I keep putting it off and pushing it back - "Oh, I'll write at 7 o'clock, when this show is over, at 9 o'clock..." And somehow now it is after 10 o'clock, and I haven't put two words together. I know you all are shocked at my procrastination skills.
I do have good news to report, however: Mom is home from the hospital, and, while pretty exhausted (anyone who thinks a hospital stay is restful and recuperative has obviously never had one), she's doing pretty well. Got some stuff to follow up with in the next couple of weeks, but definitely a lot better than she was. (She ate food. Voluntarily. Twice today that I know of. It has been weeks since that happened, so that's a big step forward.)
Also, I didn't procrastinate all day: I did in fact make cookies today. Hooray for following through on something. I made two batches of cookies, froze half and baked half - because we honestly don't need five dozen cookies on just any regular day, like today, and because there's nothing better than knowing that all I have to do is cut a chunk of the frozen batch and I can have a couple of warm cookies any old time I please. Plus: I am already there doing it, all of the ingredients are out, I might as well throw it together. It doesn't take very long, the second batch, and I can do it while I'm waiting to pull the first round out of the oven.
I also attempted to make a no-roll pie crust, and froze that as well. I'm hoping for homemade pie crusts for my Thanksgiving pies this year, and meant to start two months ago, trying to settle on a recipe I like - and then things (my body, other people's bodies, the world at large) kept going wrong, so here I am just starting. I am not a huge fan of the crust part of pie, for some reason, and pie dough rolling is nearly impossible for me, strength-wise, so it's hard to make my own. I usually resort to the store bought, but I know it's not the best ever. (And I like to make best ever pies, so it's a conundrum.) I found a recipe on the internet for no-roll crust, and I'm going to see how that turns out. It was wicked easy to make, but the recipe doesn't say anything about freezing it, long term, so I'm sure there will have to be a practice run on the pies before Thanksgiving rolls around. (And I am not even thinking about the fact that that only gives me two weeks. IGNORE.)
Still, although I am currently sore as all hell, I love baking, and wish it was something I could do more often. It takes a lot out of me, partly because we don't have a table at the right height for me to cook on, so I have to hop up and down from the counter in order to see into the mixer and make sure I'm doing things right. (Oh, standing: why are you so difficult?) And the hopping is exhausting, but I haven't figured out a better way yet. (Recently, they put a long table in the kitchen for me to try, but someone must not have liked it there because before I even got a chance to try it, it was quickly moved back into the dining room. That's ok, because I think it is still too high, but I kind of wish I could've tried it first.) But hopping and soreness aside, I do have a bunch of mini-chocolate chip or butterscotch cookies to nibble on for my snack tonight, and that certainly tips the scales in favor of baking, however I accomplish it.
Pro tip: I realize that some of you probably already know about this, but it is my favorite cookie-related tip in the universe, so I'm passing it along anyways. When you're storing your cookies, like in a tupperware container or something (we use old takeout containers: reusing for the win!), put a piece of bread in there with the cookies, to keep them soft and moist. For whatever reason (and I know I am a geek, but I am not a science geek, so I can't explain it), the bread will get hard and stale, but the cookies will not. Change the piece of bread every couple of days - if your cookies last that long - and the cookies will stay nice and fresh longer, which comes in handy if you are mailing baked goods as well. (And the bread you can use for homemade croutons, if that appeals to you, but I don't like croutons, so I just toss it.)
Time for that snack I was talking about... Thanks for all the well wishes for my mom; they are much appreciated.
Showing posts with label Mum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mum. Show all posts
Friday, November 11, 2011
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
I'm a little bit behind today because, in addition to other fascinating developments, my mom was admitted to the hospital last night. It's only a semi-big deal, because she was admitted because of really low potassium levels, after a week and a half of not really eating. So, dehydration plus, basically. The plus is: what caused the nausea that made it impossible for her to eat for almost two weeks? Originally, we thought she had the same bug I had, but since mine turned out to be my gallbladder, it's hard to imagine that that would be contagious.
Then she figured that it was switching from one dose of meds to a larger dose, which is still the leading theory, but because they're not sure, they spent the day ruling things (like her gallbladder!) out, just in case. And she still there tonight because of another 'just in case': her EKG was slightly abnormal, and the potassium is not as high as they'd like it, so one more night of observation it is.
It's frightening, even though I know she's in there for a minor issue, to see your mom laying in a hospital bed. And she was in great spirits - mostly like her normal self, just hooked up to an IV and the oxygen cannula (she's got breathing issues that come from smoking for 35 years, so that's why the oxygen stuff). It definitely gives you an odd twist to your gut - My mom, while not exceptionally healthy, has managed to not be admitted to the hospital since she delivered her last child - the child who'll be turning twenty six years old come January. That's a pretty good streak, and there definitely feels like something's wrong to have it broken.
The thing is, my dad deals with that odd twist of the gut in all the wrong ways: I know that he has some pretty poor coping mechanisms - we've talked about his issues with alcohol before, for example - but one of the worst is his ability to catastrophize (I think that's a word, but spell check says no: my psychology background says yes.) It's just ridiculous: since coming home at nine o'clock last night, I have heard about three 'they were so young' deaths; the time when he was a teenager and his grandmother had a stroke and he came home to an empty apartment; and how the neighbor down the street caught MRSA while he was in the hospital for a routine surgery. He told me about his friend's sister-in-law who won the lottery - $60 million - eleven months ago, and then dropped dead last week.
And I know - I know - that he doesn't mean to be annoying, and that his mind is going there because he's worried, but for god's sake - stop putting those images in MY brain!! And the thing is, he doesn't understand boundaries. So I can say, while he's telling this first story about an 18 year old who got hit by a bus, survived and then was killed by an infection in the hospital, that I don't want to hear about these things right now. That tragedies are not exactly what I need to be focusing on at this particular moment in time. That he is stressing me the fuck out.
And he'll stop. Sometimes in the middle of the story, most of the times he finishes it and then says "Ok, I get ya."
But then 20 minutes later, he's back at my door, armed with a little bit of small talk - how was dinner? is the music too loud? do you know how to make quiche? - and somehow it gets from there to tale of a 45 year old wife and mother who was smothered in her sleep by a guy she met online. And when I tell him, more forcefully now, that I need him to shut up and keep that crap to himself, he'll make a serious face, and say things like "Well, it's life; that's life, and you have to remember that." Or when I interrupt him and tell him to knock it off, he'll nod and say "Dad's stupid; he's a guy; what do you want from me?" (I don't even know what that means).
Worst of all, he's talking about how horrible his life will be without mom, and how miserable he is that she's just not here right now. Meanwhile, I can't even get into how many issues they have with each other, or how I'm not certain, most of the time, that they even want to exist on the same planet as each other, but whatever: Sure, your relationship is AWESOME, super, Perfect!!! So there's a bit of denial there, (a bit: ha!) , and then there's the fact that he wants to play Who'll Be Worse Off when my mom dies.
A) NO - I don't want to talk about that.
B) It's stupid to be thinking about this right now, when she's in for dehydration, which is something they can easily fix, and yes, it's worrisome, but (I can't type the rest of that sentence about how it's not serious without it feeling jinxy, but pretend I wrote that, ok?)
C) WTF? Why is this necessary? ALL OF OUR LIVES WILL BE HORRID WHEN THIS HAPPENS so why are we even asking this question???
D) Why are we asking it right now, when B) and we're already nervous about the damn thing?
E) Why are you an asshole? Really - why?
Then he started talking about how she's his wife and that relationship is so vital to him, he won't know how to go on. (I . Can't. Even. ) And she's "just" my mother, and yes, it would be difficult for me, especially me, since I'm so dependent on her, but she's his wife, and that's a whole nother level that I just wouldn't understand.
And then I punched him in the face.
