Dreamed a Little Dream of Me

The following is what I remember of a waking dream:

I arrived at what we'll assume to be Aunt Mabel's house by feel. It more resembled Grandma and Grandpa's apartment on Pleasant Street by layout and also seemed like GiGi's farm house at times, but the overall sense was Aunt Mabel's with its narrow stairway to shared bedrooms and unapologetic style of bare, plywood flooring all the sweeping in the world couldn't quite turn clean.

Everyone lived there commune-like, as I've always said I'd been raised...my Grandpa was there, my uncles, some cousins I knew were related yet can't exactly tell you how...some twenty-somethings and, of course, there were the littles. Kids, I mean. A small group of parent-less children who some of the cousins took under wing or hung out with just to prevent major tragedies.

I learned that my Grandfather's catheter had a strange trick to it. In her time of taking care of  him only my mom had mastered its strange drainage system. My uncles kept letting pee get all over him and it made my Grandpa frustrated - but he felt resigned to the ordeal of it since my mom passed away.

Eager to ease his embarrassment, I stepped in and tried holding the hose end shut til someone could get a bedpan to let the fluid roll out into...and yet I was panicked because I stressed that I could be causing more damage by holding the end shut.  The oddest thing about it was... my Grandpa would pee and the catheter would presumably work like normal? But then we had to hurry to grab the hose it was attached to and find a container for the inevitable rush of urine.

All this was done in a corner of a living room type area where Grandpa sat up in his hospital bed. Uncle Mike, ever agitated at everything and everyone, had long since taken off for the night. Uncle Bob, ever casual about everything and everyone, helped Grandpa to clean blankets and lit up a cigarette. He slowly smoked.

There was a sense of peace and of being at home...even through the chaos. Everyone did as they should or would have. There was no stress for being who or what you are. We all accepted each other as is - good, bad or indifferent. Family. We roll our eyes at the whack jobs and share grins at stupidity - we band together in discomfort and seek resolve. Family.

It switched to dinner. Things were rather high brow in the dining room. I felt out of place, being that I was a guest even though they all considered me family. There were too many glasses and there was far, too much silverware. There was food, rich food, expensive food, which didn't make any sense for an Aunt Mabel kind of world. I felt like we were acting parts in "dress up," smartly asking for plates to share and commenting on whatsits as if we paid any attention to the real world. We didn't.

Try as we did, the evidence of poverty was on the table...not in the quality of the food but in its quantity. It was a meal I was reluctant to take part in - I felt obligated to take more than I wanted of the steak and other meats, even though I was hungry enough to eat what was on offer and more. I knew by taking what I wanted I'd be causing someone else to miss out. I was careful in what I chose for myself. Caring.

Out of the strange, stuffy room and onto the dusty front porch. I felt free again. Happy. Only, I noticed one of the parent-less kids. She stood right out to me. She looked like me at 7, 8 or 9 years old. She acted like me. She talked like me. I found out her name was Wendy. Like me.

Wendy was looked after by volunteer cousins and friends. She didn't seem too hurt by that...in fact, she was a charming little fat girl. All freckles, all knowing, bright-eyed and chatty. She was eating candy, ignoring a plate of home cooked something or other.

In that moment, I understood that I was there to take care of Wendy. She didn't have a parent. The people who took care of her meant well but they had their own kids, their own lives, and they weren't really giving her the kind of attention and discipline she needed. They weren't able to convey to her how important she is and how her health will equal happiness....and nobody thought to tell her she is a beautiful girl.

There wasn't anger to place on anybody. Everyone was doing the best they could. Wendy needed me. And it was like they all knew I was there to take her under my wing. I was there to be her mom and disciplinarian and chaperone and teacher and friend.

I had a good time talking with her. We had a chat about the candy. I took it away and she looked at me with awe like she'd never been challenged before. I told her she can have candy, but she can't make it her dinner. I gave instructions to her to eat the real food and expect the candy to be something special and rare. I asked her daycare sorts to, please, when I'm not in her presence, be on the lookout for that...to not let her hurt herself like that. To help her understand that it's better and more loving of everyone (me included) to encourage the real food.

They all agreed.

My dream then changed...and spun into something to do with clothing, donations, friends from the Scottsville Farmers Market, old plans coming forward...a caller reaching out to me from a nursing home...and me hurrying to show up to a meeting place. I arrived naked & I was the only person who was remotely embarrassed by that.

I know it's a mix of really weird stuff but I keep thinking that dream and missing my Grandpa and hoping I really do have custody of Wendy. She's so cute. And so worth it. I felt like I could be good for her.

My Gift from Mom

This morning on News Radio WINA I met a Dr. I've been praying to find. My nutritionist Ivana Kadija can verify that I've had so much trouble with carbohydrate addicton, getting a handle on it (as I once did very well!) since my mom died has frustrated me...it's been so difficult to do but is essential to my health. Essential.

I'm Diabetic now and that is just an open door to inflammatory disease, heart disease, all. So, I've reached out to a few specialists whose mission aligns with my own.

The Northern VA Dr. who I made an honest plea to for help wrote me back a "why are you telling me all this?" To me, it was a slap in the face. She went on to invite me to make an appointment. I did, but her initial response never rested well with me. I plan to cancel.

Another Dr. responded with kindness and encouraged me to make appointment with Endocrinology at UVA.  That's scheduled for October.


But today was a gift. A gift.

During our Live Well segment, Dr. Daniel Cox showed up to detail what it's like to live with Type 2 Diabetes. It is a disease he handles himself and is convinced can be naturally controlled by lifestyle change - in a lot of cases.

He said the same thing Ivana always tells me: Low Carb Diet. LOW CARB DIET. LOW CARB DIET! So many people living with Diabetes are taught to eat what they want just limit the amounts and, to me, it is killing them. I watched my mom die this way. Untreated, unable to control my food addiction, I am going to die this way.

Dr. Cox said whole grains, oatmeal, all of it...unhelpful. (I swear I heard Ivana say yay!!!) Then he said something more helpful than I could have dreamed:

UVA has a new program planned to monitor 50 Diabetics who meet certain criteria and will agree to change their lifestyles, monitor their blood glucose and experiment not with drugs but with food - something Ivana has encouraged me to do to no end.

I feel like her want for me and my want for myself have aligned in this opportunity.

Moreso, I wholeheartedly believe this is all a gift from God and my mom. Probably God but my bet is he's used my mom to help me, knowing how much I need her.

