Prospective

    Perhaps I am fortunate in an unfortunate way.  I stay home.  I clean when I want, I take a break when I want, I don't do anything---when I want.  How many times have I been told how lucky I am?  Too many.
     I am home due to disabilties. All-Over-24/7 Pain, overwhelming fatigue, panic attacks, depression, to name the headliners.  Yes, I am fortunate.
     I was granted disabilty in 1999, after fighting for two years.  I'd worked all my life up to that point.  First for a demanding, unappreciative, emotionally degrading man, then for a woman with the same "management" style. True, that was only 17 years of my 25 working years. But, the toll that just those two "managers" had on my body and mind was devastating.  Working your ass off and being told it's wrong or not good enough, is not only exhausting, but it breaks you emotionally.  And as it turns out, physically.
     Fibromyalgia is thought to be triggered by trauma or chronic stress.  That I, my sister, and my mother have been diagnosed with it, is no accident.  We lived in stress mode everyday, whether the source of the stress was physically present, or not.  And, I worked for 11 years, in an insurance company, under the same intense stress.  Mistakes were screamed in front of a gathered group of peers.  Many were able to blow her off, but for me it was a continuation of previous degredation. 
     Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is thought to be brought on by a serious infection, such as mono, hepatitis, or today's H1N1.  The body's handy immune system gets so excited at being put to work to fight those infections...it forgets to stop fighting.  It is in full battle mode, fighting even the good stuff.  After time, this wears a body out.  Imagine being a soldier in a battle that never stops and never gives you a break...ever.
     I worked in several jobs, mostly in the insurance industry until 1997, when I was fired for absenteeism. I'd had my son five months earlier.  The Fibro kicked into high gear.  The Chronic Fatigue was exasurbated by the natural sleepless nights of having a baby.  And, borderline Post Partum Psychosis added to the mix, causing me to miss alot of work.  I cried so much at the thought of being fired, but I know now that it was God's time out sign.  And for awhile, a blessing.  I got to be home to raise my son.  My beautiful boy.  The joy that has brought me is immeasurable.  I was able to be home when my stepdaughter got home from school.  No babysitter, no latch-key.  During that time I was looked at with a bit of envy.  All the while, my body screaming in pain; my mind spinning.
     And now, I am going to celebrate 50 years on the earth.  And people look at my staying home differently.  My son is almost 14--quite self-sufficient.  My stepdaughter is a junior in college.  I am still home.  "What do you do for a living", I am asked when I meet new people.  I am embarrassed.  I reply that I stay home.  "Oh, you have kids?"  Yes I do.  "How old?"  My son is almost 14.  And then I have to endure "the look."  By this time, I can read most people.  "Living off the government." 
     My sister was the one that took that feeling of shame and helped me kick it to the curb.  After all, I paid into Social Security for 19 years.  When asked what she does, she tells the inquirer that she worked in the special needs industry until she became ill.  Simple.  That is what I tell you now.  I worked for 25 years, mostly in the insurance industry, until I became too ill to work. 
     God, I'm lucky.