No: Unfortunately I did not. But I shut him off damn quick, because HELL NO. At first, while he was spouting off that last bit, he looked at me, sort of waiting for me to be all "Oh, yes, of course: you will have it much worse than me", and then he saw my face, and he stopped talking post haste. I could see that he wanted to be all explain-y and start justifying what he was saying - because it's a goddamn contest to see who's suffering more? - and I just said "We are Done. Talking. About. This. Now." and he thought twice about whatever it was he was going to say.
Which is good, because otherwise, I probably would have punched him, and then neither of my hands would have been workable for typing out this post, but that's another story, and tomorrow's another (NaBloPoMo) day. In the meantime, we could use some positive vibes over here, if you've got any to spare. Between cancers and gallbladders and hospitalizations and arguments and tension and just getting through the day, I say a few stray happiness vibes are just about due in our neck of the woods.
Good night, bloggy world: Let's all hope tomorrow's a better day.
Then she figured that it was switching from one dose of meds to a larger dose, which is still the leading theory, but because they're not sure, they spent the day ruling things (like her gallbladder!) out, just in case. And she still there tonight because of another 'just in case': her EKG was slightly abnormal, and the potassium is not as high as they'd like it, so one more night of observation it is.
It's frightening, even though I know she's in there for a minor issue, to see your mom laying in a hospital bed. And she was in great spirits - mostly like her normal self, just hooked up to an IV and the oxygen cannula (she's got breathing issues that come from smoking for 35 years, so that's why the oxygen stuff). It definitely gives you an odd twist to your gut - My mom, while not exceptionally healthy, has managed to not be admitted to the hospital since she delivered her last child - the child who'll be turning twenty six years old come January. That's a pretty good streak, and there definitely feels like something's wrong to have it broken.
The thing is, my dad deals with that odd twist of the gut in all the wrong ways: I know that he has some pretty poor coping mechanisms - we've talked about his issues with alcohol before, for example - but one of the worst is his ability to catastrophize (I think that's a word, but spell check says no: my psychology background says yes.) It's just ridiculous: since coming home at nine o'clock last night, I have heard about three 'they were so young' deaths; the time when he was a teenager and his grandmother had a stroke and he came home to an empty apartment; and how the neighbor down the street caught MRSA while he was in the hospital for a routine surgery. He told me about his friend's sister-in-law who won the lottery - $60 million - eleven months ago, and then dropped dead last week.
And I know - I know - that he doesn't mean to be annoying, and that his mind is going there because he's worried, but for god's sake - stop putting those images in MY brain!! And the thing is, he doesn't understand boundaries. So I can say, while he's telling this first story about an 18 year old who got hit by a bus, survived and then was killed by an infection in the hospital, that I don't want to hear about these things right now. That tragedies are not exactly what I need to be focusing on at this particular moment in time. That he is stressing me the fuck out.
And he'll stop. Sometimes in the middle of the story, most of the times he finishes it and then says "Ok, I get ya."
But then 20 minutes later, he's back at my door, armed with a little bit of small talk - how was dinner? is the music too loud? do you know how to make quiche? - and somehow it gets from there to tale of a 45 year old wife and mother who was smothered in her sleep by a guy she met online. And when I tell him, more forcefully now, that I need him to shut up and keep that crap to himself, he'll make a serious face, and say things like "Well, it's life; that's life, and you have to remember that." Or when I interrupt him and tell him to knock it off, he'll nod and say "Dad's stupid; he's a guy; what do you want from me?" (I don't even know what that means).
Worst of all, he's talking about how horrible his life will be without mom, and how miserable he is that she's just not here right now. Meanwhile, I can't even get into how many issues they have with each other, or how I'm not certain, most of the time, that they even want to exist on the same planet as each other, but whatever: Sure, your relationship is AWESOME, super, Perfect!!! So there's a bit of denial there, (a bit: ha!) , and then there's the fact that he wants to play Who'll Be Worse Off when my mom dies.
A) NO - I don't want to talk about that.
B) It's stupid to be thinking about this right now, when she's in for dehydration, which is something they can easily fix, and yes, it's worrisome, but (I can't type the rest of that sentence about how it's not serious without it feeling jinxy, but pretend I wrote that, ok?)
C) WTF? Why is this necessary? ALL OF OUR LIVES WILL BE HORRID WHEN THIS HAPPENS so why are we even asking this question???
D) Why are we asking it right now, when B) and we're already nervous about the damn thing?
E) Why are you an asshole? Really - why?
Then he started talking about how she's his wife and that relationship is so vital to him, he won't know how to go on. (I . Can't. Even. ) And she's "just" my mother, and yes, it would be difficult for me, especially me, since I'm so dependent on her, but she's his wife, and that's a whole nother level that I just wouldn't understand.
And then I punched him in the face.
No: Unfortunately I did not. But I shut him off damn quick, because HELL NO. At first, while he was spouting off that last bit, he looked at me, sort of waiting for me to be all "Oh, yes, of course: you will have it much worse than me", and then he saw my face, and he stopped talking post haste. I could see that he wanted to be all explain-y and start justifying what he was saying - because it's a goddamn contest to see who's suffering more? - and I just said "We are Done. Talking. About. This. Now." and he thought twice about whatever it was he was going to say.
Which is good, because otherwise, I probably would have punched him, and then neither of my hands would have been workable for typing out this post, but that's another story, and tomorrow's another (NaBloPoMo) day. In the meantime, we could use some positive vibes over here, if you've got any to spare. Between cancers and gallbladders and hospitalizations and arguments and tension and just getting through the day, I say a few stray happiness vibes are just about due in our neck of the woods.
Good night, bloggy world: Let's all hope tomorrow's a better day.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
It was strange: There was a perverse comfort in inertia.*
So I'm having a bit of a hard time lately, and I'll tell you, it is not becoming. It's one of those times when there's a lot of stuff just underneath , and you spend a lot of your time (or at least I do), measuring your words and acts carefully, because you're sure that what's underneath could come bursting through at any moment, and that it would not be a good thing if that happened.
Some of the underneath stuff is not my own, just mine to figure out how to navigate - all of that fun (and incredibly high-pressure, fast-paced) stuff related to putting together a wedding with a bride who has a bit of difficulty making choices (and then sticking with them); the trying to incorporate the opinions of everysingleperson ever, apparently; and two sisters with a tentative truce and a still rocky understanding of each other who are trying to collaborate on about 400 different aspects of a wedding in a little over a month. So there's that.
And then there's all my under the surface stuff, like the fact that Soon-to-be Sister-in-law sort of decided that it wasn't worth it to bring the kids up here anymore, only she didn't come right out and say that so I'd get up in the morning expecting them and instead find a text saying no one was coming. Although we've renegotiated for the summer, and she told SisterJ that she did it because she thought bringing them up here was burdening us, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth and the feeling that all the effort and time I spend with the kids (because I want to!) is not really worth all that much to her, while here I thought I was helping to raise them for the past eleven years. I guess I am more hurt by that then I let on, even though I know she didn't mean to hurt my feelings, and that - in general - they both appreciate the time we watch the kids.
And, of course LilGirl will be starting kindergarten in the fall, so that means our twice a week commitment with her will be ending anyways, so I was trying to pack as much fun stuff into the summer as I could, because once school starts, we're all weekend sleepovers, and that's just not as much time. LilGirl is not the only one disappearing come the fall - SisterK will be in Iowa to go to grad school in August (right after the wedding), and has been off gallivanting on trips to England and Vermont since she graduated so that I have barely seen her.
I have an uncle, who I am not very close to but still love, who is suffering from cancer and seems unlikely to make it to through the summer, and it also seems highly unlikely that I will get anybody to go up to where he lives with me, (and once there, I'm pretty sure I can't make it into his antique cabin because of stairs). Hell, I can't even get people to walk next door for me to deliver a pie I spent three hours baking (squeezing lemons is not in my skill set), which is another issue simmering underneath everything else. It also turns out that I am eligible for yet another social service program, which might change both my financial contributions to the house and the responsibilities that my mom would have when it comes to helping me out. Unfortunately, our current working relationship is not working out as it is, mostly because she's not been in the best health either (physically or mentally), and it is making it so that I don't always get the help I need. Having this between us, when we are so close, is hurtful, because I wind up feeling both resentful - not that she's not well enough to do something, but that she insists she is and then it doesn't get done - and trapped - we depend on the money my mom makes as my PCA, so if I try to give some of her hours to someone else who could do some of the less personal, errand running type stuff, then I'm taking away money that our family needs; and I assume that she feels pressured and misunderstood, because I am just not ok with the things that are getting left behind. It's very stressful, as you can imagine.
