Updates are in order as I haven’t about my personal life in a couple of months. I’m still wheelchair bound. I almost fell getting from my recliner to the wheelchair five days ago. My knees started hurting really bad and my legs just locked up. It was a scary morning. It took a lot of effort to get back into my recliner in my bedroom. Been there ever since.

Saw a case worker this afternoon. They offered to get me more services. I’m not getting much of anything right now other than a home health nurse coming in once a week, a psych doctor doing telemedicine every three months, and a home health doctor coming in every six weeks. I can’t even get help with moping the floor or taking out the trash. Mom and Dad still do that, but both are disabled themselves and in their late seventies.

My mom had knee surgery last month. Her mobility is still limited. She has to do physical therapy twice a week until the end of summer.

I used to be in physical therapy. Three times actually since I moved to Oklahoma in February 2023. All three times they gave up on me. I was even in a therapy hospital last September. My knee pain is bad enough I need Tylenol and iboprophen three times a day. In the hospital, they stopped giving it to me even though it was in my notes that I took Tylenol and iboprophen at home. The pain, without the meds, was bad enough I couldn’t even stand up without help. Two other times I tried therapy at home only for the company to give up on me when I wasn’t making fast enough progress. Hell, one ghosted me after only one session. Haven’t heard from him in over two months.

Needless to say, I’m not high on therapy at all. I don’t mind doing the work. I do mind people giving up on me without notice. It’s like they quit on me because I don’t fit into a nice, neat box.

The thing I really need help with is cleaning. Since I can’t get to the bathroom on my own (no handicap access in my house), I have to go into the bathroom in a bucket and have my parents dump it. Beyond disgusting. I can’t even get help with moping the stains off the floor in my bedroom. Needless to say, my room smells like a barnyard, and no one wants to help clean it. Both of my parents are elderly and disabled. They can only do so much. But, damn, I am tired of living around my own pee and poop. People in prison get better services than I do. In short, my life isn’t much better than being in prison.