Here is the evidence....

My prayers have been so earnest and so needful of support, communal support, close close close monitoring, accountability and raw education.

I've made attempts to get help over and over and over - I cannot tell you how much.

After doing the interview, Manna sent me a photo of a penny she found at school. Between us, pennies mean my mom is with me. Quarters mean my mom is with Manna. 

I took a nap today and I dreamed I was with my mom. You may not think that a big deal but I've not been able to talk to my mom and hear her for over a year since she died. We walked a HOSPITAL hallway. Tufts Med Ctr. probably? Where I last spent time with her alive.

She and I walked and talked about this study...and I told her I was excited to do it. I carried on and on as you can imagine and she was glad for me...as she always is when I decide to help myself. Then I asked her if she'd like to be one of the 50 in the study (clearly not remembering she has died) and she said no very firmly. And I started to get irritated and all my old feelings of "why doesn't my mom damn help herself?" started to come...and I went to open my mouth to say what I would have said back then. She was gone. It was just me in the hallway.

I took a shower and started to cry...because I got to hear from my mom.

Still in my towel, I got a call from Dr. Cox inviting me to join the program. He outlined what I need to do...and away we go.

I hung up with him and sort of reflected on all that has happened: the interview, the penny, the dream, the call.... how much does it take before I realize, this is a gift?

My mom can't do this now, but I can, and she's given this to me.

I thank my mom and God so much.

Why I Won't Play Tetris

if you can't watch the sun rise,
i'll watch it for you.
if you can't get on your feet,
i'll stand up tall.
if you want to feel the ocean,
i'll run through it.
you gave me life, the greatest gift of all.
if you can't say you love me,
i'll just know it.
if you can't take a breath,
i'll drink mine in.
if you can't fight the fight,
i'll find the will, mom.
i'll savor life, your greatest gift of all.

I wrote that for my mom two days before she died. I felt so strong -  yet so helpless - then. I was willing to do and to be whatever it took to help her carry on in this world (because she so wanted to live) and I was struggling to let her go to be free of pain. She was in so much pain. I had to look back in my timeline and find this poem to read it again...mostly to remember what I promised.

One of the hardest things to do so far is the "I'll just know it." I do know it, innately, that she loves/loved me. And it's heartbreaking that I can't hear her tell me.

I love my mom and I miss her so deeply my heart hurts. 

What's nice to notice is that I am savoring life. I recognize the importance of taking care of myself and modeling that for my own daughter because of the insurmountable obstacles that eventually cost my mother her life.

I liken the end of my mom's life, and maybe my own life, to that game called Tetris because for a while she was able to navigate easily despite a barrage of difficult decisions and laborious tasks, right? Especially in her last five years on earth. She'd avoid pile ups and think really quickly and find last-second fits to the constant puzzle that rained. She would hurry to the next uncommon thing to come down toward her and pray and pray and pray and try and try and try to make the right adjustments to get all the pieces where they needed to be.

But life was too fast. Her burdens were too many. Her health was too out of shape. And she died.

I don't want my end game to be a scramble for survival. I want to come to a successful end I can be content with and glad about. I want to grin at my final score and know I rocked life.

I promised to fight that fight up there in that poem, but I can't play my mother's game and win. I have to play something more rewarding....more slowly, methodically, strategically in all fairness to myself and everybody else.  I wish she could do this with me.

Still Plugging...

You already know that I'm changing my life. My efforts derailed while my mom was in the hospital and I'm still not where I was before mom died...in terms of mindset, ambition and discipline. I'm getting there. I'm getting myself there.

What stings like the tip of a needle is a realization that, at the loss of my parent, no matter how sucky or frustrating she was at times, I am alone to do what things I need to do for my body and mind and spirit. It's difficult to loosen apron strings to someone whose life presence was a touchstone for my own. Sometimes I want to tie them tighter yet.  I want my Mommy.

There's an identity I've come to know while being her kid - a team-like feel I've held through the hell of weight gain, shredded self esteem, and rising phoenix-like from ashes to bask in joy-filled success. It's what we do, we humans. We are made to.

Having my head cheerleader mom to stick around through all of my stuff was precious to me. Having to be her head cheerleader was a hideous burden to me. One day I may appreciate that I could be. Right now, I feel the unfairness of being left alone and a responsibility to myself to kick out of the ashes knowing she isn't watching me. Or if she is, I won't get her feedback. The world around us won't receive her emails telling of my good deed or whatever.

I'd consider my feelings selfish if I didn't recognize this as a deeply childlike need of mine to have my mother. I'd even suck it up and cheer lead back to have her in my world.

I don't post a ton because I am drifting day-to-day...meanwhile setting myself up for success by hosting specialty groups via @meetup and working with a local media group to secure my intention to get back to weight loss work. I'm finding ways to cheer lead my own life. I don't like it as much...but I, being so accustomed to the "My Wen" of her voice and the bazillion email responses she forwards from friends telling her she has a great kid, I need to have that.

I considered being ashamed (only for a second). I'm not ashamed. I love attention and sharing everything I can. So, I'm going to. And I hope my mom can see. And I hope I get a "My Wen" whenever we meet up. Just the facts, Jack.

Sha-doobie...Scattered, Scattered...

Shmatta, shmatta, shmatta....I've had so much in my head and on my heart and in my schedule and wedged into my responsibilities and I kind of lost my way. The phrase "You do a lot!" comes at me on close-to-daily basis. I DO do a lot. And I have way more in my mind to DO. It's because I am no mere THINKer, see. I am here to get things DONE. And that's pretty great and works incredibly well when I know what I'm DOing.

But, I don't. Or I didn't, since my mother died. I've kept pushing with ambition and, well, projects have especially taken a big back seat for one reason or another. I've come to accept that when world doesn't work with you, it may be time to pause and reflect and maybe find a new direction or let it go and find a new adventure.

You know things have been the SUCK since my mom passed away. I function one moment to the next. Sometimes I don't function. Sometimes I just sit and stare around at the room I'm in and can't think up a single thought, let alone DO something.

I have piles of belongings of my mothers kind of everywhere in my house. I have some things in my car, too. All of that is waiting for me to sort through it. Yeah, it's on the list.

And I have a child, a teenager, who gets a lot of my attention and time because I want to have and do as much with her as I can before she's off to college and only comes home if her clothes stink.

