Is this the worst month of my life? Probably not, but it's pretty close.
ER visits, chicken loss, crashed car, and thousands in vet visits and home repairs. Sorry if all this complaining is cringe. I’m just kind of sad.
I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. with a severe, sharp pain in my lower back radiating down my leg. I’ve had lower back pain for about six months now, and even went to Urgent Care for it in February, where an X-ray revealed… nothing. I was given muscle relaxers and steroids. I’ve just been… dealing with it since then. After a stint working at a drug treatment court, I am deathly afraid of opiates and do not want to be addicted to painkillers, and I’ve not had a primary care doctor in about three years since mine quit — he worked alone, so it wasn’t like a network. I thought with physical therapy, weight loss (lol), and yoga and exercise, I could fix it. I know all the tricks, I know ice and hot and rest and stretch and moves. But yesterday, it just got progressively worse.
It was my night sleeping with Daniel, but he’s a school teacher, so I sent a Google alert asking Ty in the other room to take me to the ER. When Ty came into the room about ten minutes later, he was shaking and near tears. I thought he was sleepy or nervous about my pain. But instead, he informed me that he’d just seen a fox in our yard, and it’d gotten into the chicken run, which had been left open with a few chickens nesting on the roof — we had never dealt with predators here in the suburbs. Never, until now. I knew better. Our run was pretty predator-proof, but if the chickens aren’t in the coop and we let them free range during the day, it doesn’t make much of a difference. Needless to say, free ranging is probably over for a while — only while we are outside with them, during the bright daylight. (Even dusk and dawn are not safe anymore; we think this fox waited for dawn when he knew the chicken coop door would be open.)
Four of our six chickens are now dead. One (Sinead, my favorite and the one in my profile picture on Facebook, for those of you who are my IRL friends) is injured, lacerations in her back, and missing feathers. One (Platinum, my “lowest hen on the totem pole” miracle girl) was hidden so thoroughly we didn’t find her for hours and were surprised to run into her.
We are grateful that the two girls from the original brood still have each other, and we have hopes for Sinead’s full recovery, though nothing is ever certain and she is still in shock and not holding her head up all the way. (She is eating, drinking, can move her wings, has pooped, and even laid an egg today — all good signs.)
And yes, we intend to get more chickens when Sinead is recovered and the coop/run is even more secure. This is, unfortunately, a risk you take. I even actually love foxes, though there is now one that is on my shitlist. I don’t hold predators responsible for being predators. I hold myself responsible for not protecting my chickens enough. I just got too comfortable, and if you know me in real life, you know these chickens are not just livestock to me. They are named, beloved pets who I have held and kissed and nourished with treats and nutrients beyond the mandated survival requirements.
I was crying my eyes out in the emergency room and everyone thought it was from the pain but it was from the chickens. Daniel bravely took care of the horrid aftermath while Ty took me to the ER, where I was diagnosed with a pinched nerve, once again given muscle relaxers and steroids while refusing stronger painkillers, banned from yoga and gardening temporarily, and sentenced to a primary care doctor visit as well as physical therapy and a spinal specialist. I have insurance, but who knows what all this will cost? When we were at home by ourselves sans kids — Daniel came home early — we all cried, we all loved these birds, and we all felt guilty.
The kids went off to school as normal, and my oldest even has a field trip today. I told them to enjoy it as much as possible. My youngest’s birthday was this week and his party is this weekend. We have other big plans with our closest friends too and I’m trying to prepare myself not to be a buzzkill.
On top of this, two days ago, Daniel’s car was (likely) totaled after an accident with a teenager. It wasn’t his fault, and everyone involved was okay. But we’re currently down a car, unsure when we’ll have access to another one.
Weeks ago, Twilight started experiencing several concerning symptoms like not eating, lethargy, and lameness. She is better now, so far, but we had no idea if she would be okay. Three vet visits, one urgent vet care visit, and one veterinary internal medicine specialist later, she’s ended up costing us a few grand.
We never got a certain diagnosis and she was tested for everything with the most advanced IDEXX machines recommended. Antibiotics round two seemed to work, she has no signs of cancer, she is fully vaccinated and spayed, she does not go outside, our other cat Salem wasn’t affected. Whatever it was, I really hope this is the end of the medical saga with our beloved kitten.
Months ago, we had to replace several appliances, the kitchen floor, and our HVAC. They weren’t working, things were flooding or smoking or damaging, and we had no A/C. We are not poor, but with our student loans all back (Thanks Trump) and all these costs, my savings are gone. It’s pretty scary to be a homeowner with two kids and without any savings in an economy like this one. I’m still supposed to fix the kitchen counters and install a sink/cooktop we already bought, but I haven’t had the funds or time to arrange that.