Along with that are some new health issues - not setbacks, exactly, but issues - that have kind of shocked me, and left me unsure of what to do next. It is likely that my body (jokester that it is) is just playing tricks on me, but either way, it's starting to seriously complicate matters, and that is not appreciated. Not to mention, although I hate hate hate the analogy of the biological clock, that certain ticking numbers, including my age and hormone levels (never mind my single & sick status), are making me wish I'd gotten knocked up at fifteen, before I got sick, so that I wouldn't have to worry about it maybe never happening now. (And even just typing that makes me literally sick to my stomach, which is why I am avoiding thinking about it as much as possible.) And of course, every one I know is pregnant. (Well, two cousins, two friends, a zillion bloggers - it just feels like everybody.)
And, if you've been here any length of time, you know that when I'm avoiding things, I take up residence solely inside my own head. Where I can either choose to zombie out - play a few "click a lot and blow things up" games, reread a series full of happy endings, Facebook stalk - or swim in the muddle and try to salvage some sense. Can you guess which choice I have been making lately? If I told you that the Bridgertons are doing just as well as they were the last time I read their books, and that I have a new high score on Big Money, would that help you out at all?
Yes, I've been zombie-ing out, which includes, of course, letting the blog fall semi-silent because "what the hell am I going to say that makes any sense to anybody?" But, as is often the case, it just took me a while to get things into place, just enough, that I could write about them some. So here's some of the stuff that's floating around underneath for me, thanks for letting me vent a bit.
I promise tomorrow's post will be full of ... something else. Hopefully a good something else. :) Have a great weekend you guys.
*Jeremy Groopman, The Anatomy of Hope
Some of the underneath stuff is not my own, just mine to figure out how to navigate - all of that fun (and incredibly high-pressure, fast-paced) stuff related to putting together a wedding with a bride who has a bit of difficulty making choices (and then sticking with them); the trying to incorporate the opinions of everysingleperson ever, apparently; and two sisters with a tentative truce and a still rocky understanding of each other who are trying to collaborate on about 400 different aspects of a wedding in a little over a month. So there's that.
And then there's all my under the surface stuff, like the fact that Soon-to-be Sister-in-law sort of decided that it wasn't worth it to bring the kids up here anymore, only she didn't come right out and say that so I'd get up in the morning expecting them and instead find a text saying no one was coming. Although we've renegotiated for the summer, and she told SisterJ that she did it because she thought bringing them up here was burdening us, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth and the feeling that all the effort and time I spend with the kids (because I want to!) is not really worth all that much to her, while here I thought I was helping to raise them for the past eleven years. I guess I am more hurt by that then I let on, even though I know she didn't mean to hurt my feelings, and that - in general - they both appreciate the time we watch the kids.
And, of course LilGirl will be starting kindergarten in the fall, so that means our twice a week commitment with her will be ending anyways, so I was trying to pack as much fun stuff into the summer as I could, because once school starts, we're all weekend sleepovers, and that's just not as much time. LilGirl is not the only one disappearing come the fall - SisterK will be in Iowa to go to grad school in August (right after the wedding), and has been off gallivanting on trips to England and Vermont since she graduated so that I have barely seen her.
I have an uncle, who I am not very close to but still love, who is suffering from cancer and seems unlikely to make it to through the summer, and it also seems highly unlikely that I will get anybody to go up to where he lives with me, (and once there, I'm pretty sure I can't make it into his antique cabin because of stairs). Hell, I can't even get people to walk next door for me to deliver a pie I spent three hours baking (squeezing lemons is not in my skill set), which is another issue simmering underneath everything else. It also turns out that I am eligible for yet another social service program, which might change both my financial contributions to the house and the responsibilities that my mom would have when it comes to helping me out. Unfortunately, our current working relationship is not working out as it is, mostly because she's not been in the best health either (physically or mentally), and it is making it so that I don't always get the help I need. Having this between us, when we are so close, is hurtful, because I wind up feeling both resentful - not that she's not well enough to do something, but that she insists she is and then it doesn't get done - and trapped - we depend on the money my mom makes as my PCA, so if I try to give some of her hours to someone else who could do some of the less personal, errand running type stuff, then I'm taking away money that our family needs; and I assume that she feels pressured and misunderstood, because I am just not ok with the things that are getting left behind. It's very stressful, as you can imagine.
Along with that are some new health issues - not setbacks, exactly, but issues - that have kind of shocked me, and left me unsure of what to do next. It is likely that my body (jokester that it is) is just playing tricks on me, but either way, it's starting to seriously complicate matters, and that is not appreciated. Not to mention, although I hate hate hate the analogy of the biological clock, that certain ticking numbers, including my age and hormone levels (never mind my single & sick status), are making me wish I'd gotten knocked up at fifteen, before I got sick, so that I wouldn't have to worry about it maybe never happening now. (And even just typing that makes me literally sick to my stomach, which is why I am avoiding thinking about it as much as possible.) And of course, every one I know is pregnant. (Well, two cousins, two friends, a zillion bloggers - it just feels like everybody.)
And, if you've been here any length of time, you know that when I'm avoiding things, I take up residence solely inside my own head. Where I can either choose to zombie out - play a few "click a lot and blow things up" games, reread a series full of happy endings, Facebook stalk - or swim in the muddle and try to salvage some sense. Can you guess which choice I have been making lately? If I told you that the Bridgertons are doing just as well as they were the last time I read their books, and that I have a new high score on Big Money, would that help you out at all?
Yes, I've been zombie-ing out, which includes, of course, letting the blog fall semi-silent because "what the hell am I going to say that makes any sense to anybody?" But, as is often the case, it just took me a while to get things into place, just enough, that I could write about them some. So here's some of the stuff that's floating around underneath for me, thanks for letting me vent a bit.
I promise tomorrow's post will be full of ... something else. Hopefully a good something else. :) Have a great weekend you guys.
*Jeremy Groopman, The Anatomy of Hope
Saturday, June 20, 2009
A little bit on the whiny side, I'm sorry to say.
Every phone call with my mother ends the same way now: with her telling me about the work that's still not done, and me trying to think of something to say that isn't twisted and harsh and bitter.
I don't like it, and I know it's not her fault that things are moving so slowly, and I know that I am lucky to have a place to be that is safe and warm and where I am loved and I know it's just stupid & useless to feel sorry for myself, but I do.
I feel like I don't have a place.
I just don't belong anywhere -
As much as I love it here, and spending time with my grandmother and sister and uncle is amazing and wonderful and great;
As much as I know that Mum and Dad are working and painting and scraping and getting estimates 4 days out of the week;
As much as I know that this is all temporary and eventually, there'll be a house I can get in and out of, with a brand new cozy bed I just paid a lot of money for, and a bathtub I can take showers in and a kitchen I can cook in and a room where I can let the kids just play and not have to worry about them breaking something that's 115 years old or waking somebody up from a much needed nap.
As much as all that is true, right now?
At this moment?
I feel ...like those days are still too far away.
like I've overstayed my welcome, no matter what they say
like nobody who's supposed to care, actually cares enough to do the things that I can't do for myself. Or to find out how I'm doing, or to even think that I might be upset by the way things are playing out.
And, wow, am I upset.
I'm angry, even.
I'm shocked at how angry I am - that people can't be trusted to do even the simplest things, that time keeps passing, that I'm so useless, that I keep getting worse, that nobody seems to be worried besides me. I'm angry at myself, and I'm angry at just about everybody else.