My mom's estate stuff is in limbo, so me, too.

Weight loss attempts have been immediately successful followed by immediately not. And I can't seem to drum the motivation to go all in again. Just can't. My evilbrain goes like this: "Uhuh, I see you waiting, treadmill. Fuck you, treadmill. Fuck you, fast food. Fuck you, walking suggestions and recipes from innocent helpers. I don't need YOU."

So, What do I need? Hugs. I need a lot of those. And...to find some kind of peace with my mom and her death. And I need to get better organized so that I can DO all the things I hope to. And I need to stop wanting to do more until I get what I have already started or gotten into sorted out.

I've started with books. I have, literally, over 40 books I am CURRENTLY reading. Over 40 books, all of which interest me, all of which I read, scattered kind of everywhere from the kitchen to the bathroom. There are books in my car, too. I follow all the stories and know where I am in them, but I think this books all over the place reality is a good example of how I am doing everything. Bit by bit, as I have time, as the need strikes, when the mood hits and all that.

So, I'm starting with books. I've made an excel spreadsheet of all the books I am reading and stuck them in categories like ministry, radio, pleasure, helpful books like how to be organized (HAHAHAHAH!!!!) so I can SEE what I have ongoing. And I've decided to read ONE book at a time (no matter how long it may take me to finish it).

I'm starting with breakfast. I'm not going to worry about drive through lunches or being in a hurry or too tired to cook or anything beyond breakfast. Every day I am making healthy breakfast. No drive through, no skipping, no quick carbs loading.

 I'm starting with a quit job. No taking on more stuff, either. I need room to do this sorting, organizing, counseling with Cara (behavioral) and Ivana (nutritionist), and time well spent with my kid. I can do more later, and be good at it and not overwhelmed and the world will work WITH me. Watch.

That's all I want to DO right now.

I'm a Mad Woman!

Evilbrain surgery was postponed because my daughter finally, albeit inconveniently, decided to follow my advice to see her doctor because she was feeling persistent nausea. Not wishing to miss the opportunity to get her in, I pushed my counseling visit with Cara to this week. Tomorrow, actually.

Thankfully, my girl is feeling better. She is a self-propelled vegetarian (read: PASTA-tarian) and her blood work requires iron supplements and B-12 vitamins. Because she's closer to adulthood, she is a lot more pushy and/or resistant to my concerns but she finally felt bad enough to see her doc. All good, too! She was ordered to ramp up her protein intake and to consult with a nutritionist regularly.

I am so pleased to report that she chose to see my nutritionist (Ivana of Yourishment) rather than anyone her doc would supply. That says a LOT about Ivana. Good work, Ivana! So far, increased protein is helping a whole bunch, by the way. Okay, so this visit with Cara tomorrow may be tough, but I need it.

This week has been so tricky because I...well, I realized I am depressed. I can't say I am clinically so, but I would believe it if someone diagnosed me. I'm just so up and down emotionally. I was high functioning one day yet couldn't even figure out what to do with myself the next.

I have not been able to think of my mom without crying - not even when sharing good memories - and no matter how many times I say she died, has died, is dead, has passed away, is gone...it does not get any easier. I sort of thought repetition would help me - that just being blunt, the way that I am, would help me with this overwhelming reality. It doesn't.

Every time I think of my mother being dead (or alive, which leads to thinking of her being dead) I feel a rock in my stomach. I feel unquenchable ache in my throat and chest. I feel nervous. I feel need. To curb my pain, I eat food. Worse, I eat easy-to-digest, easy-to-get or easy-to-make, quick-to-satisfy food. You know the type: Carbs. Uh-huh, and my next favorite food: melted cheese.

So, while my mind is so jazzed up and ready to not stay on the path which will lead me to a similar fate as my mother...my heart is so deeply struggling with despair and want. And my behavior is to soothe the hurt. I am rational enough to know these small fixes are not actually helping me - that they are just appeasing me moment to moment. Picture me drowning and reaching for reeds that pull out of the riverbank instead of sturdy branches that reach out to me.

With Cara's help, I am hoping to see a way around or out of this stupidity - this knowing what I'm doing to myself yet doing it anyway, this foolishness crap that hurts me just as significantly as the death of my mother does. I want to know how to overcome madness, because that's what this addiction is. It's madness.

Out with the Old

The definition of insanity is an idea I've taken very seriously, and paid better attention to, since the (June) death of my mother. I can't continue to look for windows of opportunity to leap at possible weight loss options, or dive into a program designed to make me thin and healthy, only to come up short or quit too soon. Behavior like that isn't going to make me anything but tired and even more overweight - but I've done it for most of my life. The result of that pattern has yet to be successful. I'm trying something new.

But first, a picture to share: My mother was a little over 300 pounds in her hospital bed. She didn't weigh that much because of fat. She weighed that much because of fluid, an abundance of which was the result of blood product backed up because a faulty valve would not permit it to flow through her heart.  She was swollen and it hurt her to move and to breathe. It prevented her from properly feeling my hand in hers.

I could believe that my mom would be living today if not for that valve, which is a truth, but the greater truth is that my mom would be living today if she was able to end her addiction to truly harmful foods.

It is an embarrassing idea, food addiction. It's not a gritty or street feel like drug or sex addiction, not a sorrowful, shameful feel like alcohol addiction. It has its own little sting and it's own slow, costly, painful game of roulette.

I have a food addiction and a major weight problem to pair with it. And like my mother I tried very hard to not have one any more, but an addiction is an addiction is an addiction and it is still there at the end of the diet program. It is still there when the commercials on TV tell you to run for the border. It is still there when you've stayed up way, too late and are honestly hungry again. The addiction doesn't stray.

I am NOT in agreement with America's new attack obesity - let's get that said right now.  I AM in agreement with Americans using their God-given free will to change their lives, so no government bailouts in the form of special diets and crude lawmaking, thanks. I believe I can manage my addiction, and I'll tell you how:

By choosing to accept that I will always be addicted to food - especially certain ones. By understanding the response of my body is the result of my choices. By creating a supportive environment for myself. By sharing the process. By making my life about me and my health.

That's not to say, "Fuck everybody else." It's to prevent me from being over 300 pounds in a hospital bed with no way to get out of fluid-filled prison. I'll tell you how I'm doing that, next.

My Mother is Dying

So here is what I would like to try to do:

Step One.