Not to mention, that things have been a lot more stressful for me at work. My job is fine — in fact, things could even be looking up in that regard — but I have had a lot more responsibilities lately that feel like they’re drowning me on top of all this other shit. And no raise yet… maybe soon, but nothing is guaranteed and no basic online content media job of the 2020s is ever gonna be a living wage again.
Even before this, I was dealing with some pretty severe mental illness symptoms as you may remember from one of my last posts. I’m back in therapy. I’ve gained weight and am dealing with severe body dysmorphia and social anxiety as a result, I’ve been intermittent fasting to no avail, and my favorite forms of exercise are now temporarily off-limits. Those suicidal ideation thoughts are present; just like a buzz in my head. I have zero desire to act on them. I don’t want to be dead but I struggle deeply with the prospect of being alive.
I won’t even get into world news events. It’s just pain everywhere. It’s just a complete lack of control over any of my surroundings on this planet. It’s just the constant knowledge of suffering everywhere everywhere everywhere. Palestinians and Jews and civilians and trans people and immigrants and hungry children and refugees. Why them? Why God?
and hey, did I mention my birthday was next week?
So, look. I’m asking for help. I hate asking for help, but I need it. Primarily financial, but if you can’t swing that, it’s okay too. There are way poorer people, there are people out there without food or water who live in constant threat of violence. I get it. No obligations.
The only time I think I’ve ever felt more desperate in my life was in 2015, when Daniel was post-major-surgery and he and my youngest son went to the ER on the very same day (he walked across hot pavement and burned his feet) and I had just moved to Richmond that year and my kids were super young, and I didn’t have Ty yet, and Daniel and I both lost our jobs in the same week, and all my family was back in Tennessee.
Here’s what I’m asking for financially:
Become a paid subscriber of my Dirtbag Christian Substack.
Donate to me on Venmo (@)jennifercmartin or CashApp $jennifercmartin or PayPal jennbo@gmail.com
Visit my OnlyFans. I haven’t updated it in a while, but I will tonight, hopefully. I’m not sure how sexy traumatized and depressed girls are, but I’ll try my best.
Encourage other people to become paid subscribers to my Substack.
Here’s how you can help in non-financial ways:
If you live in Richmond and are physically healthy, we would love to have you come out and help with landscaping and gardening, especially while I’m forbidden from gardening (we have a lot of English ivy on our property, which can hide dens for, you guessed it, foxes — as well as other hazards, like poison ivy and debris)
OR help Daniel with making us a more secure chicken run and coop situation!
OR help me clean my house and stay on top of laundry and picking things up, especially.
If you pray, pray for me. Pray for our family. Pray for our kids who are dealing with a pretty bad loss. And maybe you think it’s silly, but pray for Sinead. Like I said, she is my favorite chicken, and yes, this is the same species I willingly choose to eat, but her getting better would mean so much to me.
Forgive me my social anxiety, the unanswered texts, the canceled meetings, the one-response messages — the constant guilt I feel, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Go on walks with me if you live around here. Like, come to my house and walk around with me — no pressure to clean my house, no pressure to go anywhere or do anything, maybe even let me nervously type on my phone the whole time.
I’m not forbidden from walking! I want to stay active even without yoga and gardening and gym.
Say nice things to me. They mean a lot, especially when I’m so self-conscious recently.
Social media interaction and Substack interaction, shares, comments, likes as much as possible.
Give me tips about fixing sciatica and severe lower back/hip/psoas pain.
Don’t say anything to me about any weight loss or gain. I do not want comments on my body other than like, “damn you hot” haha.
Please, please, please don’t give me any chicken advice unless you’re going to come help or pay for more secure fencing. I am very well-educated about chicken care; but the one night I left the door open… it’s a lifetime of guilt that I will feel. I don’t want to feel worse.
Share positive stories of similar situations in your life that ended up okay.
Keep having good politics, keep being good people, and love all the animals and humans in your life. Forgive often, forgive when it’s hard.
Anyway, I’m sorry for the bummer.
PS. This is probably a very strange place to mention this, but I’d be amiss if I didn’t, because it was one of the only good things that happened this month that didn’t involve my family or food.
On my Platonic Polyamory podcast with Rob and Brandon, we got a very special interview with Greg Saunier of Deerhoof, and part one is up now:
So sorry to read all this. Just subscribed — I’ve enjoyed your writing for a long time, so that’s about the least I can do. One day at a time, or whatever the cliches say. Hang in there.