I got the first quote for the gutter work and the bathroom remodel yesterday, and then I had to open my Calm app and meditate for ten minutes to stop the building anxiety.
To answer your questions:
- Yes, this is just the first quote.
- No, I am not obligated to go with this particular company.
- No, I didn’t really think we would be able to afford an accessibility remodel of our bathroom anyway. (But I did let myself hope.)
Thing is, anxiety doesn’t stop to ask questions and then respond reasonably based on the information provided. That’s why I had to diffuse the situation with a few minutes of meditation.
Money is without a doubt one of my anxiety triggers. I’m not going to rehash the details of the medical bills I’m ignoring or let myself relive the nightmares of trying to sell The Condominium from Hell™, but money stress gets to me in a very painful way.
So when I saw the dollar signs followed by numbers WITH COMMAS, it was fight or flight. And since my fight and flight both seem to be broken right now, the result was what I like to call Countdown to Meltdown.
We can keep using our 1963 bathroom for the foreseeable future. If the day comes that I just cannot step in or out of the bathtub, there are more affordable (if a little bit janky) options available. I’ll deal.
However, the gutter and rotting fascia is a problem that needs a solution before it becomes a ginormous problem in need of an even bigger, more expensive solution. I’ve been trying to find other companies to provide a quote on the work without luck so far.
The problems with finding additional service providers:
- Fibro fog makes it hard for me to speak on the phone. I hated the phone before I was sick.
- Web searches for residential construction companies don’t turn up much in the way of results. The one company I did find is the one that provided the aforementioned quote.
- I’ve been pretty much sick since we moved here. We don’t really have a huge network of people to ask for recommendations.
Not that I’ve given up. I’m just not looking forward to the work I’ve got ahead of me.
Thursday afternoon we met with representatives from a local construction company. We’re getting quotes for repairing rotting fascia and soffits and bad gutters. In the next year or so, it will be imperative that we do something to remedy those problems.
Since we were having them come out to the house, we also had them look at our 1960s bathroom. It’d be safer for me not to step over the sides of a tub, so priority uno would be a walk-in shower. But there are other issues to deal with if time and money allow, including a cracked toilet tank, a rusting sink, gross shower doors, and two lights and a bathroom fan all on the same switch. Oh, and the bathroom fan is so loud we had to yell our questions and replies.
“HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THIS TILE?”
“THE TILE. DO YOU WANT TO KEEP IT?”
Yes, getting a walk-in shower for my own safety makes me feel old and infirm. But I’m finally coming around to accepting my fibromyalgia. It’s time to look at ways to make my life easier, not stubbornly insist that I should be able to do things like normal people.
“I have mobility issues,” I told them when trying to explain why I wanted something with the lowest sides possible. (“Mobility issues” is my new go-to for explaining to people that I can’t do jack shit.)
I’m glad I fessed up, though, because they had ideas. Ideas for grab bars and low-maintenance materials.
“Would a corner seat or something be helpful?”
My god, that’s brilliant. “OH! I would love to have a built-in bench at the back of the shower,” I said. While the woman drew it in on a piece of graph paper, I imagined ceremonially going all Office Space printer scene on my drugstore shower chair.
Last night I went to sleep dreaming of a new bathroom, knowing that even if we find the money to get it done it won’t happen until next construction season.
On today’s agenda is a visit from a general contractor to tell us how much it’s going to cost us to replace our gutters, fascia, and soffits.
We love our little home, but there are spots on the front of the house where the gutter is hanging on by a single, rotten wood fiber. Surprisingly, I am not currently battling anxiety over the situation. It’s bad, but doesn’t seem overwhelming.