Get water and sand from her favorite beach - the one she has wanted to go to for over a year and has not been physically able to.  Get paint pans. Get a plastic sheet of some kind.

Step Two.

Find her Alabama and Josh Turner and other country CD's and a CD player.

Step Three.

Invite guests (everybody who wants to be there) to her private room.

Step Four.

Have her sedation lowered as much as possible so she can be with us.

Step Five.

Play music. Enjoy friends and family. Stick mom's feet in the sand-and-water-filled-paint-pans-ocean.

Step Six.

Make sure she knows she is loved loved loved loved loved. LOVED.

Alabama Beach Party, go.

I don't get called "party cat" for nothing.  I hope she'll stick around long enough to let me do it.

How'm I Doin?

Diet-wise, pretty well considering I'm in MA and old habits creep in very easily when I'm here. It's tough to refrain from old favorites like Venus pizza and Marcello's meatball subs, but I have avoided both pretty well. Didn't go to Mia's for pasta either - but I diiiiiid indulge in Peaceful Meadow's ice cream for my lunch today and my body told me (in no uncertain terms) not to do that again.

Being off of simple carbs and sugar for over six weeks means that a reintroduction can prove ugly for your GI tract - just FYI, no photos here. 

I am feeling the need to eat more veggies though. Eating on the go, as I am right now, it is tough to find good, green vegetables that aren't BROCCOLI every meal. Salads get boring.... so can't wait to go home and fix normal food again. Seriously.

When going home day is...I still don't know.

I had a good day, all told. I was able to do some laundry, met my mom's lawyer, got a whole bunch of stuff sorted out as far as her assets and income and what to do with what because mom has made it clear I should prepare for a time she won't be with me any more. I hate the very thought of it.

Tuesday, she took her rings off her fingers and made me take them, which nauseates me still. I know she is doing this to have peace of mind about stuff and to make sure she gives people what she wants them to have but I'm not -ready-. I want my mom still.

I've not cried as much lately because I feel like the hospital she is in is very good with her, very attentive, and I don't have to worry as much about her safety. Tomorrow we'll see a renal specialist and know a little bit more about their treatment options. Seems before she even has her heart valve looked at...they have to help her get her kidneys back to good. We are all hoping they can be. Hoping, praying, hoping, praying.

How YOU doin?  I really want to know.

Fuck, you know?

I have had three or four blog posts ready to write and now that I have access to a real computer with a working keyboard AND there's internet access...I cannot think of what to relay. 

I am staying south of Boston while my mom is in a city CCU with ultra filtration machine tubes stickin out of her neck. I spend 4-9 hours a day in the unit with her or wandering the hospital while procedures are done and I'm allowed back in.

The spin I'm in is....incredible to say the least.

1 week ago, I was standing in front of my classmates in a New York retreat center's chapel, eyes closed, heart wide open, mind quiet, emotions swelling, with a pair of hands on my shoulderss and another pair in my own, acceptin the appointment to treat God's people (meaning everyone I meet) with love and understanding.

I got ordained! It felt right to do - GOOD to do - smart to do...and authorized by God himself since I'd questioned time after time whether I should go through with it and become a real minister....and verses aimed me at Yes, do it. Yes.

Minutes after receiving the appointment to minister, I listened to my voicemail on my phone. My uncle was ranting about my mom's condition and told me to get to Boston right away. I called mom who told me to "graduate first" on Sunday...and I did, then she was admitted to the ER and I was driving to Boston from New York.

I do not know if docs can help my mom. I am not feeling great with my husband - not fighting just not feeling supported in what is the hardest time of my life. I miss my daughter who is at camp. I am in a hotel room for lack of a place close enough to mom to stay...where I wouldn't impose on anyone.  I am mostly alone and handling things like a weepy, over-sensitive loner with no direction.

1 week ago I had direction.

This week, there is a threat of losing my mom to CHF for good. I hit a car in a parking garage (fender scrape) and left my info with the office ppl there. I pissed off my husband for wanting to spend $30 more a night on a different hotel that didn't suck so much. My kid is afraid to get calls from me at camp cause her grandmother's in such bad shape. My GOOD knee has gone funky and is unstable. I walk funnier!  I have a bazillion things to do from home that I can't do from here. I am missing my job. I am missing my work, even. I can't do any of what I feel responsible for work-wise from here. I want to go home. I want to be with my mom. I want to sleep til it's all good again.

I feel sad. Very sad.

The good news is I am somehow still making very good food  choices. Maybe due to my mom being so so compromised.

I read my bible and pray and cry and pray.

That's...where I'm at. I hope you are OK.

Sweet Relief

Okay, so it's on. I asked JD and he was cool with connecting on Lose It. I like the app a lot. I'm so used to having to go through hell on the WW site and with Fitday and My Fitness Pal - this Lose It! site is so so so much easier to me....and, okay, it's cuter. I am a fan.

Fitness and nutrition aside, I've been learning a lot since the start of this new year what with my mom going through her ordeal and my routine, finances and lifestyle needing to stretch a little wider to provide for her and her business along with my own. I've had opportunities to get upset and frustrated with a whole bunch of things, from negligent hospital practices to odd family squatters hanging out at mom's while she isn't doing so.

I've had bouts of anger, despair, frustration and the bad (REALLY bad) dreams that come from taking on too much and stressing myself out. It had gotten to where I was complaining about everyone and everything adverse to whoever would listen to me - and it wouldn't take a whole lot for me to resort to cussing and freaking. Like, I am not used to so much going wrong to such dire ends. I am not used to trying to breathe while buried under heaps of woe. Once upon a time I could and did...but I've done so much to improve my life and my outlook and my situation that all of these feelings are such a nuisance to me now. I really hate them.

And then something happened. I was at this peak of irritation to where I wanted to shout for so many reasons and shake the stupid out of people who keep making these tough times even tougher than necessary...and then I just wasn't angry anymore. Just as I was running out of all that emotion, as the numbness took over, I was getting back to my homework...picking up a book about the Jewish philosopher Hillel and reading things he'd written, spoken or stood for...and I felt my heart again. I softened.

I read things he said or did to people who wronged him or who, more importantly, wronged God and I realized I still have that sense for kindness inside of me. I hadn't become so embittered that I couldn't somehow be honest in telling people what I am feeling without telling them off. I realized I could formulate words to go with my emotions that wouldn't be striking someone else down (even if you'd agree they'd deserve it.) And I decided to write letters to the people who I'm feeling wronged by. I began writing in my head what I'd want them to say and by doing so I felt myself forgiving them.