Not all the time, not even most of the time... but today. Today I am.
I know it's because I'm feeling so much worse, and because the longer I stay here the harder it gets to pretend I'm still ok, and because the harder it is to pretend, the more I cause the people here to worry, or to go out of their way, and the more I feel like a big fat burden.
And also? Because I am just so sick of pretending.
I'm at the point where I can't hide the fact that I get tired halfway through making a sandwich and have to lay down for 3 hours. At the point where wearing a bra 24 hours a day - for modesty's sake - is no longer an option (hell, most days, it's not even an option to put it on at all) and I almost don't even care that they know I haven't taken a shower in almost 2 weeks. At the point where they can see that I save every last drop of energy for those two days when the Lil Girl (&/or her big brother) is here, and the rest of the time recuperating.
It's all the little stuff that doesn't matter when I'm at home, that matters big time here. And it only matters because I let it: I know that my grandmother doesn't think any less of me because I have greasy hair, or that my uncle is going to be thinking I'm lazy because I just can't clean up those dishes I left in the sink.
But I'm not without pride. I don't like people, even the people closest to me, to know how much I can't do, to see how much help I need to make it through the day. It's not a choice, though, when I'm staying here. It feels like all of my flaws, all of my faults and failures, are on display, all day, everyday.
And even though this rant is full of angst and all 'poor me', I know it'll pass soon. I'm already embarrassed that I even wrote it, because reading it back for errors makes me sound petty and like I don't appreciate all I have. I do. I really do.
But I'm not going to pretend it never happened, I'm not going to keep on pretending, at least here, that I'm not bothered by the fact that I still have no home. Or the fact that the majority (not all, but most) of my siblings have only contacted me in the past two months when they needed me to do something for them, and then promptly forgot that I exist. Or the fact that, at 30 years old, I have to constantly eat food I don't like because I can't just fix my own or watch the news b/c if I don't stay in the living room till 11:00, I'll cause people to worry.
I'm going to give myself this space to not have to bite my tongue or to not have to use my "I'm totally fine and can socialize like a normal person" voice.
And then I'm going to take a deep breath and open the door again, and try to convince my uncle that he'd really just like to order a pizza tonight.
As always, thanks for listening.
I don't like it, and I know it's not her fault that things are moving so slowly, and I know that I am lucky to have a place to be that is safe and warm and where I am loved and I know it's just stupid & useless to feel sorry for myself, but I do.
I feel like I don't have a place.
I just don't belong anywhere -
As much as I love it here, and spending time with my grandmother and sister and uncle is amazing and wonderful and great;
As much as I know that Mum and Dad are working and painting and scraping and getting estimates 4 days out of the week;
As much as I know that this is all temporary and eventually, there'll be a house I can get in and out of, with a brand new cozy bed I just paid a lot of money for, and a bathtub I can take showers in and a kitchen I can cook in and a room where I can let the kids just play and not have to worry about them breaking something that's 115 years old or waking somebody up from a much needed nap.
As much as all that is true, right now?
At this moment?
I feel ...like those days are still too far away.
like I've overstayed my welcome, no matter what they say
like nobody who's supposed to care, actually cares enough to do the things that I can't do for myself. Or to find out how I'm doing, or to even think that I might be upset by the way things are playing out.
And, wow, am I upset.
I'm angry, even.
I'm shocked at how angry I am - that people can't be trusted to do even the simplest things, that time keeps passing, that I'm so useless, that I keep getting worse, that nobody seems to be worried besides me. I'm angry at myself, and I'm angry at just about everybody else.
Not all the time, not even most of the time... but today. Today I am.
I know it's because I'm feeling so much worse, and because the longer I stay here the harder it gets to pretend I'm still ok, and because the harder it is to pretend, the more I cause the people here to worry, or to go out of their way, and the more I feel like a big fat burden.
And also? Because I am just so sick of pretending.
I'm at the point where I can't hide the fact that I get tired halfway through making a sandwich and have to lay down for 3 hours. At the point where wearing a bra 24 hours a day - for modesty's sake - is no longer an option (hell, most days, it's not even an option to put it on at all) and I almost don't even care that they know I haven't taken a shower in almost 2 weeks. At the point where they can see that I save every last drop of energy for those two days when the Lil Girl (&/or her big brother) is here, and the rest of the time recuperating.
It's all the little stuff that doesn't matter when I'm at home, that matters big time here. And it only matters because I let it: I know that my grandmother doesn't think any less of me because I have greasy hair, or that my uncle is going to be thinking I'm lazy because I just can't clean up those dishes I left in the sink.
But I'm not without pride. I don't like people, even the people closest to me, to know how much I can't do, to see how much help I need to make it through the day. It's not a choice, though, when I'm staying here. It feels like all of my flaws, all of my faults and failures, are on display, all day, everyday.
And even though this rant is full of angst and all 'poor me', I know it'll pass soon. I'm already embarrassed that I even wrote it, because reading it back for errors makes me sound petty and like I don't appreciate all I have. I do. I really do.
But I'm not going to pretend it never happened, I'm not going to keep on pretending, at least here, that I'm not bothered by the fact that I still have no home. Or the fact that the majority (not all, but most) of my siblings have only contacted me in the past two months when they needed me to do something for them, and then promptly forgot that I exist. Or the fact that, at 30 years old, I have to constantly eat food I don't like because I can't just fix my own or watch the news b/c if I don't stay in the living room till 11:00, I'll cause people to worry.
I'm going to give myself this space to not have to bite my tongue or to not have to use my "I'm totally fine and can socialize like a normal person" voice.
And then I'm going to take a deep breath and open the door again, and try to convince my uncle that he'd really just like to order a pizza tonight.
As always, thanks for listening.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
At least I've never made anybody drive into a lake
Tomorrow I have an appointment with Zack (my not-primary care doctor), and it's been a while so, while I have no earthly idea what we had planned on talking about at this appointment, I am quite looking forward to it. Things I now think should be on the agenda? Give me pain meds that work or explain to me why crack is not a reasonable alternative. (Mostly kidding.) But that's not what I'm supposed to be writing about right now... Today's post is all about how I have no idea how to get there.
I have been seeing Zack now for at least 6 years, mostly at his current office, so you'd think it would be a no-brainer. However, tomorrow's appointment is going to be a little bit different because Mum is off her feet - she had toe surgery yesterday and is suffering: I feel so bad! - and my uncle is going to drive me to the appointment instead. He stopped by today for an unrelated reason, and wondered if I would be needing him for tomorrow (originally, because Mum thinks she is invincible and would be fine two days after foot surgery on both feet, he was just our backup plan), and I said that I thought so. So then he asked me if I knew how to get there and I rolled my eyes and said "Of course." After which he asked me to give him some idea of how we get there.
He wanted oral directions, and I could not give them to him.
Because I do not pay attention to the names of streets or numbers of routes. It's not what I focus on while we're driving, because I don't have to focus on that. I'm not doing the driving.
When we're in the car? I can, for sure, tell you where to turn, or how many Dunkin Donuts we have to pass before we get to the right street. I can tell you to go past the Cambridge Public Library (the branch that's hiding on an off street), till you get to the crossroads with the electric buses, across from the cemetery, and then drive by the Shaws that still has its Star Market sign up. I know you take a left at this fork in the road, and a right at the next one. I can explain how we drive past a certain hospital, only you can't see the hospital from the road anymore because they just built a subdivision in front of it. I can show you a good place to stop if you need to buy a mini Christmas tree, and tell you that the name of the local high school baseball team is the Devil Dogs.
But if you are asking me for street names? Then we are both out of luck.
He looked kind of alarmed when I hesitated to give him even the vaguest of directions, but I assured him that I do know how to get there, and once we're in the car, it's not a problem.
I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me, since my appointment's at 2:30, the office is about 40 minutes away, and he asked me if I wanted him to get here at noon.
I told him no thanks, but promised to bring the GPS along, just in case.
