I feel like a failure.

Our family is small. Me, SpouseKitty, and the kitten (the cute one.) The cute one is also autistic and has just entered womanhood with all its ebbs and flows. SpouseKitty has a bad back and is comfortable only in a recliner at nights (and most of the days.) We've a power wheelchair for Spouse, a scooter really. Think "golf cart for one." We've also plenty of scooter-high dings and scrapes on our entryway, too.

Most of the time, our family is strung like a guitar string: tight enough that we rumble when jolted, but nothing too discordant.

Yesterday was not most of the time.

SpouseKitty, aside from a bad back, has a suspect liver. It went bad, very bad half a lifetime ago. The doctor told them, "Take (SK) home, it won't be long, but at least it won't be painful." Thankfully, they were wrong, but only barely.

Liver tests (blood draws) are a regular part of SpouseKitty's life. This last one was "funny." "Funny ha-ha?" "No, funny as in a three-dollar bill." Uh-oh. Break out the biopsy needle. The eighteen inch biopsy needle. That was SK's yesterday.

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Kitten's yesterday was "how do you spell orthodontics?" Poor girl has or had at one time enough metal in her mouth than most people have in their ear- and other-lobes. Yesterday it was the lower braces. Two hours worth.

You know the drill with new braces. Everything hurts, what doesn't hurt feels funny, what doesn't feel funny tastes funny, what doesn't taste funny just doesn't make you hungry, etc. Yucko.

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And me, at work thinking, "I don't know this stuff, I can't learn this stuff, there's no way I can come up to speed." Quiet frustration and desperation, with a bit of fear and what-if thrown in. I'm not just the sole breadwinner, but also the sole source of medical insurance.

Look above. We've all what's blandly termed, "pre-existing conditions." If it weren't for my job, we'd have no medical insurance. This would be okay (if a bit scary) if we were like a majority of the vast number of uninsured Americans and didn't have as many regular and extraordinary medical expenses. Just the two sections above would have been between $3,000 to $5,000 each.

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Basically, what I'm trying to say is that the Kitty family (snap, snap) was not strung guitar-tight, but more Hitchcock-Psycho-soundtrack-violin tight.

Let's set the ball in motion. Think this video for the sort of chain reaction I'm thinking of: The Honda 'Cog' Viral Advert

Kitten comes back from orthodontists to Grampy and Meme's place with a pack of prescription toothpaste, mouthwash, etc.

SpouseKitty comes back to in-law's (mine, SK's parents) in pain and very spent.

I come back after five days off (that were preceded by 3 days of hell because it was a bad time to take off, but the flights and hotel were already booked) to the stark realization that I don't know even where to begin coming up to speed on my job.

The Kitty family (snap, snap) comes home from Grampy and Meme's / in-law's / parent's (one place, three relationships.) It's only one row of condos away.

It's raining, so Grampy drives SpouseKitty. Kitten and I walk back.

Prescription medicine goes poof.

We start looking.

SpouseKitty asks Kitten "where did you see it last?"

"I don't know."

"Well, think. What did you do when you walked in?"

(Me, I started trying to clear out 5 days worth of laundry...)

"I don't KNOW!"

"Why are you shouting at me? I'm not the one wh--"

"Why are you asking me the same question over and over again? I said I don't KNOW and I DON'T KNOW!"

etc.

Before you know it (but not in a blink of an eye ... this storm was an hour in brewing, simmering and knocking about before it came to that roiling bubble-bubble-trouble-and-toil stage.) I'm trying to calm Kitten down, trying to wave SpouseKitty away because the autistic Kitten is at a point where any words are just further winding up, and SPOUSEKITTY WON'T FUCKING SEE THAT SIMPLE FACT OF LIFE.

Instead, SpouseKitty is constantly repeating to us both, "She can't be allowed to think she'll get away with this."

Memo to SpouseKitty: like most people, autistics HATE being 'talked around' i.e.: talked about in the third person while present. However, unlike most people, autistics already lack social / expressive skills, so this is hitting them at their weak(er) point. While they're upset. How is this a good idea?

Argh. Writing this is going around in circles. Short form, life sucks. Details don't matter. Well, they do, but I'm not focused enough to be able to relate them in a concise manner.