Meh.
Mums had her final (we thought) surgery a couple weeks ago to even up the girls. Everything went great, yippee woohoo hooray. My aunt flew up to take care of her. They had a lovely time.
But my dad has been gone, building their little house on the Dakota prairie, and my mother has been managing selling and packing up their house--a house they've lived in for 35 years--by herself, in addition to a lot of unknowns as to her impending layoff/retirement that is likely to occur--but who knows--the day they close on the house. Meanwhile, she has been working full-time in a job that is certain to end (an end she is most definitely welcoming at this point).
Living in flux, one might say.
To boot, a family friend to whom she was very close died this week.
So, she's been BANKING on coming to the beach with us in North Carolina shortly. And, frankly, we've been banking on some back-up for helping with the kids. Mom is dying to get out of Seattle for a bit, away from all the craziness going on. She hasn't seen Lorelei since January. She even needs a dog fix (oh, Emma?).
Alas, she has not healed properly, probably because she was unable to thoroughly recuperate. The surgeon wants to do another surgery. On the exact day she's schedule to fly east.
I got that call last night. The doc gives her a 40% chance of it healing on its own with the constant ice regimen she's doing. It's a crappy reason to come home, but my dad's flight was arriving late last night from South Dakota, as he needed to return for the funeral. I'm so relieved he's there now, I can't even tell you, readers.
So, around 2:00 a.m., I awoke, a sickening, cold-creeping anxiety crawling over me. Shit. Once the anxiety train gets moving, there's no stopping it, it's very difficult to stop it. No amount of rationalization or diversion can quell it. It's really the most awful thing.
But here I was. I went downstairs and tried to force down some dry toast to stop the roiling in my stomach. Didn't work. I spent hours reading every stupid thing on my Facebook feed to divert myself. What would Mom decide to do? What should she do? Will this effing cancer--this highly curable, ultimately no big deal in the grand scheme of life, just STOP screwing with her?! We all thought we were done with this damn thing! In fact, I'd just had her name removed from the church bulletin! All done! Finished! COMPLETE!
And so I fought all the question marks filling up my brain. I wish I could've done laundry or something productive to fight the sickening anxious feeling, but one of anxiety's evil little tricks is that it makes me too nauseous to do anything but lay there and THINK. And then think about trying not to think.
Also, not to play Fake Surgeon here, but with my mother's history, even I knew that not putting in a drain was a mistake. They fear infection, I know, but still. I was uneasy when I learned there was no drain. And I'm annoyed that I was right to be concerned.
Finally, around 4:00 a.m., I heard a door open and little feet trudge down the hallway. Lorelei. On her way to our bed, of course.
So, I turned off the lights and went upstairs. I was so happy to find her in my bed as I expected, and I pulled her close to me. Together we looked at photos on my phone until we both fell asleep.
Then I dreamed I miraculously found a cheap same-day ticket to Seattle, in time for the funeral, for my mom, everything. While, because I was dreaming and dreams make nil sense, two salespeople were demonstrating ways to clean my hardwood floors with carpet (don't ask) and I kept saying I needed to go catch my flight.
Anyway. It's too early to call home (time difference) and with the light of day and a busy morning with the kidlets, my all-encompassing, debilitating anxiety has tapered off to a reasonable worry.
I don't know what the smart thing is to do here. I feel like she's being asked to put physical health ahead of psychological or emotional health, but as we can clearly see, the two are quite connected.
What time is it on the West Coast NOW?
But my dad has been gone, building their little house on the Dakota prairie, and my mother has been managing selling and packing up their house--a house they've lived in for 35 years--by herself, in addition to a lot of unknowns as to her impending layoff/retirement that is likely to occur--but who knows--the day they close on the house. Meanwhile, she has been working full-time in a job that is certain to end (an end she is most definitely welcoming at this point).
Living in flux, one might say.
To boot, a family friend to whom she was very close died this week.
So, she's been BANKING on coming to the beach with us in North Carolina shortly. And, frankly, we've been banking on some back-up for helping with the kids. Mom is dying to get out of Seattle for a bit, away from all the craziness going on. She hasn't seen Lorelei since January. She even needs a dog fix (oh, Emma?).
Alas, she has not healed properly, probably because she was unable to thoroughly recuperate. The surgeon wants to do another surgery. On the exact day she's schedule to fly east.
I got that call last night. The doc gives her a 40% chance of it healing on its own with the constant ice regimen she's doing. It's a crappy reason to come home, but my dad's flight was arriving late last night from South Dakota, as he needed to return for the funeral. I'm so relieved he's there now, I can't even tell you, readers.
So, around 2:00 a.m., I awoke, a sickening, cold-creeping anxiety crawling over me. Shit. Once the anxiety train gets moving, there's no stopping it, it's very difficult to stop it. No amount of rationalization or diversion can quell it. It's really the most awful thing.
But here I was. I went downstairs and tried to force down some dry toast to stop the roiling in my stomach. Didn't work. I spent hours reading every stupid thing on my Facebook feed to divert myself. What would Mom decide to do? What should she do? Will this effing cancer--this highly curable, ultimately no big deal in the grand scheme of life, just STOP screwing with her?! We all thought we were done with this damn thing! In fact, I'd just had her name removed from the church bulletin! All done! Finished! COMPLETE!
And so I fought all the question marks filling up my brain. I wish I could've done laundry or something productive to fight the sickening anxious feeling, but one of anxiety's evil little tricks is that it makes me too nauseous to do anything but lay there and THINK. And then think about trying not to think.
Also, not to play Fake Surgeon here, but with my mother's history, even I knew that not putting in a drain was a mistake. They fear infection, I know, but still. I was uneasy when I learned there was no drain. And I'm annoyed that I was right to be concerned.
Finally, around 4:00 a.m., I heard a door open and little feet trudge down the hallway. Lorelei. On her way to our bed, of course.
So, I turned off the lights and went upstairs. I was so happy to find her in my bed as I expected, and I pulled her close to me. Together we looked at photos on my phone until we both fell asleep.
Then I dreamed I miraculously found a cheap same-day ticket to Seattle, in time for the funeral, for my mom, everything. While, because I was dreaming and dreams make nil sense, two salespeople were demonstrating ways to clean my hardwood floors with carpet (don't ask) and I kept saying I needed to go catch my flight.
Anyway. It's too early to call home (time difference) and with the light of day and a busy morning with the kidlets, my all-encompassing, debilitating anxiety has tapered off to a reasonable worry.
I don't know what the smart thing is to do here. I feel like she's being asked to put physical health ahead of psychological or emotional health, but as we can clearly see, the two are quite connected.
What time is it on the West Coast NOW?
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