That happened some of Saturday and some of yesterday and today...I feel so much lighter. Nothing's better. Nobody else is any different, just me. But, I feel like things are going to be okay where I really didn't know WHAT to believe as of last Friday.

So, I'm grateful to my studies for giving me that little reminder of who I am despite all of these things that could add up to crush me. I'm good. And I'm happier being good to people than I am saying shit about them and wrecking their lives just because I feel like shit within mine. Knowing that has been a freeing, freeing thought.

"That which you hate, don't do to others. That is the entire Torah," Hillel told him.

My mind, schedule and plate have been SO FULL since the last time I was here and able to post about anything. I can honestly tell you my momentum fell flat for about three weeks and it is just coming back to me - and thank God - I so need it.

January somethingorother I drove to Boston to be with my mom while she went into the hospital and was given a procedure to help give her heart relief from aortic stenosis, a valve-restricting problem that prevents blood from entering the heart properly and also causes a backup of fluid in the body..something CHF patients sometimes endure. So, I was there for a heartwrenching (no pun) ten days of praying she'd stay alive through it and that the procedure would amount to mom being able to take better care of herself. It's going to be a very very slow process. Very slow. But she made it and she's now in rehab, doing what she needs to be doing with people I am confident are very good for her.

Along with mom's medical troubles and my living hundreds of miles away while she recovers and working three part time jobs and heading a steering committee for a local foods festival (which will soon meet more than once a month) I've taken on mom's financial crisis....not really knowing how much of a crisis it really is.

There is so much gone un-handled and there's so much of a dance between what she owes personally and what her company owes (she owns the business my stepfather and she built together) and I am not joking when I say every single day brings another obstacle. Bank accounts get frozen. Customers get letters from outside entities asking for collections. Employees demand pay. Jobs get canceled because pay is not just slow to come in....but is being directed to outside entities which hope to recover what mom's company owes faster by getting money from her customers directly. I can't begin to know how this all happened or when it started happening but I am told by one employee it's been going on 24 years. I don't have a clue as to how this company keeps going or how my mom keeps her house or any of her assets...and I certainly do not know how to save any of it.

I contacted the company lawyer. He contacted the company accountant. I've stepped back a bit because I really have no business in all of that mess. Meanwhile, we are doing our best to make sure payments are sent for vital things like: health insurance, homeowners insurance, mortgage, cell phones (the company relies on them heavily), taxes and life insurance. I can't even look at the pile of bills that come in otherwise. I've taken on a portion of my mom's accounts job and I call her customers every day to follow up on invoices with customers that MAYBE didn't get a letter asking them to pay a debtor directly instead.

So, I've been eating like someone who has no time to cook or think about health. I've had drive through lifestyle for a few weeks and order restaurant food too much. It's gained me the 6 pounds that I lost while I was in Boston at the hospital in January and I feel generally crappy all over.

My heart is crushed. My mind is overwhelmed. My spirit feels like it is in limbo. My attitude remains positive. My hope, my faith, is one salvation. My immediate family is one other. I thank God for every moment I can feel supported and OK despite the problems in my mothers life that continually scream at me.

What am I doing for relief? Not a lot. Now and then I shove everything out of my mind, out of my sight, and spend time with friends. Occasionally, I'll indulge in a couple of beers or a few glasses of wine. Not the ideal way to get free of things, I know, it's just what I've been doing though very sparingly.

Keep in mind I am also a seminary student. I do homework, late, and turn that in, late. I'll graduate in June if all goes well and be ordained on the 10th if I can be!

I'm also planning the biggest birthday party of my kid's life for her sweet 16th which includes fancy dress and a caterer and the works (something I've aimed to do since forever that is a family tradition...always a BIG 16th and I'd like to give her that) - that is slated for July.

And then that Foods Expo is in August, but planning happens every month and I have to attend those meetings.

When all this is said and done - and I do believe this too shall pass - I tell myself it will all have been worth the work. It will have to be.

Don't think this is a complaint list - it's not. It's just a fact sheet to me. When I think about complaining, I think about people in the world who have lost so much themselves or who live in harsh conditions or are in situations they can do nothing about and I just can't find the room to complain.

So, I guess what I'm saying is I just wanted to tell you what's been going on. And I know you're here and I appreciate it. Lots.

I'm Cheating.

I know some of you are waiting to see a post here, so I am posting - but I am kind of cheating because this is something I wrote for school recently. Still, it's relevant material to what is going on and it was a good assignment to complete...because it has helped my overall attitude and freed me a little bit, too.

Reflections on How Can I Help? Ch. 2: Who’s Helping?

“I had to look through him and find something beside this astonishing appearance of a father I could barely recognize physically.”

And like the first storyteller in this chapter, I was caught up in my role as a daughter for a few minutes when I stepped into my mother’s bedroom to find a small bump under the covers. The feeble, toothless woman whose eyes went wide and whose gasp rang out in the room at my appearance had white and grey streaks and no ability to get up out of bed. In the few minutes of observation I yearned for my mother, not the reflection of my deceased great-nana Pearl.

Mom has dyed brown hair, not gray. Mom has teeth in her mouth, not bare gums. Mom is strong and resilient, not bedridden. The fact that I see her only a few times a year is not supposed to change that. But, whom did I see? Not mom.

Until I softened, remembering this chapter of How Can I Help? and the experience of that initial storyteller who had to come to terms with seeing her father near to death in a hospital room.

I feel fortunate to have read that before going to my mom’s house (where I’d been called to by worried relatives.) I’m glad the words prepared me for the distraction of seeing my mother in her truly natural state for the first time.

“So often we deny ourselves and others the full resources of our being simply because we’re in the habit of defining ourselves narrowly and defensively to begin with.”

I admit that I ached as I listened to my mother talk about restrictions that prevent her from getting out of bed, getting in better physical shape, getting good nutrition, getting involved and active with her friends and family, following some form of routine as she would do while keeping her business in the black.

My mom deeply believes she is condemned to a life of lacking mobility, sugar-filled foods and an inability to communicate in business. She sees no other option. Doctors, nurses, physical therapists, psychologists, friends, church buddies, family…they all see other options and also the strength that still exists in her body, if not in her spirit or will to activate it.

