Rambling

It's been a long time since I posted. I am the single mama of a 4 year old superhero boy with some special needs. I have left an abusive relationship to raise my son alone. I have dropped out of college with crappy grades, gone back, graduated with a 3.7 GPA from one of the best schools in my field, while raising my son and starting a non-profit project to help other parents reach their dreams, while being told that my son probably had a fatal disease 3+ times. buying a house, renovating, becoming a landlord, being told I should not have more children, because they would have “worse” genetic problems, (being told the day I was to get my IUD inserted courtesy of the state and my credit card company,) that they had made a mistake, that my son might still be dying, they didn’t really know, but if he was, it wasn’t from my genes. The state eventually denied my claim, and I am still paying off my medical bills.
I have failed calculus and pre-calculus 4 times, and gotten an A the last time, when I knew that I needed calculus in order to get my business degree. It turns out I am not so terrible at math; it's just that the mere mention of math sends me trembling and quaking, so anxious that I can't absorb anything. I finally hit the right teacher with my last shot, and I worked my butt off, terrified all the way. I graduated with a 3.7 GPA, having technically failed 75% of my classes due to excessive absences. My son has had asthma, seizures, pneumonia, weekly ear infections, fevers, metabolic, genetic, issues....the list goes on. I got to the point where I had to decide whether to keep my ridiculously flexible, though somewhat dissatisfying job in non-profit, or to spread my wings and take a job in business.
My son's medical condition made the decision for me, for so long. With 70+ appointments per year, regular pediatrician for respiratory infections( monthly+), ear infections; weekly-biweekly, pediatric oral surgeon for monthly + checks of impact injuries from walking like a drunken sailor injuries, social security to maintain health insurance to pay for it all, social workers to make sure I wasn’t causing the whole damn thing , annual Early Intervention reviews, committee on preschool special education, recertifying for DSS childcare subsidy, Medicaid, food stamps etc. (separately of course.) (More than 1 per week, during business hours, not counting speech, occupational, and physical therapy.) developmental pediatricians, ENT’s, neurologists, geneticists, lab tests.
I gave up my life here and there, or rather, I tried, but I found that I couldn’t cope without a real life outside of this medical vortex. So, in the meantime (in my”downtime”, I succeeded at my non-profit job, I advocated for those struggling to escape poverty. I explained to those higher ups (who thankfully have never had to deal personally with a system that prefers to keep participants marginalized) that welfare, Medicaid, food stamps, are in general a humiliating bureaucratically impossible endeavor, and that one would be better off staying home and not working as long as possible, because saving money and escaping poverty are not generally encouraged.
And so, I found men, girlfriends, life outside of this crushingly difficult life. I bought a house, a 2 family, inherited the tenants. They hated me, from the get go; called me a bitch and decided I’m a racist because the whole house got fleas and they thought I thought they were dirty, when really, I just wanted them to wash their clothes to kill the fleas. I left a man who loved me, but couldn’t imagine loving my child. I learned to mountain bike, the only time in my week when my mind shuts the fuck up long enough for me to experience true inner peace. Yoga, meditation makes me crazy, I try to sit still and all I hear and feel is guilt, anger, sadness, and regret. There is no time for that in mountain biking., You either focus (for once) on what the fuck it is that you’re doing…or you space out, hit a root or a rock and you whack your head on a tree or a rock…and you learn . … And you begin to turn off the mind. I looked like I had been hit by car for the first few weeks. My gynecologist was convinced that I was in an abusive relationship; until I finally persuaded her to believe that wife batterer’s generally beat their girls from not just the waist down, but the whole body. I wish I could say the same for the experience I have had with my son. I feel as though I have been beaten head to toe, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, medical…
And I am still here. I finally won my eviction hearing. I renovated two flats, not knowing anything much about renovation, but I kept on. They left peaceably enough. My son stopped getting sick. I Jumped ship to sales, where I hear that if you make your quota, nobody cares what you do all day. Ethan got sick day 2, got kicked out of school/ my parents took him since my cell phone was out of reach and didn’t catch the signal. They were miffed. I took him the next day. He was booted at lunch and I had 40 minutes to find someplace non-germpphobic, quiet, familiar…my boyfriend was slammed…a non-profit client took him, and not only that, enjoyed him. Language barrier, they don’t know he’s ”special. “ Sometimes special means not so bad.
I got slammed with a sick child the first week. The second week, when was still sick, but then exhausted, I locked my keys in the car, broke into my own house with 10 minutes to spare. My front door is now duct-taped shut.