave school at this time.

My habit of watching out for the pennies never wavered. Before getting married seven years ago I was so very close to retiring my mortgage on a house in Toronto and had a healthy retirement fund. Some of you know that didn’t turn out so well in the end for me financially. I’m left with deep regret for making decisions during my marriage that I believed were for the overall financial health of our family if looked at it as a long term objective, but ended up being very poor choices indeed when my marriage ended suddenly. Hindsight…

Today, I’m back to that student budget. It is what it is. A reminder yesterday of just how embarrassed I am to be in this situation when a health care worker asked me if I’d moved in to my apartment in the last few weeks. The furnishings are sparse, and as in my student days boxes double as furniture. When friends or my nurses visit in my bedroom, they either jump on the bed or sit on outdoor chairs loaned to me.

Besides living with a very strict financial budget, a budget of another sort needs adhering to. That of my energy. Of the two, this is the one that I find more of a struggle these days.

After another recent downturn in my health, I’ve realized that it wasn’t just a bad patch. It’s just bad. To be simplistic, let’s say that in one twenty four hour period, my reserves will allow for:

100 steps. 5 minutes of standing. 500 spoken syllables. 15 minutes of sitting upright. 10 minutes of reading.

Out of that reserve come trips to the bathroom, maybe about 7 steps each way. A visit to the kitchen for a glass of water might be 35 steps round trip. Answering the apartment door? Probably 15 steps each way.

Standing is the really tough one. Part of that allotment is already shot with walking in the apartment.

Where does the wheelchair fit in? It’s reserved for the rare trips outside of the apartment door. It’s impossible to wheel the chair within the apartment while trying to keep the oxygen hose out of the way, and the carpeting (good Lord, I detest that carpet!) makes it difficult to manoeuvre the chair with my limited arm strength.

As for the syllables, I dearly miss my long conversations with friends. I waste my words in discussions that I’d rather not be having as I try to wade my way through endless red tape.

Where do I fall into debt? Laundry, meal preparation (heating up food is the extent of my cooking repertoire now), opening and closing the window in the apartment for temperature control. Part of that debt is recouped by taking strong pain meds, and I’ve written about the consequences of taking those. It’s a loan that carries an exorbitantly high interest rate.

It’s taken me a long post to get to the point that I started out with in my head. I only have so much energy and I’m pushing the boundaries every day. If I don’t reply to an email or phone call promptly, I truly apologize. If I ask to cut a visit short or cancel altogether, I know you understand – but also know that I’d rather I’d had the energy for a proper catch up.

Being with the ones I love and enjoy spending time with is my top priority. I hate that other chores as basic as taking my daily shower chip away at that small reserve of energy.

As for writing the blog, it’s therapeutic for me and keeps me busy in the hours in which I’m awake but it’s too late to have visitors or chat on the phone (and my dear readers, thank you for coming back. Consistently more than two hundred of you visiting every single day). I have a system worked out now with a bed table to hold my laptop, my phone, remotes, iPad and notebook and pen within easy reach. Meal replacement drinks within steps, and I’ll admit that a supply of chocolate is usually not too far away either.

Adhering to a strict budget of any sort can be challenging. The cutbacks I have to make on my expenditure of energy are by far the ones that hurt the most. They cost what is dearest to me, and put me in a position of feeling more isolated than ever.