Some people have no faith.
I have been seeing Zack now for at least 6 years, mostly at his current office, so you'd think it would be a no-brainer. However, tomorrow's appointment is going to be a little bit different because Mum is off her feet - she had toe surgery yesterday and is suffering: I feel so bad! - and my uncle is going to drive me to the appointment instead. He stopped by today for an unrelated reason, and wondered if I would be needing him for tomorrow (originally, because Mum thinks she is invincible and would be fine two days after foot surgery on both feet, he was just our backup plan), and I said that I thought so. So then he asked me if I knew how to get there and I rolled my eyes and said "Of course." After which he asked me to give him some idea of how we get there.
He wanted oral directions, and I could not give them to him.
Because I do not pay attention to the names of streets or numbers of routes. It's not what I focus on while we're driving, because I don't have to focus on that. I'm not doing the driving.
When we're in the car? I can, for sure, tell you where to turn, or how many Dunkin Donuts we have to pass before we get to the right street. I can tell you to go past the Cambridge Public Library (the branch that's hiding on an off street), till you get to the crossroads with the electric buses, across from the cemetery, and then drive by the Shaws that still has its Star Market sign up. I know you take a left at this fork in the road, and a right at the next one. I can explain how we drive past a certain hospital, only you can't see the hospital from the road anymore because they just built a subdivision in front of it. I can show you a good place to stop if you need to buy a mini Christmas tree, and tell you that the name of the local high school baseball team is the Devil Dogs.
But if you are asking me for street names? Then we are both out of luck.
He looked kind of alarmed when I hesitated to give him even the vaguest of directions, but I assured him that I do know how to get there, and once we're in the car, it's not a problem.
I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me, since my appointment's at 2:30, the office is about 40 minutes away, and he asked me if I wanted him to get here at noon.
I told him no thanks, but promised to bring the GPS along, just in case.
Some people have no faith.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
I just want to say a couple of things
Most of those things sound an awful lot like this: Sorry I'm not here so much.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Ranting a bit, sorry...
I've avoided talking about our family's health issues the past few posts, because it seems like, in person, that's all I'm ever talking about. And I am so, deeply sick of having to think about my pain level, or Nana's radiation, or my aunt's rehab, or Big/Only Brother's EKGs, or the twins weight in exact ounces. I'm going to do the quick roundup, while I am feeling up to it.
I don't think I even mentioned it here, but my cousin C had her twins at 33.5 weeks, (right in the middle of all this other nonsense) and they're having some health issues too. Fortunately, they are both at home now, but one is still very slow to gain weight & is being tested for genetic disorders.
Big/Only Brother has had no further seizures, thank god, and they're looking into a connection between the flickering televisions he has to monitor at his job (as the head of security at a medical school) and his seizures. Both seizures occured in that room, and he recently found out that a predecessor had seizures in that room too. Perhaps they trigger a certain disposition to seizure activity? Who knows... but if this is the issue, at least it can be addressed and evaluated.
Auntie L is home from rehab, and making great progress. She's still not allowed on stairs, and is living on the bottom level of her home, which she's not too happy about. Her blood levels (don't ask me, IDK which ones: they're being semi-secretive about her actual condition) aren't where they should be, yet, but they're improving. She's doing really well for someone who was not expected - by the doctors, and by us - to make it past Thanksgiving.
Nana's radiation has turned out to be horrid: She had a reaction to her pain meds on Monday (her first day) that had her throwing up all day and night, leaving her dehydrated and we had to take her back to the ER, who hospitalized yesterday morning, rehydrated her and gave her a different pain med. They sent her back home again last night, after her second radiation, and it was marginally better: she still slept away about 9/10ths of the day (which is fine, except that she gets upset at herself for doing so), but there was no vomiting. Her pain was better controlled, but still pretty bad - it went from a 4/10 to an 8/10 over the course of the day. She slept better, but not well. We're in charge of caring for her, Mum & I mostly, although Dad or my sisters can be called upon when necessary (so long as it doesn't involve puke: SisterCh literally dropped what was in her hands and fled when Nana threw up on Monday night). PUS, her son? Yeah... he's pissed cuz she's not upstairs with him. But he can deal because A) she can't climb the stairs and B)I don't trust him to take care of a Chia pet, let alone my grandmother.
As for me, I hate HATE how selfish this makes me feel, but this is all so incredibly difficult on me - emotionally, yes, but also physically. Nana has my bed at night, which is fine, because I don't sleep anyways, but also my aches and pains are used to my bed, and they're having issues adjusting to trying to rest anywhere else. I'm required to do a lot more: for myself, since Mum's caring for Nana & for Nana, when I'm the only one there. It's a lot more movement, a lot more intensity, a lot more pain. Where my normal levels are 7 or 8 (out of 10), I know I'm functioning at a 9 right now. And barely functioning, at that. Between the stupid sinus infections, the double ear infections, and the almost unbearable level of pain (not to mention the stress of all of these situations, plus watching the baby - tomorrow's our first day since Nana started her treatments, and I have no idea how we're going to manage that: Disney movies seem to be my most realistic strategy - and helping to plan the wedding and the zillion other everyday things that have to get done.)
I think these are the times I would most like to kill the people who say things about CFIDS/FM like "You're just using it to avoid real life." Because, your real life? Doesn't stop because you're ill. You can't avoid your grandmother's cancer because you can't move without tearing up... you just have to deal. Having a chronic illness magnifies all the challenges you face during your life, it doesn't shield you from them AT ALL.
Now, I've got an appointment at the pain clinic, to discuss why this round of drugs is still not helping. After that, I've got to try to coax my 84-yr-old Nana into getting a feeding tube, because it's too painful for her to swallow. Obviously, my life is just peachy, b/c I've got all these 'excuses' to get me out of jail free.
Happy Wednesday, anybody who made it through the rant.
I don't think I even mentioned it here, but my cousin C had her twins at 33.5 weeks, (right in the middle of all this other nonsense) and they're having some health issues too. Fortunately, they are both at home now, but one is still very slow to gain weight & is being tested for genetic disorders.
Big/Only Brother has had no further seizures, thank god, and they're looking into a connection between the flickering televisions he has to monitor at his job (as the head of security at a medical school) and his seizures. Both seizures occured in that room, and he recently found out that a predecessor had seizures in that room too. Perhaps they trigger a certain disposition to seizure activity? Who knows... but if this is the issue, at least it can be addressed and evaluated.
Auntie L is home from rehab, and making great progress. She's still not allowed on stairs, and is living on the bottom level of her home, which she's not too happy about. Her blood levels (don't ask me, IDK which ones: they're being semi-secretive about her actual condition) aren't where they should be, yet, but they're improving. She's doing really well for someone who was not expected - by the doctors, and by us - to make it past Thanksgiving.
Nana's radiation has turned out to be horrid: She had a reaction to her pain meds on Monday (her first day) that had her throwing up all day and night, leaving her dehydrated and we had to take her back to the ER, who hospitalized yesterday morning, rehydrated her and gave her a different pain med. They sent her back home again last night, after her second radiation, and it was marginally better: she still slept away about 9/10ths of the day (which is fine, except that she gets upset at herself for doing so), but there was no vomiting. Her pain was better controlled, but still pretty bad - it went from a 4/10 to an 8/10 over the course of the day. She slept better, but not well. We're in charge of caring for her, Mum & I mostly, although Dad or my sisters can be called upon when necessary (so long as it doesn't involve puke: SisterCh literally dropped what was in her hands and fled when Nana threw up on Monday night). PUS, her son? Yeah... he's pissed cuz she's not upstairs with him. But he can deal because A) she can't climb the stairs and B)I don't trust him to take care of a Chia pet, let alone my grandmother.
