Plumbing Mental Health Challenge

Today was full of challenges. Just everyday kinds of difficulties that can be exacerbated by a mental health diagnosis. I jumped in the shower to find that there is only the fan of very hot water that no matter the jostling of the faucet, could coax anything other than scalding from it.  A quick Facebook post to ask my do-It-yourself friends led to something called mixer valves.  My background with mixers has much more to do with making cookies or perhaps a pre-COVID party. This time the mixer in question was located somewhere in the bowels of the functional, but quite unique plumbing system in our 1925 house.

To begin the process, all of the one handled faucets must be checked to narrow down who the waterworks culprit was and what to do about it.  There was promise in that the shower faucet was the as yet unidentified corruption in the plumbing link.  Next step, turn off the water in the house so that I could remove the actual faucet handle and find the serial number to order a part.  There are approximately 30 faucets in our house that stop, start and divert streams of water to what appears to be as many divergent receptacles.  And….. they had all not been moved in at least 5 or more years.  With liquid wrench in hand, I began the process of soaking the knobs holding the project hostage while checking out numerous YouTube videos on how to complete the project. 

While the loosening process was at work and the outside temperature was reasonable, it seemed a good day to start the diesel tractor and give the four equine standing looking over the fence, a couple of 900 lb. bales.  I grew up on a farm and know a bit about tractors but am by no means a mechanic.  It became quite apparent that someone…. namely me, had left the key partially on and that I needed to drag the battery charger to the tractor and get the beast motivated.  Finding the battery itself caused a bit of consternation as it is tucked up under the radiator and quite unavailable to the untrained mechanical eye.  More videos and questions to my hubby helped me find what I was looking for and with a short burst of power and my sweetie giving a boost of starter fluid that job was completed, and the boys were happily munching away as I left them with nary a thank you or a nod of appreciation from any of the four.

Back to the plumbing fiasco.  A chat with the son of the former house owner gave me a few more clues but nothing concrete.  My patience was wearing a bit beyond thin by this time as was daylight. I sprayed a couple more faucets and set about sending pictures to my son-in-Law so he can pick up a new mixer valve cartridge and see if we can make progress tomorrow morning. Still no shower for myself or my spouse and my reeking body soaked with Liquid Wrench could really use one.  No amount of Holly Berry hand soap is removing that stench.

I wanted to cry. Even sob and kick something. Yet I take a medication that supposedly keeps my emotions balanced and thus doesn’t let me break into the full fledged torrent of tears that could release some pent-up frustrations.It does help me from going into despair but at the same time keeps me from some of the places my feelings could really benefit me. A small price to pay I surmise for staying out of the cellar of depression but darn I could have used a good explosive cry today.Instead, I made supper, watched TV and crocheted and now am awake beyond my bedtime hoping for a magical fix for the Liquid Wrench aroma that is still lingering.