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kyburgGiggling here.
*sigh* What to do.
One of the things I am eternally grateful for is that I never wrote a single thing down besides email while Cliff was dying. I kept some things he wrote, and a response to one rather incendiary email I got once, that I never sent - just to remind me. Because once it was over, all the days and weeks and months and years compressed down very quickly into very spare memories, almost as if it had all been winzipped up and stored away with only the headers left available for browsing.
I never knew when it would end. I just knew I couldn't quit.
I find myself thinking in the same circles (What have I thought of today? What have I done today? Did I make that phone call or checked that piece of information out? What else can I do?) - and I have to consciously say to myself, "No. That's enough. Check back with Mom/others to see what they've come up with before you go further."
Because this time, I'm not the entire team. Jim made a good observation in that I'm not alone - there are other people involved when it comes to Mom, and I don't have to worry about everything. I don't have to shoulder the entire responsibility for making it all work.
But I remember. My body remembers too, and reminds me that anxiety makes me nauseous. I spent most of my adolescence in that state - I remember. 5'3" and 70 lbs., walking into high school nauseous. It sets off a minor panic of "EAT! You're gonna die!" that has been there ever since - when I'm happy and secure, I eat well. When stressed, it's the first thing to go and the last thing to come back.
5'6" and 96 lbs. I remember.
Do I need professional attention? No, not yet. I'm sleeping - and eating normally - and functioning.
I'm just totally scared witless in fits and starts. And I think that's normal. I've seen the face of this beast before - not only do I not want to see my mother go through that...I don't want to go through that again.
And then I take a deep breath, remember that today - there's no pain, discomfort or any other outward sign of trouble. The treatments likely will be much worse than the cancer's presence was in the first place. And I'm okay. No matter what, I'm sure I'll be okay.
So how much of this do I write down?
Probably enough to remind myself that this is now, that was then - and it's a totally different world now. And enough to retrain my brain into thinking differently, staying centered and calm.
And Cliff will have been gone five years September 18th. And it's been over eleven years ago that he was injured in first place, nine years since the strokes and heart attacks, and so on. The timing is impeccable.
-- I just took a phone call from one of Cliff's old doctors (who Jim sees now, it's all good) - he's going to get a referral for me. No, it's really good. This is from someone I trust - I know it's going to be okay, and I can actually give Mom something she can use.
But that's as much as I need to do today.
So what does everyone want to read next?
[Poll #340896]
*sigh* What to do.
One of the things I am eternally grateful for is that I never wrote a single thing down besides email while Cliff was dying. I kept some things he wrote, and a response to one rather incendiary email I got once, that I never sent - just to remind me. Because once it was over, all the days and weeks and months and years compressed down very quickly into very spare memories, almost as if it had all been winzipped up and stored away with only the headers left available for browsing.
I never knew when it would end. I just knew I couldn't quit.
I find myself thinking in the same circles (What have I thought of today? What have I done today? Did I make that phone call or checked that piece of information out? What else can I do?) - and I have to consciously say to myself, "No. That's enough. Check back with Mom/others to see what they've come up with before you go further."
Because this time, I'm not the entire team. Jim made a good observation in that I'm not alone - there are other people involved when it comes to Mom, and I don't have to worry about everything. I don't have to shoulder the entire responsibility for making it all work.
But I remember. My body remembers too, and reminds me that anxiety makes me nauseous. I spent most of my adolescence in that state - I remember. 5'3" and 70 lbs., walking into high school nauseous. It sets off a minor panic of "EAT! You're gonna die!" that has been there ever since - when I'm happy and secure, I eat well. When stressed, it's the first thing to go and the last thing to come back.
5'6" and 96 lbs. I remember.
Do I need professional attention? No, not yet. I'm sleeping - and eating normally - and functioning.
I'm just totally scared witless in fits and starts. And I think that's normal. I've seen the face of this beast before - not only do I not want to see my mother go through that...I don't want to go through that again.
And then I take a deep breath, remember that today - there's no pain, discomfort or any other outward sign of trouble. The treatments likely will be much worse than the cancer's presence was in the first place. And I'm okay. No matter what, I'm sure I'll be okay.
So how much of this do I write down?
Probably enough to remind myself that this is now, that was then - and it's a totally different world now. And enough to retrain my brain into thinking differently, staying centered and calm.
And Cliff will have been gone five years September 18th. And it's been over eleven years ago that he was injured in first place, nine years since the strokes and heart attacks, and so on. The timing is impeccable.
-- I just took a phone call from one of Cliff's old doctors (who Jim sees now, it's all good) - he's going to get a referral for me. No, it's really good. This is from someone I trust - I know it's going to be okay, and I can actually give Mom something she can use.
But that's as much as I need to do today.
So what does everyone want to read next?
[Poll #340896]