As for me, I hate HATE how selfish this makes me feel, but this is all so incredibly difficult on me - emotionally, yes, but also physically. Nana has my bed at night, which is fine, because I don't sleep anyways, but also my aches and pains are used to my bed, and they're having issues adjusting to trying to rest anywhere else. I'm required to do a lot more: for myself, since Mum's caring for Nana & for Nana, when I'm the only one there. It's a lot more movement, a lot more intensity, a lot more pain. Where my normal levels are 7 or 8 (out of 10), I know I'm functioning at a 9 right now. And barely functioning, at that. Between the stupid sinus infections, the double ear infections, and the almost unbearable level of pain (not to mention the stress of all of these situations, plus watching the baby - tomorrow's our first day since Nana started her treatments, and I have no idea how we're going to manage that: Disney movies seem to be my most realistic strategy - and helping to plan the wedding and the zillion other everyday things that have to get done.)
I think these are the times I would most like to kill the people who say things about CFIDS/FM like "You're just using it to avoid real life." Because, your real life? Doesn't stop because you're ill. You can't avoid your grandmother's cancer because you can't move without tearing up... you just have to deal. Having a chronic illness magnifies all the challenges you face during your life, it doesn't shield you from them AT ALL.
Now, I've got an appointment at the pain clinic, to discuss why this round of drugs is still not helping. After that, I've got to try to coax my 84-yr-old Nana into getting a feeding tube, because it's too painful for her to swallow. Obviously, my life is just peachy, b/c I've got all these 'excuses' to get me out of jail free.
Happy Wednesday, anybody who made it through the rant.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Tempting Fate (part 2)
Here's yesterday's introduction to what we're talking about here, in case you missed it.
Mum's sister, Auntie E, was already in pretty serious shape - sedated and on a respirator, in a safe room - when we got up Thursday morning, so we knew it wasn't going to be the easiest holiday ... our celebrations, as they were, were supposed to be pretty low key anyways.
And then Nana (Mum's mother) calls and says that E's organ's are failing and Mr.PUS (Mum's brother) is going to drive her to the hospital immediately.
Now, in an attempt to not flood the internets (and my brain) with vicious hate, I have tried to keep the PUS postings to a minimum. (PUS, by the way is both the noun for what they are and the acronym - People UpStairs.) But there's a reason I call them that. They are, truly, despicable people. They are verbally abusive to all of us, most especially my Nana. If I must give a concise sort of encapsulate of their vitriol, I will say that the following things have been said, by them, to another member of our family: "If I have to, I will go down there and beat the shit out of them, I will set him on fire... you won't be able to stop me." "Your mother is a slut who hasn't worked a day in her life, because she couldn't keep her legs closed and just kept popping out kids." and... probably most important in this situation, "The wrong sister died." As said to Nana, about the death of her eldest daughter 20 years ago this month, and referring to his 2 remaining sisters, Mum and Auntie E.
Both Mum and Auntie E have refused to speak or deal with him, for about 3-4 years now. He, of course, considers himself the wronged party. It's all his sisters' fault for not speaking to him, for making him an outcast, blah de blah. So, this, of course, excuses his - and his family's - behavior towards us and towards Nana. It is ok to spread rumors in Nana & Auntie E's place of work, because it's our fault. It's ok to TOTALLY IGNORE Nana for more than a week - and I mean not speak a single word to her, even though you live in her house, on the same level as her - because it's us who are being mean to you.
It is all ridiculous and childish and hurtful and tense and disgusting, and, on its best day, makes me nauseous just to think about.
And, of course, this was not our best day.
So, long story short, Mr. PUS is not allowed to visit Auntie E - her husband has put a restriction on her visitors, and he is NOT ALLOWED.
So when Nana called and said that, Mum immediately said no, and said she'd take her. Nana - who, while I love her, totally makes this whole situation worse by not just doing something about it.. instead she plays both sides: she plays up her victim status to us, and let's him be the victim on his own side... says "Oh, but if it's that bad he HAS to see her... he's his sister."
No mention of the fact that it's his sister's RIGHT to choose, no, it's all about poor him.
Ahem.
Anyways... Nana has been sick out of her mind with worry this whole week - Auntie E is in bad shape (her chances, when last given, have been pretty evenly split), and Nana knows it. Not to mention that this time of year reminds her of when her daughter, Auntie M & her husband died (different years). Add the fact that she's got her own health issues: scary tests and possibly dangerous diagnoses to deal with.
But Mr. PUS doesn't care about that... it's all about how HE can't get in, how HE's trying to do the right thing, how SHE's doing him an injustice by not letting him in, how it's Mum's fault because she won't tell him anything, won't even look at him. And he's badgering Nana, all week long. I can see it; I can hear it.
And Nana, she just takes it. Snaps at us for interfering. Tells us he isn't, when he obviously is. Takes his side, again and again.
To the point that, Wednesday night, I got so upset and started planning this whole little speech (1 of about a million) I would give her the next day. About how she's constantly playing both sides, and it isn't right. How she keeps telling us that she's making them leave and then she never does. How all her daughters have ever done is stand up for her, their families, and themselves, and yet, somehow, she tries to make them seem like they are in the wrong.
But I never got to give the speech.
Because after Nana's phone call (and a quick check on Auntie E, who thankfully was not failing...she was, in fact the same - stable, and holding on), there was a little altercation between Mum and Mr.PUS (and me! Yay... blech~!) and then he took her to the hospital anyways.
He couldn't get in to see her (even though Nana tried to manipulate my uncle and cousin out of the room in order to get him in!!), and - here I am only guessing a little - took Nana aside and started berating her. He didn't scream (or else my other uncle and cousin would have heard & intervened), but he's capable of such a cold, blank intensity that it is frightening. And I am sure that he used it on her then. Then he left her there - without a ride - and came back home to slam the outer door and storm his way up the stairs.
My other uncle, Auntie E's husband, called Mum and told her to come get Nana... she left right away (leaving me in charge of the food).
And then she called, 25 minutes later, in tears.
Mum never cries... I mean... I have seen her cry, but maybe 10 times, total. So, I knew it was bad.
Nana had collapsed, she said. She'd thrown up and then passed out cold. My cousin had caught her, but they were taking her down to the emergency room.
Dad and SisterJ went to the emergency room right away - Mr. & Mrs. PUS both raced off as well - and I was here alone, left to call the rest of us and put Thanksgiving on the back burner, both literally and figuratively.
What followed is another, long, too-tiring-to-write-right-now post, but as of today, Nana is OK. She was dehydrated and stressed past her limit...and they've been giving her fluids and running tests. Since we already know that she's got some sort of mass (although we haven't really had a chance to digest that information yet, coming, as it did only a day and a half before my aunt's collapse), they're being extra careful and making sure the two things are not related. But she is much more her normal self, which is to say pissed off that she's still in the hospital, more than slightly scatterbrained (a whole nother worry), and ignoring that which she chooses to ignore.
Case in point - that SOB Mr. PUS is acting like the perfect son - taking her the paper in the morning, peeling her banana, acting solicitous to the doctors and nurses, trying to find out what he can. It makes me want to throw up. And here is one reason - in a post that is supposedly about my aunt and grandmother, who have I talked about the most...? He always manages to make it about him, when it is NOT ABOUT HIM!! And... even better... she lets him.
It is so hard to love someone so much, and still be so angry at them that they allow things like this to happen - to themselves and to our family. I'm mad at her for not taking better care of herself, or for not letting us take better care of her... but my being mad just adds more strain, which is dangerous for her. Does this make any sense? I feel like, even though I have a perfect right to be angry with her, I can't be angry with her because she's so sick.
SisterJ and I were talking about how, you always hear that when there's emergencies or difficulties, families are supposed to put aside their differences and come together. But how do we come together with him, with the rest of the PUS, knowing that their behaviors are one of the main factors in her being so sick? Having heard them screaming at her the night before, knowing how scared she was about her daughter, and still obviously not caring? How can you put that aside? I don't know that I can, even if it is what she wants us to do. I can't ignore it, knowing that this part... this solicitousness... is all an act, that nothing in his/their behavior has really changed. It would be nice to think that this scare has woken them up, but it hasn't: he continues to rail at my mother, at not being allowed access to Auntie E, at not being the one in charge of Nana's medical decisions (Mum is). He continues to try to manipulate things.
