This is a story I started to write a while ago about living with chronic illness. And don't worry my financial situation is alright now with proper protections in place so nothing bad will happen should I have an episode of being unwell again.
Names and identifying details have been changed to protect both the guilty and the innocent.
Dreamer.
© Anne Welborn, 2014. 1st draft.
Chapter One: working title: Reality Intrudes.
Bang, bang, bang! With her head still full of the train journey to......... where the hell was it?.... Ruth struggled to get her feet untangled from the blankets.
Bang, bang, bang! For a moment her bedroom lurches as if it doesn't want to connect with her senses and she has to grip the wrought iron post at the end of her bed to avoid falling into the piles of cardboard boxes, clothes and books surrounding the sanctuary of her bed. Glimpses of a barely remembered countryside pass like fog before her eyes accompanied by the staccato rhythm of the railway carriage's wheels.
Bang, bang, bang!
'Crap.' Fully awake now Ruth wraps her tatty gray cardigan more closely around her thin body and makes her way out of her bedroom managing to avoid the obstacles in her path despite the dim half light shrouding the interior of her house. Pausing at her kitchen door she turns the old iron key in the reluctant lock and cracks the door open blinking and attempting to shield her eyes from the light now spilling into her house.
'Yes?'
For a moment she can see nothing, then the form of a man wearing a suit, white shirt and tie and carrying a leather satchel brimming with file folders coalesces as her eyes adjust to the light. The swift silky rub of her cat's fur against her leg tells her that Frit has seized the opportunity to bolt inside. Frit likes visitors even less than she does herself.
'Yes?' she asks again aware that the man is staring at her. It's nothing new, she's used to it now.
He offers some kind of ID. 'I'm a court bailiff......' That's not good, but then he goes on to say, "Does James Anderson live here?'
With a sigh she replies, 'No he doesn't. Look, this happens all the time. They use my address because they think it's funny to have folk banging on my door trying to serve papers while they get away scott free. Last week I had a very unfriendly detective pounding on my door at 5.00 in the morning.'
'Oh do they?' Mr Bailiff looks concerned. He seems like he's a nice guy, pleasant features, a bit overweight, curly dark hair. A nice guy with a crappy job. "I'll make a note of that and tell them back at the office.'
Sighing again she says, 'That would be great, this all gets a bit tiresome.'
He's looking at her again. 'Are you alright?'
'I've been ill for the past few months'. How many times has she had to say that lately.
He's looking concerned now. It's time for the magic phase. 'But I'm getting there.'
That does the trick. All that's left then is a quick apology for disturbing her and he's off trudging down her long cracked concrete driveway.
With the kitchen door closed and the key safely turned again Ruth sighs. Didn't somebody say that every sigh shortens your life? - well there's no hope for herself then. Visits from bailiffs looking for other people were upsetting because she knew very well that it wasn't going to be all that long before they were going to be standing on the doorstep and saying her own name out loud. Amazing really, she could lie in her bed doing nothing but sleep and yet the level of her indebtedness could keep on steadily rising, clicking away the numbers getting larger and larger. Pushing that thought away she filled the kettle and plugged it in. There was nothing she could do anyway and worrying about it wasn't going to lessen her debts.
'Neow.'
Leaning back against her kitchen cabinets Ruth looked down at her cat and smiled. 'What do the other local cats think about you putting an 'N' in meow Frit?' she asked.
'Neow.'
'I thought they might say that. Come on then let's get you fed.' Only when she lifted down the bag of dry cat food from the pantry shelf it felt disturbingly light. There was enough to give Frit her breakfast though, but it looked like she was going to have to go shopping. One last green tea bag in the battered Dilmah tin on the bench backed up that prediction as did the lack of any bread, or peanut butter, but at least there was a lone mandarin in the fruit bowl.
How long was it since she'd last eaten anyway? Ruth wasn't sure, ever since the first few months she'd been ill her sense of being hungry had faded away, which meant that she had to try to remember to eat or else she'd be likely to faint on her feet or do something else equally embarrassing out in public. At least that lone tea bag meant she could at least fortify herself with a cup of tea before venturing out.
Ruth stared at her car, she hated her car. Whatever possessed her to agree to buy the shabby 1980's orange Toyota hatchback she didn't know. She'd much rather be riding her bicycle into the township, only she wasn't up to doing that anymore. It was a small town, people were nice, always offering to drive her places. 'You only have to pick up the phone you know and we'll be right round.'
The problem was though that she didn't like being the object of charity. Call her stiff necked, but she couldn't help feeling embarrassed over having people wanting to rush about after her. She'd given up going to Mass simply because it was too much of an ordeal having to deal with so many folk asking how she was and pressing in on her when her balance wasn't good and she couldn't stand on her feet for too long. Anyway the new priest, Father Andrew, was out of sorts with her after she'd argued with him over the validity of the doctrine of the free spirit. Nothing like being the local heretic to add to the list she supposed.
