Wednesday, May 6, 2020
Okay, I truly am going to finally finish writing about my great Friday today. My day started not so great, jumped into greatness, slid into annoyance, bounced back to appreciation for the day, and ended with an entertaining conversation with my older daughter, Megan, while she was doing my evening care.
Our conversation started innocently enough. Megan is going back to work at the chiropractor’s office part-time starting Monday. Megan will still get paid her full wages because the chiropractor qualified for, and received, a loan through the Paycheck Protection Program and she was able to work more hours with him since January when her movie theater schedule changed. Megan will be available for 15 massages a week, down from her high of 25. Personally, I am hoping nobody wants a massage for a few more weeks.
Megan trimmed my fingernails Friday morning after my shower, except my right thumb nail. Because I do not have any fine motor skills, my fingernails grow like crazy. Occasionally I will catch a fingernail on one of my doors or gate straps and break it, but for the most part, my fingernails simply grow. Megan does not like to trim my thumbnails. My thumbs have been hypersensitive since I was paralyzed, and I jerk my hand away and gasp when anyone tries to trim a thumbnail. It never hurts because I do not let anyone cut more than halfway toward my thumb, but I “think” it will hurt and react. It is like the fear of getting a shot.
Friday night, I jammed my almost three-quarter inch long nail into the side of my wheelchair, and it hurt. I told Megan if she had cut it that morning, it would not hurt now. Megan told me if I would quit giving her a heart attach because she thinks she is hurting me each time I gasp and jerk my hand away; she could cut my thumbnail. I told Megan she knows I am going to freak out, so she should put on her big girl panties and simply deal with it. Megan looked at me and said, “So you are blaming me for your issues?’
I replied, “I am not blaming you for my psychoticness (yes, I know psychoticness is not a word, but it is what I said); I am blaming you for not properly reacting to my psyhcoticness.” My significant other, Donald, usually cuts my thumbnails. Donald holds my hand tight enough I am unable to jerk it loose and he does not care if he hurts me. He thinks it is my own fault for being a sissy. But my entertaining conversation with Megan does not stop there.
I am not even sure how our conversation strayed into this subject, but at some point, I said to Megan, “I like you better since you moved out.” We might have been discussing her relationship with her dad. Donald is critical of nearly every task Megan does. If Megan does a task one way, it is wrong, if she does the task the way he suggested, it is wrong. I was hoping their relationship would improve after Megan moved out, but since she is still here every day, Donald still complains about her every day.
The reason I like Megan better since she moved out, is because I rarely see her mess. I still get annoyed if Megan knocks an item on the floor and does not pick it up immediately, but I can see an improvement in her overall effort to put items where they belong in my house. When Megan gets here in the evening, she makes sure any dishes she finds downstairs are taken to the kitchen; that almost never happened while she lived here. Megan now returns my empty hangers to the laundry room almost every day; it used to be once a week. I see Megan’s growth since she started learning nobody else is going to do it at her house even if her dad refuses to acknowledge her improvement.
My piece of advice to you is to state the harsh truth. I also told Megan I like her more since she moved out because absence makes the heart grow fonder. When Megan is gone in the middle of the day, I have time to miss her because she is not here to share part of my day with me.
Until next time,
Susanne
Please check out my GoFundMe page.
Okay, I truly am going to finally finish writing about my great Friday today. My day started not so great, jumped into greatness, slid into annoyance, bounced back to appreciation for the day, and ended with an entertaining conversation with my older daughter, Megan, while she was doing my evening care.
Our conversation started innocently enough. Megan is going back to work at the chiropractor’s office part-time starting Monday. Megan will still get paid her full wages because the chiropractor qualified for, and received, a loan through the Paycheck Protection Program and she was able to work more hours with him since January when her movie theater schedule changed. Megan will be available for 15 massages a week, down from her high of 25. Personally, I am hoping nobody wants a massage for a few more weeks.
Megan trimmed my fingernails Friday morning after my shower, except my right thumb nail. Because I do not have any fine motor skills, my fingernails grow like crazy. Occasionally I will catch a fingernail on one of my doors or gate straps and break it, but for the most part, my fingernails simply grow. Megan does not like to trim my thumbnails. My thumbs have been hypersensitive since I was paralyzed, and I jerk my hand away and gasp when anyone tries to trim a thumbnail. It never hurts because I do not let anyone cut more than halfway toward my thumb, but I “think” it will hurt and react. It is like the fear of getting a shot.
Friday night, I jammed my almost three-quarter inch long nail into the side of my wheelchair, and it hurt. I told Megan if she had cut it that morning, it would not hurt now. Megan told me if I would quit giving her a heart attach because she thinks she is hurting me each time I gasp and jerk my hand away; she could cut my thumbnail. I told Megan she knows I am going to freak out, so she should put on her big girl panties and simply deal with it. Megan looked at me and said, “So you are blaming me for your issues?’
I replied, “I am not blaming you for my psychoticness (yes, I know psychoticness is not a word, but it is what I said); I am blaming you for not properly reacting to my psyhcoticness.” My significant other, Donald, usually cuts my thumbnails. Donald holds my hand tight enough I am unable to jerk it loose and he does not care if he hurts me. He thinks it is my own fault for being a sissy. But my entertaining conversation with Megan does not stop there.
I am not even sure how our conversation strayed into this subject, but at some point, I said to Megan, “I like you better since you moved out.” We might have been discussing her relationship with her dad. Donald is critical of nearly every task Megan does. If Megan does a task one way, it is wrong, if she does the task the way he suggested, it is wrong. I was hoping their relationship would improve after Megan moved out, but since she is still here every day, Donald still complains about her every day.
The reason I like Megan better since she moved out, is because I rarely see her mess. I still get annoyed if Megan knocks an item on the floor and does not pick it up immediately, but I can see an improvement in her overall effort to put items where they belong in my house. When Megan gets here in the evening, she makes sure any dishes she finds downstairs are taken to the kitchen; that almost never happened while she lived here. Megan now returns my empty hangers to the laundry room almost every day; it used to be once a week. I see Megan’s growth since she started learning nobody else is going to do it at her house even if her dad refuses to acknowledge her improvement.
My piece of advice to you is to state the harsh truth. I also told Megan I like her more since she moved out because absence makes the heart grow fonder. When Megan is gone in the middle of the day, I have time to miss her because she is not here to share part of my day with me.
Until next time,
Susanne
Please check out my GoFundMe page.