He hasn't changed, and neither has she: she refuses to see him for what he is, but I feel like I can't just put what I know about him aside.
I don't know if I can do that, not even for her.
And wow, this post is long and morose, and I thank you for listening, letting me babble it all out this way. Needless to say it's been a very difficult week, and adding my Flare to this all hasn't really helped - I was totally out of it Friday and Saturday, but my brain hasn't shut off since. The intensity of this Flare is largely because I tried to do to much - in the face of such crises, I couldn't exactly just go lay down whenever I needed to, plus there were a million things that Mum does for me that I had to attempt to do on my own, plus there were the million other things she normally does that I was trying to do. So, I'm not in the best spot, physically, right now either.
Which brings me back to the point: Things are getting better today. Yesterday, Auntie E was being taken off her ventilator, and the hope is that she'll be much improved today (Mum hasn't gone yet, so I don't know). Nana's ok right now, just pissed because they haven't let her go... she's hoping to come home tomorrow or Wednesday. And I am stuck in bed, but off to lose myself in the glories of the blogosphere (and maybe some internet shopping?): I really appreciate the chance to just get this all out of my head for a little bit.
And not typing anything else about how grateful I am that things are getting better, because I ain't tempting fate again.
Mum's sister, Auntie E, was already in pretty serious shape - sedated and on a respirator, in a safe room - when we got up Thursday morning, so we knew it wasn't going to be the easiest holiday ... our celebrations, as they were, were supposed to be pretty low key anyways.
And then Nana (Mum's mother) calls and says that E's organ's are failing and Mr.PUS (Mum's brother) is going to drive her to the hospital immediately.
Now, in an attempt to not flood the internets (and my brain) with vicious hate, I have tried to keep the PUS postings to a minimum. (PUS, by the way is both the noun for what they are and the acronym - People UpStairs.) But there's a reason I call them that. They are, truly, despicable people. They are verbally abusive to all of us, most especially my Nana. If I must give a concise sort of encapsulate of their vitriol, I will say that the following things have been said, by them, to another member of our family: "If I have to, I will go down there and beat the shit out of them, I will set him on fire... you won't be able to stop me." "Your mother is a slut who hasn't worked a day in her life, because she couldn't keep her legs closed and just kept popping out kids." and... probably most important in this situation, "The wrong sister died." As said to Nana, about the death of her eldest daughter 20 years ago this month, and referring to his 2 remaining sisters, Mum and Auntie E.
Both Mum and Auntie E have refused to speak or deal with him, for about 3-4 years now. He, of course, considers himself the wronged party. It's all his sisters' fault for not speaking to him, for making him an outcast, blah de blah. So, this, of course, excuses his - and his family's - behavior towards us and towards Nana. It is ok to spread rumors in Nana & Auntie E's place of work, because it's our fault. It's ok to TOTALLY IGNORE Nana for more than a week - and I mean not speak a single word to her, even though you live in her house, on the same level as her - because it's us who are being mean to you.
It is all ridiculous and childish and hurtful and tense and disgusting, and, on its best day, makes me nauseous just to think about.
And, of course, this was not our best day.
So, long story short, Mr. PUS is not allowed to visit Auntie E - her husband has put a restriction on her visitors, and he is NOT ALLOWED.
So when Nana called and said that, Mum immediately said no, and said she'd take her. Nana - who, while I love her, totally makes this whole situation worse by not just doing something about it.. instead she plays both sides: she plays up her victim status to us, and let's him be the victim on his own side... says "Oh, but if it's that bad he HAS to see her... he's his sister."
No mention of the fact that it's his sister's RIGHT to choose, no, it's all about poor him.
Ahem.
Anyways... Nana has been sick out of her mind with worry this whole week - Auntie E is in bad shape (her chances, when last given, have been pretty evenly split), and Nana knows it. Not to mention that this time of year reminds her of when her daughter, Auntie M & her husband died (different years). Add the fact that she's got her own health issues: scary tests and possibly dangerous diagnoses to deal with.
But Mr. PUS doesn't care about that... it's all about how HE can't get in, how HE's trying to do the right thing, how SHE's doing him an injustice by not letting him in, how it's Mum's fault because she won't tell him anything, won't even look at him. And he's badgering Nana, all week long. I can see it; I can hear it.
And Nana, she just takes it. Snaps at us for interfering. Tells us he isn't, when he obviously is. Takes his side, again and again.
To the point that, Wednesday night, I got so upset and started planning this whole little speech (1 of about a million) I would give her the next day. About how she's constantly playing both sides, and it isn't right. How she keeps telling us that she's making them leave and then she never does. How all her daughters have ever done is stand up for her, their families, and themselves, and yet, somehow, she tries to make them seem like they are in the wrong.
But I never got to give the speech.
Because after Nana's phone call (and a quick check on Auntie E, who thankfully was not failing...she was, in fact the same - stable, and holding on), there was a little altercation between Mum and Mr.PUS (and me! Yay... blech~!) and then he took her to the hospital anyways.
He couldn't get in to see her (even though Nana tried to manipulate my uncle and cousin out of the room in order to get him in!!), and - here I am only guessing a little - took Nana aside and started berating her. He didn't scream (or else my other uncle and cousin would have heard & intervened), but he's capable of such a cold, blank intensity that it is frightening. And I am sure that he used it on her then. Then he left her there - without a ride - and came back home to slam the outer door and storm his way up the stairs.
My other uncle, Auntie E's husband, called Mum and told her to come get Nana... she left right away (leaving me in charge of the food).
And then she called, 25 minutes later, in tears.
Mum never cries... I mean... I have seen her cry, but maybe 10 times, total. So, I knew it was bad.
Nana had collapsed, she said. She'd thrown up and then passed out cold. My cousin had caught her, but they were taking her down to the emergency room.
Dad and SisterJ went to the emergency room right away - Mr. & Mrs. PUS both raced off as well - and I was here alone, left to call the rest of us and put Thanksgiving on the back burner, both literally and figuratively.
What followed is another, long, too-tiring-to-write-right-now post, but as of today, Nana is OK. She was dehydrated and stressed past her limit...and they've been giving her fluids and running tests. Since we already know that she's got some sort of mass (although we haven't really had a chance to digest that information yet, coming, as it did only a day and a half before my aunt's collapse), they're being extra careful and making sure the two things are not related. But she is much more her normal self, which is to say pissed off that she's still in the hospital, more than slightly scatterbrained (a whole nother worry), and ignoring that which she chooses to ignore.
Case in point - that SOB Mr. PUS is acting like the perfect son - taking her the paper in the morning, peeling her banana, acting solicitous to the doctors and nurses, trying to find out what he can. It makes me want to throw up. And here is one reason - in a post that is supposedly about my aunt and grandmother, who have I talked about the most...? He always manages to make it about him, when it is NOT ABOUT HIM!! And... even better... she lets him.
It is so hard to love someone so much, and still be so angry at them that they allow things like this to happen - to themselves and to our family. I'm mad at her for not taking better care of herself, or for not letting us take better care of her... but my being mad just adds more strain, which is dangerous for her. Does this make any sense? I feel like, even though I have a perfect right to be angry with her, I can't be angry with her because she's so sick.
SisterJ and I were talking about how, you always hear that when there's emergencies or difficulties, families are supposed to put aside their differences and come together. But how do we come together with him, with the rest of the PUS, knowing that their behaviors are one of the main factors in her being so sick? Having heard them screaming at her the night before, knowing how scared she was about her daughter, and still obviously not caring? How can you put that aside? I don't know that I can, even if it is what she wants us to do. I can't ignore it, knowing that this part... this solicitousness... is all an act, that nothing in his/their behavior has really changed. It would be nice to think that this scare has woken them up, but it hasn't: he continues to rail at my mother, at not being allowed access to Auntie E, at not being the one in charge of Nana's medical decisions (Mum is). He continues to try to manipulate things.