I wanted my mom to believe herself capable of 80% more than she suggests she is and yet I knew I couldn’t convince her of it. Not only had other people been trying to, for example but in being around her for the few days I was there, I became aware that my mom is scared to believe she is more able than she is being. I’m not able to answer why.

What I am able to do is love her with her gummy smile and drab hair and strange size. More difficult, though, is being able to listen to her because what she has to say is so sad and very often clearly untrue. I find myself getting tense, ready to argue – sometimes I will argue – instead of listening because my own head is discounting her thoughts as lies. They ARE lies. My mom has always lied as a way of protecting herself and controlling her environment…and while I’m used to her doing that, I also feel desperate for her to stop because her health is the cost of her made up stories.

For example, she will say a doctor said something he or she didn’t like, they “don’t want her to walk or exert herself until after the next appointment” she has with them. Or she’ll say the physical therapist told her “not to try going down the stairs” (with help) because “she’s not ready for that.” These professionals disagree and they will tell me and other relatives involved in my mom’s care that they never said those things. If confronted with that, mom will just make up some other excuse and use some other source to validate it so she gets what she wants.

Her methods are frustrating and they make it difficult for people who support her and love her and believe in her abilities.

“With nothing left to do, we let our heart and intuitive wisdom reveal another way to be.”

So one night, after many of sleeping in the same bed as my mom and going to sleep angry that she wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t try, wouldn’t stop manipulating people, I simply gave up. I had to come to terms with my inability to help. Lying in bed, I reached for her hand and held it. I told my mom I love her and went to sleep, with tears in my eyes, still holding her hand.

It was the first moment I stopped trying to fix my mom.

I spent the next few days trying to arrange her care around how and who she was, not what she could become. Care is costly, involves a lot of people and is taxing on my heart because of my belief in her, but we provide it for the same reason I reached my hand for hers that night: we love her. However she is, we love her.

I’m not a changed person. I still have to come to terms with my inability to help – and I am sometimes so tempted to shove my mom’s wants out of the way and take control of her care more completely just to force her to get better.

I have to step back and reassess often and let my mother be the woman she is, even if I am scared she will die because of it. She could. And I now feel the best thing I can do is be with her and be loving while she is here to be with me and be loved.

SO I WENT

Boarded a plane, and stopped in Philly, with a final destination of Boston. My uncle and aunt flooded my ears with opinions of who is good for mom and who isn't, who may be using her, who's bringing on the drama, who's a pretty good help and so on. I took it all into consideration and went to my mom's readied for battle - but not willing to shut down the shop that is mom care. I hoped I wouldn't have to.

While there, I did manage to get my mom to come downstairs for Thanksgiving dinner. I also managed to ostracize one of her boarders, pissed my cousin off, reduced one of her caretakers' hours, hired someone new to work overnights and hired a house cleaner.

Two boarders, grown men, and I hired a house cleaner. Yeah. Meanwhile, mom's willing to try when I'm present but, when I am gone again, it appears that she reverts to her fatigue and lack of want to do anything to push herself and get better.

Sadly, I know this inertia...and probably many people do. We all complain about things and convince ourselves of doing what's easiest or laziest or uses the least amount of energy instead of working hard.

I've found that we often work hard at things we enjoy doing and anything else gets low or no priority. When you work at what you enjoy, the time flies and you sort of have to stop yourself from continuing way beyond a time that is fair to the rest of your life.

I don't know what my mom can do to make caring about herself something she enjoys. For me, cooking helps me to enjoy the low carb lifestyle - cooking and the detective work it takes to deconstruct familiar and well-loved recipes to build a better version without the use of foods that hurt my body. The end result, every time, is that I love taking care of myself when I figure out some genius way to make something I know I can eat and love and will not stress my liver or pancreas or heart by eating.

I left mom's happy that I didn't fall off the wagon - not even for Thanksgiving - and I didn't feel bad or left out by not eating pie, carrot cake, mashed potatoes or gobs of stuffing. I had some turkey, green beans, gravy and a little cranberry sauce <- some carbs in there, but choices I could live with very very happily.

I left mom with a daily schedule of round the clock care and a mention that if she really doesn't choose to help herself, then hospital care or a move to Virginia is next. I WILL move her here if it appears that she needs 24 hour care for the rest of her life. She has a window of opportunity right now to change that need...and I hope she can find fun in it. I hope she can come out of this. I'm prepared for if she can't, though, and I'm sticking to my boundaries.... and taking care of me.

Now, if only I can make exercising fun. I may have to join a dance class. It's the only exercise I truly LOVE to do.

Selfish, Maybe

My house is full of crap. All of the upstairs is extra packed with stuff that has either come from the basement or accumulated because nobody cares and we are living like hoarders with little paths to our doors and not much else. I'm confined, hating it, cannot WAIT for the downstairs to be painted, get shelving, and to get shit done putting things back and sorting what's to give away and stuff.

I've got Thursday and Friday off and the basement is scheduled to be ready for all that redistribution I've been looking forward to for ALMOST A YEAR. Finally, there will be room to move, space to run around, breathe, smile, relax and enjoy my home. I can have people over again! I have Thursday and Friday to help organize where everything is going and has got to be - I'm the wife and the mom, it's what I do. I do that.

But, wait! I am also the daughter... I am technically the only child in a house that once had four and, by default, I am responsible for the care of my mother when everyone else is busy and/or is tired of doing it. I get it, and I am ok with loving my mother and being there for her. I'm a little upset that I have to be right NOW, with basement getting readiedness and two whole days to stay home and sort and organize things....two days to make my house the way I want it.

We were even going to skip Thanksgiving and just band together to get it done.

But, mom. And my uncles are maxed out taking care of her and their own needs. Her hired help is beginning to suck a whole lot and has a shitty attitude...and nobody seems to know whose job what is anymore. There needs to be someone to go there, sort people out, manage the care, stop the bickering and tell the grown-ass people who live off of her to get over themselves and contribute to making her house a positive environment or GTFO.

Guess who's job that is?

I can do it from here, but I can do it from there.

And if I go there, I have to neglect here. Sure, here can be done when I get back, but I won't have another two days off for it...in months. MONTHS. because I work 7 days a week. And don't think for a moment if I go up to my mom's I'll get a lot accomplished. There are too many control freaks in the equation and I am not her proxy.

I'm going to call her proxy, my cousin, tonight once I hear how mom's doc visit goes, and then I have to decide whether I have to skip this couple of days I've looked forward to for a year...or if I'll sort my house and go to Mannheim Steamroller after all.

