Damned if and when

They mocked me for saying I was hurt. They shouted at me, in front of Mom, almost every weekend for more than three years.

The pandemic slowed them down, but it didn't take long before they were visiting again, un-masked, ready for lunch.

When Dad was in hospice, I incurred a spontaneous nerve-compression injury in my neck. Jeff and Doug refused to believe.

Betimes I felt my forearm pivot in the middle, an impossibility. I was down for most of every day, passed out or waiting to be able to get up.

Dr. Bell said "it sounds like a pain issue," about 2 1/2 years in.

I had been experiencing it as extreme limitation. I could only be up for brief interludes. Most of my time was down, taking weight off my neck. Even that part took a while to learn - that there was no pushing it; I was going to have to lie down for any time I spent up.

The pain was delayed and cumulative. When busy, I'd soon be drawn to a horizontal position. The pain would become prominent - not acute as much as definitive. It wouldn't last long; I'd pass out.

My brothers didn't believe it. They shouted every time I talked about it, so I stopped talking about it.

In September 2021 the surgical institute presented me with a few short-notice options for surgery. I picked the soonest one. In efforts to find a driver, I asked Doug and he helped me. I don't know if he believes that it was real.