He hasn't changed, and neither has she: she refuses to see him for what he is, but I feel like I can't just put what I know about him aside.
I don't know if I can do that, not even for her.
And wow, this post is long and morose, and I thank you for listening, letting me babble it all out this way. Needless to say it's been a very difficult week, and adding my Flare to this all hasn't really helped - I was totally out of it Friday and Saturday, but my brain hasn't shut off since. The intensity of this Flare is largely because I tried to do to much - in the face of such crises, I couldn't exactly just go lay down whenever I needed to, plus there were a million things that Mum does for me that I had to attempt to do on my own, plus there were the million other things she normally does that I was trying to do. So, I'm not in the best spot, physically, right now either.
Which brings me back to the point: Things are getting better today. Yesterday, Auntie E was being taken off her ventilator, and the hope is that she'll be much improved today (Mum hasn't gone yet, so I don't know). Nana's ok right now, just pissed because they haven't let her go... she's hoping to come home tomorrow or Wednesday. And I am stuck in bed, but off to lose myself in the glories of the blogosphere (and maybe some internet shopping?): I really appreciate the chance to just get this all out of my head for a little bit.
And not typing anything else about how grateful I am that things are getting better, because I ain't tempting fate again.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Sitting around waiting for inspiration ain't really accomplishing much for me ~
It's been a long, long week.. everyday a new & surprisingly bad revelation, and for me - who was already worn out from this fantastic flare - it has been pretty hard just to drag myself through. Here's some of the highlights -
On Monday, Sister Ch developed a rash at work (again... this is like the 4th time in a row). Only this time, it was severe enough to get her to go to the ER... where she waited 4 hours to be told that she has some sort allergy. They gave her the name of an allergist and an Epi-pen. Of course, since she has no idea of what she's allergic to, it should be interesting to see how that works out.
On Tuesday, we discovered little bugs in our kitchen. They are not ants. They are not roaches, they are some sort of little beetle or something... and they like our windowsills. Oh, and also the cabinets.
On Wednesday, some of my Nana's test results came back and the news is not good. We don't know how not good yet, so I'm trying not to think of it just now... She's got an MRI scheduled for tomorrow morning, and then she's got to see an ENT for a biopsy.
Yesterday, there was no bad news. And we had Lil Girl, which was great. And she said SisterCh's name, which was adorable. And I breathed and took a shower, and waited for the doctor to call. He didn't, but that was O.K. cuz I didn't really want to talk to him.
And today? Well today was supposed to be a nice relaxing day for Mum & I, b/c Dad's on vacation starting tomorrow and 'vacation' for him in reality means 'more opportunities for driving us crazy.' Like making homemade raviolis, which he wants to do, you know... for Thanksgiving. (????) But instead of that, my Mum got a call from Nana saying my aunt had passed out at work and was on her way to the ER in an ambulance. My aunt has been sick for a while now, but - because she refuses to go to the doctor - nobody knows what's wrong with her. She just lost a lot of weight (and she had little to spare to begin with), her skin got all crepe-y and off colored, and she had trouble eating. Turns out she pulled a little me - the whole low-blood pressure = syncope number - and hit her head on the way down. (Boy, that hurts, let me tell you.) A few stitches, nothing big. But now that they've got her, they're trying to figure out the why of it: she's anemic and severely dehydrated, and, when my Mum finally came home right about 8 hours after she left, she told me they were thinking there was a problem with her liver.
(This is where I mention that alcoholism runs in both sides of my family - largely unacknowledged, btw. She wasn't drinking this morning, certainly, but I doubt that her drinking isn't in someway connected to her problems.) But she was awake, alert and cranky by the end of the day.
So - little annoyances, bigger issues, health worries right and left, a not-so-major flare, and Thanksgiving looming... it was, in fact, a particularly un-fabulous week. I'm pretending that a new week starts tomorrow, on Saturday. Because I need it to. Youngest Nephew is coming for his regularly scheduled sleepover, and I'm determined to have a better day.
I hope you all are having nice, normal, calm, peaceful weeks. Get ready to think of all the things you are thankful for: they've been uppermost in my mind just lately, I'll tell you that.
It's been a long, long week.. everyday a new & surprisingly bad revelation, and for me - who was already worn out from this fantastic flare - it has been pretty hard just to drag myself through. Here's some of the highlights -
On Monday, Sister Ch developed a rash at work (again... this is like the 4th time in a row). Only this time, it was severe enough to get her to go to the ER... where she waited 4 hours to be told that she has some sort allergy. They gave her the name of an allergist and an Epi-pen. Of course, since she has no idea of what she's allergic to, it should be interesting to see how that works out.
On Tuesday, we discovered little bugs in our kitchen. They are not ants. They are not roaches, they are some sort of little beetle or something... and they like our windowsills. Oh, and also the cabinets.
On Wednesday, some of my Nana's test results came back and the news is not good. We don't know how not good yet, so I'm trying not to think of it just now... She's got an MRI scheduled for tomorrow morning, and then she's got to see an ENT for a biopsy.
Yesterday, there was no bad news. And we had Lil Girl, which was great. And she said SisterCh's name, which was adorable. And I breathed and took a shower, and waited for the doctor to call. He didn't, but that was O.K. cuz I didn't really want to talk to him.
And today? Well today was supposed to be a nice relaxing day for Mum & I, b/c Dad's on vacation starting tomorrow and 'vacation' for him in reality means 'more opportunities for driving us crazy.' Like making homemade raviolis, which he wants to do, you know... for Thanksgiving. (????) But instead of that, my Mum got a call from Nana saying my aunt had passed out at work and was on her way to the ER in an ambulance. My aunt has been sick for a while now, but - because she refuses to go to the doctor - nobody knows what's wrong with her. She just lost a lot of weight (and she had little to spare to begin with), her skin got all crepe-y and off colored, and she had trouble eating. Turns out she pulled a little me - the whole low-blood pressure = syncope number - and hit her head on the way down. (Boy, that hurts, let me tell you.) A few stitches, nothing big. But now that they've got her, they're trying to figure out the why of it: she's anemic and severely dehydrated, and, when my Mum finally came home right about 8 hours after she left, she told me they were thinking there was a problem with her liver.
(This is where I mention that alcoholism runs in both sides of my family - largely unacknowledged, btw. She wasn't drinking this morning, certainly, but I doubt that her drinking isn't in someway connected to her problems.) But she was awake, alert and cranky by the end of the day.
So - little annoyances, bigger issues, health worries right and left, a not-so-major flare, and Thanksgiving looming... it was, in fact, a particularly un-fabulous week. I'm pretending that a new week starts tomorrow, on Saturday. Because I need it to. Youngest Nephew is coming for his regularly scheduled sleepover, and I'm determined to have a better day.
I hope you all are having nice, normal, calm, peaceful weeks. Get ready to think of all the things you are thankful for: they've been uppermost in my mind just lately, I'll tell you that.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I'm definitely not GIDDY,
but today's Thursday Theme is. So I searched through some of my photo archives, and came up with some pictures of giddiness. Here's the one that made me smile the most.
It's Youngest Nephew, his mum (Soon-to-be SIL), SisterCh & our Mum, New Years 2005...
They've just finished a puzzle. Seriously, who can get that excited about a puzzle? I do not like puzzles. At all... it's a huuuge waste of time to me. To each his own, I guess.. and seeing as how it was Mum's birthday - and puzzles are in her list of favorite things to do, it was nice that she found some people to play with her.
It's Youngest Nephew, his mum (Soon-to-be SIL), SisterCh & our Mum, New Years 2005...
They've just finished a puzzle. Seriously, who can get that excited about a puzzle? I do not like puzzles. At all... it's a huuuge waste of time to me. To each his own, I guess.. and seeing as how it was Mum's birthday - and puzzles are in her list of favorite things to do, it was nice that she found some people to play with her.
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