Last week, the Front Range of Colorado experienced its first winter storm. Over two days, we received almost two feet of snow. The Boulder Valley School District canceled classes Wednesday and Thursday, to the delight of my two children. I'm a paraeducator at my daughter's elementary school, so I got to sleep in, too!
After two housebound days, though, I was relieved to learn that school would be back in session on Friday. It was a beautiful morning, just on the verge of dawn. I gratefully gulped in the clean, cold, fresh air to fill my lungs. As I picked my way carefully down the street, towards my car, a breeze lightly dusted my face with snow.
Then I felt my right foot slip from beneath me.
And down I went, with what I knew immediately was at least a sprain. I managed to dig my cell phone out of my backpack, and phoned my son (age 17) to come out and get me. While he was looking for his shoes, the racket I was making attracted a passer-by and a neighbor, both of whom helped me to my foot (not feet!). I could not bear any weight on the right ankle, meaning most likely worse than a sprain.
Alex came for me, and helped me navigate the 20 yards back into our townhome. He got me situated on the loveseat, with my right foot elevated. I spent the next few minutes doing the mom stuff: calling the kids' schools to excuse them for being late, then calling their dad to drive them to school. The earliest doctor appointment I could get was 10:30, a mere three hours in the future. Due to the aftermath of the snowfall, Yellow Cab could make only vague promises about getting me to the nearest Kaiser Permanente office in a timely manner.
Once the kids left, I was alone on the loveseat, thinking about...things. I am a divorced mom, with deplorable credit, subsisting on a paraeducator's pay, maintenance, and child support. As with so many families, removing any piece of this house of cards, means the whole thing collapses.
Suppose I had messed up my ankle so badly that I would miss a lot of work? I have only so much sick and personal leave. How would I make up the lost income? My kids could always live with their dad, but what would happen to me?
I love my job - working with elementary school aged children, with special needs. I cannot imagine doing anything else with my life, not even being Lady Paul McCartney. Eventually I'd like to go back to college and finish my Bachelor's, in early childhood education. I'd be doing that right now, except my son is a senior in high school, and beginning the college application process; I was advised to wait until we see how much financial aid he will get, before trying for any myself. (OT - I'm hopeful; he's an African-American with above a 3.0 GPA, who is enrolled in the free lunch program, and plays the tuba!)
But back to immediate reality - what if I miss so much work that "my" job has to be filled by someone else? What do I do then? What if I have to do something else for a living? Perhaps I don't have any "inalienable right" to a personally fulfilling and meaningful job - I should just take what I am fortunate enough to get, and be grateful I'm not occupying a refrigerator box beneath an underpass.
My car is a 1984 Volvo station wagon. It needs about $250 of work so that we can drive it at night (headlight issues) and/or in precipitation (windshield wiper motor doesn't work). It was already going to cost more than I could comfortably afford!
And finally - the "sin" all of us commit - I was about to become a major inconvenience to my kids, my ex, my coworkers, and my circle of friends. I would have to beg favors from people I love, who are worse off than I am, with their own lives and commitments. (I wish I could determine where and when exactly charity became something noble to give, but shameful to receive.)
To cut this short, the cab arrived, and the driver did his best to help me into the car. It was mighty reassuring to hear that I, although (shall we say) stout, was by no means as burdensome a fare as Richard Boone! X-rays revealed a pair of hairline fractures of the ankle. I was put into a splint, with a cast to follow this Wednesday. I own a pair of crutches now, "John" and "Paul." I can forget about driving for the next 5-6 weeks at least. (My son could scarcely pretend to be dismayed at that news.)
I feel strongly how I have lucked out with this. My costs so far have been $20 for the nurse visit, $12.20 for the generic Vicodin, and eventually no more than $43 for my share of "John" and "Paul." Of course the cast will cost, too. I have not yet informed the management of my complex about my accident, so I don't know if they will be willing to help pay for this. I'm not a litigious person, but maybe they can budget for some de-icing before someone else falls? The nurse assured me that I would be "quite ambulatory" by tomorrow, and especially after the cast is on. Carpooling arrangements are nearly complete. My son, as he always does, immediately "manned up" to the new responsibilities. He's got only a learner's permit now, so I'll have to ride with him later today to get groceries. (He's also an excellent cook!)
How many people aren't this lucky, though?
Part of the reason I enjoy being a special ed para, is that it's a form of "paybacks." My own kids are just fine: nice, healthy, good-looking, smart, talented. For me to be able to help a 5th grader with an attitude to enjoy a book so much that she insists on taking it home to finish - to watch the triumph on a 1st grader's face as he masters the alphabet - these things help me feel more grateful for the gifts of my own two children.
I figure that, after 6 or so weeks of sitting on my dead arse, I will be more than ready to get up off it and start doing something to spread my good fortune around. By Yuletide I ought to be able to come up with some good ideas, don't you think? I don't know what form it will take, yet. I just know that, probably once again, my white skin, education, and middle class expectations have spared me from disaster. That's an advantage I must spread out and strengthen for everyone.