I selfishly want to stay home.

I love my mother, though, more than I love my days off and Mannheim Steamroller...so I will be there if she needs me and that's the bottom line.

Down another 3 pounds, btw.

Life Sucks when your Mom is an Invalid..

...or nearly is. In the past two weeks I've gotten texts, emails and private messages warning me that my mom is very unhealthy and is not doing anything to help herself. I don't know if she has the energy, battling sickness, that she needs to help herself or if her will is broken. I am in the should I stay or should I go debate, with everyone telling me they will let me know if I should go up there. How do I stay put? I'm embarrassed for my mom. She's grown to a very huge size and, I'm told, hardly gets out of bed now.

She calls and talks to me like it's just another average day of going to the restroom and having popsicles because she's feeling dried out. She can hardly walk on her own but recently texted me to say she went without a walker, all by herself, from one place to another - progress!

It's hard to tell if there is progress or if she's really fighting a losing battle. Is she trying too little too late? Is she physically unABLE to help herself anymore? She won't go to a hospital nor will she accept that she needs REAL TRUE managed care and assistance. She has friends and family and people who are in her house to help, but they love her and they'll do for her what medical caretakers would not.

I called my mom recently and cried, simply cried, because I don't want her to die, especially like this: broken, alone, depressed, enormous, blistered, bored, lonely and immersed in what many of us would call personal hell. I cried and I told her I didn't want to lose her. I told her I didn't want her to die and I still need her and love her.

She said she's not going to die and she's tried to make me feel better..but I feel so hollow. I feel very, very hollow and afraid.

Angry at Mom and then some

My mom's got a part time nutritionist who gives her Diabetic info and menus she has been handed for years. And my mom doesn't cook for herself. She can't leave the upstairs of her home. My cousin, a grown man in his sixties, cooks everything...and he and whoever else bring her what she wants.

Sometimes they bring her things prepared how they like it and not how the nutritionist wants it. Sometimes she skips the advice and disregards the menus and eats whatever she wants. Because she doesn't have the energy to try.

It's breaking my heart. I argue within myself and with her over the phone because I feel that I may have to go there and get her out of that rut. And how can I? I'm doing all I can to get out of my own rut! Would it be the blind leading the blind?

But the alternative is to do nothing. To wait and see. To watch, listen as she grows weaker, gains more weight, until she can't get out of bed. Right now, she can only walk between a couple of rooms before she has a hard time breathing. She cannot even go downstairs in her own home.

If there was a fire, she would die.

I feel like I am on that cliff again saying, "Come on, Mom, we can do this together. Just try....!" I feel desperate and sad while she stays up there on her second floor her being lost and alone and (for the most part) immobile.

It breaks my heart. I love my mother. I want her to fight.

And I pray that everything I do to get my own body healthy will work because I don't want my daughter to have to feel it is her responsibility to rescue me.

I'm so close to just driving up there and taking over her care (and she would HATE that) at the risk of all my jobs. She shouldn't die this way. Nobody should.

The Deniaaalllll.....!

Why so much denial?

This question has been rolling around with me for a while and tonight it won't let me sleep a wink. Could have to do with my mom called and I listened to over an hour of woe because she's very, very, very overweight and her life is in immediate danger and she knows it.

She has congestive heart failure. She has diabetes. She's on the mend from surgery to remove uterine cancer. She has weak lungs. She has asthma. Her feet swell. She can hardly walk. She's not sleeping right. She's emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausted. She's getting sickly and is staying in bed more. She doesn't know what to do to get stronger again.

I may not have all the complications my mother has, but I have been in that state - that "I know I need to do something, but I have no idea what" mindset where you clearly DO know what steps you must take, but you resist taking them....for reasons like: stubbornness, rebellion, aversion to the loss of control, fear of being out of control, dislike of having to change your behaviors, dislike of having to eat things you don't like and stay away from things you do like, dislike for your body because it doesn't process foodstuff that way other peoples' bodies do, the natural resistance buildup you get from physical fatigue, the feeling that you're in a cyclical spin you can't fight your way out of.

There are LOTS of reasons to deny yourself of health and well-being. There are LOTS of reasons to deny responsibility for your state. There are LOTS of reasons to deny that you need help. There are LOTS of reasons to deny that you have ultimate control or CAN do anything about anything at all.

I don't know if my mother is going to get any help or if she's as capable of helping herself as she wants to convince me; however, I know that I need help and I'm so glad I'm getting it.

I told my mom tonight that if I was that good at taking care of myself all by myself I wouldn't have a problem with my weight. The fact is, I cannot take care of myself properly and I must learn to. I'm not going to tell myself I do know how when it is painfully clear when I look in a mirror that I'd only be lying to myself.

I'm glad I have the gym to go to and the people there who are encouraging and helpful and who know a whole lot about fitness and what my body needs in order to perform, feel and look well. I'm glad I have this upcoming nutrition and wellness group to attend via Yourishment because I'm going to learn (what I thought I already knew) the accurate balance of foods my body needs in order to perform, feel and look well. It's not like I haven't been to a gym before or haven't seen a dietitian or nutrition expert in all my years...it's just that I know I have to start with forgetting everything I think I know and just...let the experts teach me what they know.

In this way, I am educating myself and also giving myself real freedom from all those strangely tempting reasons to deny that I can be well. Physically, emotionally and spiritually well.

Food log: Tuesday 8/9

Wake: 6:20 AM

7:20 AM/not hugely hungry

1/2 a bran muffin
1 med banana
2% milk

...you won't believe this, but I forgot to bring my snack with me to work. It was drudgery mid-morning.

11:00 AM/hungry
Pepsi One

...and I had a Doc appt. for 1:45 so lunch wasn't til almost 3.

Almost 3 PM/RAR!

Deli roast beef and American cheese on wheat bread with mayo. I was too lazy to bother building veggies into the sandwich. Water.

NAP: 3:30 PM to 6:ish PM

7:40 PM/impatiently hungry
1 wedge of Laughing Cow cheese & a snacky portion of sourdough pretzel nibblers. (this while I was already cooking dinner but was too impatient to wait the fifteen minutes or so.)

8:00 PM/could eat
Garden veggie pasta with chicken and pesto. Water.

10:00 PM/thirsty, craving caffeine really
Diet Pepsi Lime

Bed time is now... good night!

Does "Honor Thy Mother and Father" = An Unhealthy Body?