Her carport and garage was a mess, plastic rubbish bags and cardboard boxes contributed mostly to the disorder with bike frames, old computer parts and busted printers sewn in amongst it for a bit of contrast. Before Ruth had become ill she'd been working on having a proper clean up and the mess bore silent witness to the moment when she'd been stopped in her tracks. For a moment Ruth considered going back to bed, but having spent the past hour peeling off the nightshirt she'd spent the past week in, washing herself and then getting dressed in something passing for decent clothing she decided against letting all her effort go to waste.
Leaning on her stick Ruth slipped the key into the lock and opened the driver's door with the usual sound of grating metal that accompanied that particular task. The mechanic at the local garage had told her that it really needed repairing, only she didn't have the money for that. After tossing her shoulder bag onto the passenger's seat and then her walking stick after it Ruth eased herself into the driver's seat watching to make sure her long skirt wasn't going to end up jammed in the door when she pulled it closed. Trapped, that's how she felt when she had to drive her car. Everything about driving she disliked, reversing, parking, looking for parking so she wouldn't have to walk too far. When she was still able to ride her bike she didn't have to worry about any of that.
Catching sight of herself in the rear view mirror Ruth stared back at the woman in the mirror with her too narrow pale face and sharp cheekbones framed by a paisley headscarf. Dark rings circled her eyes making them look bruised. Deliberately looking away Ruth turned the key in the ignition and after the starter ground away for what almost seemed far too long the engine caught surrounding the car with a billowing cloud of greyish smoke. Wrinkling her nose at the stink of raw petrol Ruth engaged reverse gear. Crak!
Backing down her long driveway was a pain as it always was, but at least there was a place at the end of it where she could turn the car around before heading out onto the road.
'Ruth!' She'd been making her way along the sidewalk to the little local mini-mart run by a pleasant Korean family when she heard a familiar voice call her name. 'Ruth! - lovely to see you out and about.'
'Hello Margaret.' Margaret was Ok, Ruth had first met her at church not long after she'd moved into the district and right from the start she'd been friendly and welcoming. 'I need to buy food for the cat or else there will be a riot'.
'Oh we can't have that'. And after that came the 'question'. 'Now tell me how you're getting on?' At least when Margaret asked the 'question' she really did want to know with a genuine desire to help if she could.
'I'm getting there,' replied Ruth, but because it was Margaret she added, 'I have to be careful though because I still get tired easily.'
'But you are managing alight?'
'Yes,' replied Ruth with a smile, 'I'm managing Ok.' Oh shock and horror among the angels at the dreadful lie.
Unpacking her shopping on the kitchen bench didn't take long. A jar of crunchy peanut butter in the one kilo thrill seeker size, a bag of mandarins, a hundred green tea bags and a load of yesterday's bread purchased cheap from the bakery. At least it was a nice grain bread and the extra would keep Ok in the freezer. Oh and Frit's kilo bag of cat food, mustn't forget that.
Her doctor had almost had a fit when Ruth had told her what her diet mostly consisted of. It wasn't that bad really. Nutritionally speaking it was alright especially when supplemented with brown rice and a helping of steamed frozen vegetables. The trick was to watch out for the specials at the big supermarket at the other end of town and buy plenty when they were cheap. When she'd been well and still working she'd been able to afford what she pleased and could take care to eat a properly balanced diet. Those days were well gone.
It was good to be back home again with the door locked and the curtains drawn. Ruth plugged in her kettle and put a green tea bag into her mug. She'd been promising herself a cup of tea as soon as she arrived back home the whole time she'd been out. As far as having to go down to the township went it hadn't been too bad until that horrible little man she usually tried to avoid had intercepted her. Settling herself on a kitchen stool to wait for the kettle to boil Ruth frowned as she turned the whole incident over in her mind. 'God botherer' wasn't a name she liked to use, but in this case she'd make an exception. Despite knowing that she was an invalid he'd blocked her path and harangued her about the Virgin Mary and her Catholic faith while she'd gripped her walking stick trying to keep her balance. Then he'd had the cheek to try to pray for her and when he'd laid his hands on her shoulders they'd been icy cold despite the thickness of the heavyweight linen shirt and cardigan she'd been wearing. Somehow she'd managed to shrug him off and get to her car, but the whole thing had left a bad taste in her mouth. Martin Luther had a lot to answer for in her book.
She was tired and simply wanted to go to bed, only Ruth knew she had to eat first or else she was going to be worse off. And besides she couldn't take her pain meds on an empty stomach. Making herself grain bread and peanut butter sandwiches and selecting a couple of nice mandarins she laid everything on a plate and carried it along with her tea into her bedroom. Setting the plate down on her bedside table Ruth kicked off her sandals and got under the covers. Sleeping in her clothes was something she would have never done before becoming ill, only in the aftermath of her shopping trip she was too tired and sore to find a clean nightgown and change into it.
Closing her eyes Ruth crossed herself and gave thanks for the food she was about to eat. Eating most of her meals in bed was another one of those things that she wouldn't have done before either, but since she nearly always fell asleep after eating it just made life easier.
Chapter end.