Reflections on The Ten Challenges, Chapter 5:

To honor my mother and father didn’t used to be an easy task, but with time and growth I do believe I’ve become better at doing so. My mother is the only of the two who is still living and sometimes it is hard to keep from getting angry at her, saying things that I wouldn’t like to keep saying; however, the older I get, I find those times have less to do with my own selfishness.

When I “lash out” or get irritated with my mother it is usually because she is not taking very good care of herself. It is difficult to watch her be overweight (like me) and make poor choices for herself (like I have) and refrain from exercise (like I have) and, as a result, contract all kinds of diseases and disabilities (like I am afraid to.)

I see reflections of my mother in my own behavior as an overweight woman. For a long time I chose to blame my mother’s weakness toward wellness as reason enough for me to ignore my own. And there have been times when she and I have “partnered up” to take on the big jobs of losing weight and getting healthy, and one then both of us simply quit(s).

When my mom says she is starting a weight loss or exercise regimen of any kind, I have lost the ability to support her wholeheartedly. I have come to expect failure from her because I have invested anew so many times only to see expectations she has for her progress (and ones that I have for her) fall short. I’m tired of being disappointed in my mom to where I get tense, angry, frustrated, worried and tired by just the simple mention of what she had for dinner – or by the admission that she couldn’t walk up the stairs or needed to sit down to breathe without finishing her walk through a pharmacy or grocery store.

I forgive my mom on a daily basis, then this kind of situation comes up again and I find myself getting angry again… so there is a cycle or pattern of “I’m okay with mom, I’m frustrated with mom” going on kind of constantly.

The truth is, I love my mom so very much. She is so important to me that I am fearful of her leaving our world too soon! My mom is funny and smart and clever and has a lot of great ideas. She’s adventurous and silly…. but a lot of people wouldn’t know that because she is a prisoner of her own flesh now (like I have been!)

My mother’s advanced stages of asthma and rotator cuff injury and diabetes have made her less healthy than me, but I can see myself heading in her direction if my own choices go unchanged. I make more attempts to right my diet and to get exercise than my mom does; however, I wouldn’t consider our lives a competition.

I want to be healthy and I want my mom to be healthy, too. I am working with a physical trainer and will soon have a dietitian and a plan to work with so that I can fulfill my want – I am feeling able and ready to commit to this. I wish my mom could do the same.

I sometimes wonder if having my weight is one way I’ve been able to stay with her and not leave her behind. I will share a significant life story of mine to explain why:

When I was only nine years old, my family went to California. It was a big, big trip and very exciting to do together. My stepdad and his kids, my mom and I went into this adventure as a family, but as it turned out, this time together provided an opportunity for us to become a divided one. Again.

A lot of my childhood was spent being “Carole’s daughter” in a house full of “Jimmy’s kids.” They were known as privileged and I was known as poor, or that was the assumption. Jimmy was the Be All in our family – the decision-maker, the heart-breaker, the provider of all things, the captain of our ship…you name it. Mom was understood to be the “housekeeper / babysitter whom Jimmy took pity on and allowed to stay in his home with her daughter” despite the fact that they slept together and my mom was, in every respect besides paperwork, a wife.

There we were in California where the high cliff walls turn into sandy beaches. I was jazzed about going down the side of the cliff just to get down to where the water was. My stepbrother and I were the first ones most of the way down and everyone else followed.

My mom got stuck. She wasn’t very heavy back then. She was just scared and couldn’t get her footing right and didn’t want to tumble who knows how many feet, so she cried out.

Jimmy was up there with her, but I saw him coming down. His two daughters, teenagers at the time, were coming down also. Mom was crying, sitting in the dirt, wanting Jimmy to help her back to the top where the pavement would be sanctuary, but he razzed instead and told her to stop being a wimp and to follow along.

By then, my stepbrother was down on the beach. My stepsisters were climbing over me to continue down. My stepfather was in a bad mood and cursing about my mother’s uselessness and I was frozen in place. I watched my stepsisters scuttle past, easily digging their feet into crevices of rock. I heard my stepbrother shrieking in delight because he was the first to make it down. I asked out loud if anyone was going to help my mom because I knew she was too afraid to make it.

“She’s your mother!” they said. Every single one of them left it up to me, at nine years old, to climb all the way back to the top of this cliff and help my mother (then at least twice my size) get back to the parking lot.

It was hard, but I did it. The place where she was had too much sand to get any good footing and she couldn’t go up. I tried to convince her to follow me down because it would have been easier, but she was freaking out too much. I couldn’t get up the sandy ridge any more than she could, so we were kind of stuck there – until some guys who came to park and view the ocean overheard my mom crying and came to lend us a hand up with some rope.

From below, I could hear mimics of my mom’s crying – my stepsisters – and comments of how useless she was – my stepfather – and laughter – my stepbrother and I thought they were cruel and I loved my mother, but I was angry at her because I didn’t want to be her rescuer. I was angry at everybody else for the same reason.

To say that this scenario was normal is an understatement. Within our home, I was often forced to “deal with” my mother or was forced out of the family unit because I belonged to her. It bothered me that no one else would help her or care about her. I love my mother with great, great love and would not deny her or disassociate with her for anyone.  But would I hold onto my weight and poor eating habits and keep from exercise to continue to be “with” her? Sometimes I wonder if I do.

This was about forgiveness, I know. I don’t feel a need to forgive the things I’ve mentioned, though. I feel a need to forget, or a need to move away from that bond or somehow change the dynamics of that bond so that I can be healthy – really, truly healthy…. even if my mom decides not to. It breaks my heart to think of that? But I am afraid my heart will give out if I don’t take care of it with or without her.

Mom's Happy Birthday

"I am in love. Smurfs are back. Yay"

That's the text I received from my mom the other day.

Today is mom's 65th. We live pretty far away from each other, so I'm unable to pick her up to take her to see The Smurfs at her local theater. I asked my cousin Stacy if she would mind being me for a day. With my cousin's agreement, I purchased a gift certificate through Fandango which I was able to e-mail to her direct (with my personalized message) from their site. My mom's a stitch in the movie theater. She's one of those people who gasps out loud or tells the characters not to go any further or informs the leading lady that her love interest is "a fucking asshole." Yup, right out loud in the black of the room at the story's climax. I don't think she'll need to tell Smurfette to look out for anyone, but she will no doubt find something to say.